In moments of insecurity and crisis, shoulds and oughts don’t really help.
Richard Rohr
This reminder is brought to you as part of Linda’s One-Liner Wednesdays. Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2023/05/10/one-liner-wednesday-in-the-age-of-the-internet/
Ugh.
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “perfection.”
Not my favorite concept.
When I was young, I was taught to do the best I could…
Which is a lovely thought and a worthy goal but it made it easy to think that the best I could do should be perfect, so I became a bit of a perfectionist.
It’s exhausting.
And futile.
As I matured, I began to expect that perfection was a chimera, that there was really no such thing.
When my first child was born, I was convinced of that.
Well, not immediately.
I had dutifully followed all the advice from my medical team and from What to Expect When You Are Expecting, which was a hot title at the time. Still, somehow, my membranes ruptured at 36 weeks, so my precious daughter arrived early, officially classified as premature, although only by a few days, and, after being home for a couple of days had to be re-admitted to the hospital for light therapy for jaundice.
It was not perfect and I was scared and blamed myself, figuring that I must have done something wrong.
It took a while – well, maybe even a long while – to realize that, sometimes, things just happen without a discernible cause.
I then realized that there was not ever going to be a perfect way to do something as complex as raising a child – and then realized that there wasn’t really a perfect way to do much of anything.
I did still try to do the best I could, though, which often means things turn out pretty well.
Except when they don’t.
But, hey, nobody’s perfect.
*****
This Stream of Consciousness Saturday post is part of Linda’s long-running series at her blog Life In Progress. Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2023/02/03/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-4-2023/
The moment a woman comes home to herself, the moment she knows that she has become a person of influence, an artist of her life, a sculptor of her universe, a person with rights and responsibilities who is respected and recognized, the resurrection of the world begins.
Joan Chittister
Join us for Linda’s One-Liner Wednesday and Just Jot It January! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2023/01/11/one-liner-wednesday-jusjojan-the-11th-2023-a-squirrel/
The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings which are all part of one another and all involved in one another.
Thomas Merton
Join us for Linda’s One-Liner Wednesdays! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2022/11/30/one-liner-wednesday-ha/
A few days ago, spouse B, daughter T, and I attended the wedding of M and S. M is B’s and my niece and is the cousin closest in age to T.
M is also a big fan of Disney World. S chose to propose to M there and M planned their wedding and reception with a Cinderella theme, including the napkin above. There were castles and glass slippers and golden coaches incorporated into decorations, dancing into the night, a beautiful gown with yards of tulle.
Many echoes of a classic fairy tale.
But M and S don’t have an ordinary life. M is nurse with special training in emergency medicine who currently serves as a flight nurse, transporting critically ill or injured people to medical centers that can give them the best care possible. S is a state trooper, doing his best to keep people safe and assist them in emergencies.
They both do extraordinary things on a regular basis.
They also are facing an extraordinary challenge. Early in their courtship, M developed a serious medical issue but S stayed by her side, even when M tried to break up with him in order to protect him.
The strength of their bond in the face of adversity brought more than the usual number of tears at the wedding and during the toasts at the reception, where even the especially-stoic state troopers choked up over M and S’s love story.
Even at a fairy tale wedding, there are no guarantees of how long the “ever after” will be.
M and S showed us, though, that their love is strong and eternal, whatever obstacles are thrown in their path.
Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise; seek what they sought.
Matsuo Basho
Join us for Linda’s One-Liner Wednesdays! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2022/08/10/one-liner-wednesday-dance/
Until we find the communal meaning and significance of the suffering of all life, we will continue to retreat into our individual, small worlds in our misguided quest for personal safety and sanity.
Richard Rohr
Join us for Linda’s One-Liner Wednesdays! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2022/04/13/one-liner-wednesday-creepy-enough/
Ugh! There is so much stuff I want/need to do and not nearly enough brainpower to do it.
Admittedly, part of the problem is that I necessarily deferred a lot of things when I was involved with multi-generational caregiving for years and now there is a huge backlog that needs attention. Some are practical things, like dealing with the rest of the belongings of Grandma, Nana, and Paco that are still stored at our house and finishing the remaining work with Paco’s estate, including the final tax filings and, oh, our tax returns, too. Some are creative things, like writing blog posts and poetry, and the administrative tasks that go along with them, like getting submissions in, which I find both tedious and nerve-wracking. Some are educational, trying to stay informed about what is happening in the world and using that knowledge to advocate for social and environmental justice. And, of course, there are the errands, appointments, and household tasks that need doing, although I appreciate that B and T continue to cover a good chunk of the housework that I abandoned in recent years.
The biggest problem for me remains, though, that it’s difficult for me to muster the energy and concentration I need to tackle tasks that need critical and/or creative thought and decision-making. I suppose this is complicated by my INFJ-ness, which means that nearly everything for me involves deep thought.
It’s exhausting.
There is also the reality that I am dealing with several years’ worth of grief and loss. The difficult period leading to Grandma’s death in 2016 followed by Nana’s struggles with heart failure leading to her death in 2019 followed by Paco’s decline and his death in September last year left me with a lot of deferred grief, which I have only recently realized and begun to process. There is also the personal loss of proximity to daughter E and granddaughters ABC and JG, who live across the Atlantic from us. Overlaying these personal losses is the pandemic and the upheaval, suffering, and death it has caused. The death toll in the US alone is 955,000, which, as staggering as that figure is, is probably an underestimate. The world is also in the midst of a major ideological rift between democracy and authoritarianism which is terrifying and destabilizing. I have lost the sense that the US is on a positive trajectory toward “a more perfect Union” as our Constitution terms it, which adds to my sense of grief.
It’s a lot.
I know it’s a lot and there are valid reasons that I find my concentration and energy so scant. I know I should be patient with myself, as I would be with a friend or loved one. I know I should be practicing self-care and not admonishing myself for not having the wherewithal to power through all of this and “accomplish my goals” and “be my best self” and whatever.
I try.
Sometimes, I manage it. Other times, not so much.
Look. Today, I managed to write this post.
If only I could organize my days…
or life…
is something I have been saying to myself off and on for years.
The truth is that most of my adult life has been spent as a caregiver, some of it in very challenging situations dealing with long-term illnesses.
Not the kind of life that lends itself to following a daily schedule. If you ever think you know what is happening on a given day, chances are the phone will ring in the morning and you will be off dealing with some need that has arisen.
Let me be clear that none of this is a complaint. Rather it’s just a statement of fact – and evidence that I was privileged enough to be able to choose a life of unpaid caregiving instead of needing to take paid work and cramming in the caregiving around my employer’s schedule.
The day after Paco’s death, the hospice social worker said to me that now I could figure out what I wanted to do. We had first met during my mother’s illness, so she had some idea of what my life has been like over at least the last few years, if not decades.
While it’s true that I have spouse B and daughter T at home, we are able to collaborate on taking care of the house and each other, so the years of intensive caregiving are probably over for a while, as long as we all remain reasonably healthy.
So, I’m starting to piece together how I want to spend my time in the coming months. Admittedly, right now I am necessarily busy with settling Paco’s estate and final bills and insurance claims and such, which takes a lot more time and energy than you might think if you have never had to do this for a loved one.
I’m trying to keep from jumping back into everything I have put on hold in the past because I think there is a danger of over-committing and exhaustion. I do know that I want to spend more time with writing, so, perhaps, finally regularly posting here again.
I also need to return to spending serious amounts of time with my poetry. During the recent Boiler House Poets Collective residency, I was able to re-connect with my full-length manuscript that revolves around that area and my family’s connections with it. I am going to do a review of it with the Grapevine Group, my local poetry circle, later this month and then do revisions and look for submissions opportunities. I also need to look for more opportunities for my chapbook, as the rejections have been rolling in over these last months so it is only out at a few places at the moment.
I am considering auditioning for a local chorus, although that might not be until after the holidays. I expect that, for the first time in many years, we may travel for both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I am staying in the loop but not spending a ton of time on environmental and political issues. I still send letters and do public comment on social justice and environmental causes and send emails to my elected representatives but I am trying not to spend hours every day on it, as I did for years during the height of the anti-fracking fight in New York. I admire the energy and commitment of today’s younger activists and support their efforts as best I can.
Church volunteering is still on hold. Eventually, the book study I facilitate may return but only if we can meet safely indoors unmasked. We aren’t there yet.
So, can I do this? Can I re-organize my life and have it stick?
Maybe.
If nothing dire happens…
*****
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week was to being the post with the word if. Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2021/10/15/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-october-16-2021/
On July tenth, there was a rare island of normalcy.
Or an almost normal version of a rare event.
I participated in a live poetry reading in conjunction with the Empty the Inkpots exhibit at the Vestal Museum. The reading was part of the Summer Art Festival, a collaboration of the Museum and the Vestal Public Library. Several of the poets from the Binghamton Poetry Project who have work included in Empty the Inkpots read from the stage/deck at the Museum with the audience arrayed in scattered chairs and benches and on the lawn. It was the first time in many months that I have participated in a live-and-in-person poetry reading. It had been even longer since I had had to read with a microphone. The amplification was useful because the museum is near a busy roadway.
I chose not to read the poem I had on display, which is about the early months of the pandemic; it is available at the link above. Instead, I read three poems from my manuscript about the North Adams, Massachusetts where I grew up. “Conveyance” appeared in the spring 2021 anthology of the Binghamton Poetry Project. The other two poems, “North Adams Public Library” and “Monroe Bridge Mail”, are currently unpublished so I won’t share them here.
I was very happy with the reading on a number of counts. First, there were people in the audience who came at my invitation, including one who saw my Facebook announcement of the event. Second, though I was nervous before, I was reasonably comfortable during the reading, even managing the microphone adjustment without much trouble. Third, the reading was well-appreciated by our audience. We had six poets, with diverse styles and viewpoints, represented. We read in alphabetical order. Uncharacteristically, I was not first, which was helpful for me. I like to read early in the order, but I’m better at reading second than first. I was also grateful that the most experienced poet and performer was last as it gave a strong finish to event. No one should have to follow J. Barrett Wolf at a reading!
Lastly, I was pleased to receive personal compliments after the reading from family and friends, some of whom are also poets. What was most heart-warming was that a woman that I did not know came up to me afterward and told me how much she enjoyed my poems and asked where she could find my work. Of course, I don’t have any books of my own out, but I was able to give her my paper copies of my poems, which included my bio for the exhibit and the address for Top of JC’s Mind.
The reading was an island of normalcy not only because of the pandemic but also because most of my time these days has been wrapped up in dealing with the care of my 96-year-old dad who is currently in a rehab/skilled nursing facility after a fall and ensuing complications. It’s why it has taken me so long to post about the reading.
It’s also why, for the first time in years, I am not registered for the current sessions of the Binghamton Poetry Project. I am usually visiting my father in the early evenings. Even if another family member is available to visit, I can’t predict if I will have any creativity/brainpower left late in the day.
It’s made the reading that much more important as a reminder that my poetry life is still there, waiting for me to go back to it when things are more settled.
Someday.
Top of JC's Mind 