Where the hell have I been?
Compared to the first year of This Being Alive when I posted every single day, no matter where I was, or what was going on, lately, whenever something feels awry, I wander away from the very things that bring me life. Like being here. i love being here
Do you do that? Drift away?
Do you find, that rather than taking the walk, calling a friend, pulling out a yoga mat, sitting down to write, or paint, or sing, you walk away from the very things that sustain you.
Nourishing things are the first ones to go in a pinch?
I've been living, my practical life, keeping busy.
painting the middle room a bright heron white
back at work after last week's spring break
walking the dog oh the cry baby dog
making beans and rice in the old iron skillet
undergoing not 1 but 2 MRI's
That's where I got lost.
in what ifs.
in MRI land
No need for details beyond pain in the knees leading to the lower lumbar and shadows appearing in the images which turned out to be fine. No need to call my family to my bedside, and trust me,
I played out that whole scene.
I worried as I do with anything medical. MRI's to me are kin to being buried alive. Friends and family can attest to my inability to be in tight, closed-in places. I'm the girl who always knows where the exits are, who walks the ten flights rather than taking the elevator, the one who keeps her foot in the back door at all times. You never know when you need to run.
I pretend I'll never get sick, that my body can't slow down, or have aches and pains, or God forbid, more than that. I can't get sick.
or I freak the other way: we're all gonna die!
no getting around that one
being a preacher's kid,
I'd have all kinds of things to say about
Jesus and Easter and life-everlasting?
I really don't.
Although some days I've seen Jesus walking over the bridge near the railroad tracks in town, or driving the Dodge Ram, blue, with the big eagle on the back window, or in the peanut butter section at the market.
I do think about new life.
the woodpecker drumming on the tree in the neighbor's yard, sun spilling into this room, before cry-baby dog insists on the walk. Of course, without whining dog, I'd miss the walk.
And the woodpecker.
new life is always right in front of me
a reaching out letter after a year, talk at the kitchen table with a daughter, the lone purple crocus in the leaves, a breakthrough in a piece of writing, Dad on the phone saying, Thank you for your sensitivity, hon then losing his train of thought, what was I trying to say? until he circles around to finish with
well, bippety-boppity boop!
and then a great chuckle...
I read this and loved it because it's so familiar. knock knock
Worry is the diametric opposite of mindfulness.
It is the practice of anti-serenity.
- Aneli Rufus (from Spirituality & Health)
penny ross, painter
bippety-boppity boop! dear readers