Sundays on the Front Porch: A Trial Run at Using Google Hangouts on Air

 

I Could Learn a Lot from My Dog…

I could learn a lot from my dog… if I would only “sit” and “stay” in the moment.

After a year of trying to make it without anxiety issues, I found myself headed back to counseling this summer to try and get a handle on things. For those of you who struggle with it, you know that it can sometimes be debilitating — and for those of you who don’t, it can damn near ruin your whole day before it even gets started.

One of the many anxiety-related issues I discuss with the counselor is the one I have over our “new” dog, Sonny. He’s been with us for a little over six months now, and while there are some days where I’m very happy he’s here with us, there are others that are extremely difficult. In July 2013 – almost to the date — we lost our beloved Mick, a rescued corgi-husky mix, to lymphoma at the age of twelve. Watching him grow frail and worrying about his safety at every moment “amped” up my level of anxiety… until the night he looked me directly in the eyes and told me it was “time to go.”

For over a year after that night, we came home to a quiet house that had no furry carpets or dog kibble trailed through the kitchen but also found ourselves being able to pick up and go wherever we wanted to when we wanted to. My anxiety over worrying if I had done right by Mick lessened daily… until the day when my husband and the stepkids started talking about how much they wanted another dog.

Sonny Boy (named after Sonny Boy Williamson — we’re huge old school blues fans) came into our lives the week before Christmas 2014. Some friends of ours found him wandering through a local park. When no one claimed him, it was decided (by democratic vote… and I lost) that he would come live with us.

And so began my anxiety over whether I’d be able to take care of another four-legger… and over the inevitable moment when it would again be “time to go.”

 One of the things the counselor suggested was that I get out and walk or at least do some kind of exercise to relieve my general anxiety. This summer, the kids are at their grandparents’, so responsibility for the morning walks falls on me. At first, I was terrified — wondering if we’d encounter a coyote or a snake or perhaps another dog who wasn’t very friendly. Or maybe he’d eat something that was poison. The walks weren’t relaxing at all. My chest was tight, I felt like my throat was closing up, and often, I wanted to cry.

But eventually, something began to change. I felt myself actually enjoying our morning time together — before the sun was fully over the treeline, watching him with nose to the ground, sniffing for the best spot to, ahem, well, you know. He was in the moment, and nothing could distract him.

The more I realized it, this damn dog GETS IT. He knows how to practice mindfulness.
I could learn a lot from him.

So, as I work through my inability to stop worrying about the future and stay in the moment, I leave you with these wise words of wisdom from my “other counselor.”

Always greet the morning, ready to “play ball.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes you have to look at things from a different perspective.

It’s okay to sit and take it easy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stare down your fears. Eventually, they’ll scamper into the woods.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every now and then… let it ALL hang out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soak in a good sunset on your front porch… sit, stay… and appreciate the moment.

“Coughing up” My Latest Post…

Hi, all.  I’m back from the depths (again).

This little fella has been giving me a hard time for the past month or so. Living in North Carolina during the spring sure is pretty, but it SUCKS for those of us with highly-reactive sinuses and lungs.

When I can’t type because I drip all over the keyboard, or the ink from my pen starts to mix with post nasal drip to create “art on paper,” I know I need to surrender for a while…

But this week, I loaded the “big guns” and am fighting back with more meds than I’d really like to have in my system, but hey – it’s starting to do the trick.

So, the oxygen level’s starting to climb, the snot’s less-snotty, and the drips are less-drippy. And I’m feeling like writing again. Yay!

So, please stay tuned for some interesting stories.

There’s the one about a desk named Flossie…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and fishing in the cemetery pond.

 

See ya soon!

All of a Piece

Today was International Women’s Day. A good friend of mine (and an amazing writer) shared her submission to the book, Letters for My Little Sister.

It’s about the “M” word, ladies… I think you’ll love this. I know I did.

Apologies for the shaky start to the video… I’ll go ahead and blame it on the menopause!

On Vulnerability… and the “Short List”

I’ve gone back to reading Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly, as I feel in need of a tremendous kick in the ass for the new year. Something to motivate me to head “confidently in the direction of my dreams.” I can’t remember right this moment who said that, but I like the way it sounds.

For the past few months, I’ve felt stifled in my professional life — the work I do is certainly important to the success of the organization, but it offers no feeling of personal satisfaction or a sense that I am doing something to serve/help others — and as a result, nurturing my Self. I’m the quintessential “caretaker.” Always have been and probably always will be, and the moments I feel the greatest joy are when I’ve helped someone to overcome an obstacle or discover his or her potential.

How ironic, then, that what I love to do for others… is so damned difficult to do for my Self? Why do I have such a problem with going in the direction of my dreams?

I’m afraid. Yep, that’s it. Plain and simple. I feel vulnerable.

The interesting thing in my reading is that Brené talks about vulnerability, not as a weakness, but as an act of courage. It’s that being able to put yourself out there, despite all the preconceived ideas of possible failure or inadequacy, and fighting the good fight, regardless of the outcome.

Me? Courageous? Hmmm…

As much as I’d like to pride myself on being independent (I believe it comes from having to grow up fast after mom died — I was only eleven when that journey began), I know that there are times when I’d like nothing more than to shed that “coat of armor” that has protected me through the last 37 years, roll over and expose my soul to the world and say, “Hey. I need your support here. Deep down inside, there is a creative, intelligent, organized woman who is looking for an opportunity to do something amazing with her life that makes a difference — for others but also for her Self as well.  Here I am, standing in the center of the arena, with no protection, for all the world to see, and I could sure as hell use some support and encouragement of my endeavors here.”

Now, THAT, my friends, takes courage.

Being vulnerable – in my case, having the courage to seek opportunities for soul-satisfying work — is a huge risk. It means putting my experiences out there on the résumé and job application for the world to see and hoping that someone will say, “She’s exactly the person we need! Let’s give her the opportunity!” It also means being ready to accept the fact that those people looking at my experiences may not feel I’m the right one for the job, and I shouldn’t take that as a sign that I’m incapable or not talented or that I need to stay right where I am and not look any more. That opportunity simply wasn’t the right one for me, and I need pick myself up, brush myself off, and, well… you know the rest.

Problem is, the feelings of inadequacy come bubbling to the surface of my little glass half full, as I start comparing myself to the other potential candidates, even before the application has been submitted. It’s that fear of failure — of not believing that I can do anything I put my mind to if I’d just get the hell out there and do it. Much of that inadequacy and doubt has been internalized, I believe, as a result of listening to a long list of people who, although they claimed to be in the arena with me, were actually up in the bleachers, hurling their opinions at me like rotten tomatoes.

“You wouldn’t enjoy doing that, would you?”
“Yeah, sure, it sounds interesting…but what does it pay?”
“Why would you want to do that? You’re good at what you do now.”
“Why would you want to leave this job? It pays well, and you have an important title?”

Vulnerability “True Confession” of the Day:  As much as I pride myself on being independent, I need someone there beside me in the arena, slapping me on the back, high-fiving me, and saying, “Go for it!” regardless of the outcome.

In one of her interviews on YouTube, Brené talks about having a “short list” of people whose opinions matter — those “battle buddies” who are there with you and for you while you take that bold, brave first step. The ones who don’t give up on you because you make mistakes or are even afraid to attempt to put yourself out there at all, for fear of making a mistake. They are the ones who love you,”not in spite of your vulnerabilities…but because of them.” The ones who know you’re on the verge of being bat-shit crazy, but they love and appreciate that about you. She keeps this list handy in her purse for those moments when feelings of doubt and inadequacy rear their ugly heads.

Watch her interview on “Chase Jarvis Live” here. It’s worth the hour-and-a-half, so pour yourself a glass of something and watch:

I have been thinking about my “short list” over the past few weeks, and it appears I’d be well-served to put it on a business card and keep it close by for handy reference. They are a select few, and although they are probably not aware of their placement on this list, I hold their friendship, support, encouragement… and occasional ass-kicking skills in very high regard. So, as I take these bold steps, I will look at my list and know that, while it’s up to me to make things happen, those whose opinions matter – those who stand beside me in the area, despite the outcome – are always there.

Who’s on your “short list?” 

A Brief New Year’s Vent, Please…

I have been a horrible blogger… dropped off the face of the Internet for a while now, but  I had what I felt were valid reasons — two stepkids (12 and 15, Goddess help me) who have been increasingly, erm, “challenging,” shall we say?

I vowed to start the new year off on a positive direction, seeing only the good in things, and it was working for a while… until someone rear-ended our CR-V last night. Keep in mind this is also the same CR-V that had an unfortunate encounter with a jaywalking 5-pointer on Interstate 40 at about 1:30am a month or so ago.  The body shop’s gonna luuuurve us. Okay, the positive?  No human was harmed in these collisions.

I understand that tomorrow is supposed to be the coldest day so far for the winter — dropping down to about ten degrees.  The boy (15) has been asked SEVERAL times if the heavy-duty winter coat (that he refuses to wear because “it won’t fit in his locker at school”) still fits him.  Mumbles that it does each time, or at least I think that’s how the incoherent sounds translate.  So, tonight, when we do a trial run to see if he even knows how to put the damn thing on… behold… his arms are sticking out of the sleeves an extra two to three inches.

If I had a pair of Hello Kitty mittens, I’d make him wear them, just for spite. Oh, he’s gonna wear that thing, and it’s gonna fit in that locker like a charm…

I have lots of things I want to write about  — my trip today to a new (and willing to actually talk to me about menopause!) doctor, the shamanic journey I had done the other day, and a few things I’m hoping to accomplish this year.

But right now, I either need a really strong drink or a full scholarship to a bootcamp for fifteen-year-olds…far, far away.

Oh, the horror…

On Approaching Forty-Eight

Forty eight.

Age sixteen… for the third time.

The seventeenth anniversary of being 21.

 

Four dozen years, all packaged up in stretch denim,

Over-sized sweater, and warm fuzzy socks.

The day’s sensible shoes, taking rest in the corner.

At this point, comfort over fashion is key.

At least it is in her world.

 

Sitting at the keyboard,

Remembering her past,

Dreaming of her future.

Interrupted by the present…

Reality, asking if she’s going to do the laundry.

 

The spin cycle begins.

What have I accomplished?

Have I made the right decisions?

Will I ever be able to retire?

Should I throw in the towel?

Who the hell am I, and what do I want?

 

Stop.

Take a deep breath.

Remember what the chiropractor said.

And the counselors – all three of them.

Time to strengthen. Time to heal.

 

Forty-eight years.

Age is nothing but a number.

Time to start living your life.

Lots of questions to be answered,

So put on those stretchy pants and get to it.

Back from the Depths…

First off, I want to apologize for not having posted here in a very long while.

Truth is, I’ve been busy — this writing thing is starting to take off now, and I’m really excited about the direction in which it’s headed.  Over the summer, I submitted two stories for inclusion in anthologies and am honored to say that both of them were accepted for publication!

The first one — Letters for My Little Sister — is a marvelous book about menopause.  It’s filled with stories from women of all ages and walks of life from all over the world.  I’m one of those gals who never learned from my mother about these things because, quite frankly, she passed away when she was only 35.  My grandmother never shared anything, either, because I wasn’t experiencing (or even thinking about) symptoms when she was still here with us.  So when I opened this book and started reading, it felt as if I had settled in among a circle of kindreds — I poured myself a cup of favorite tea, pulled up the blanket, and started reading.  Couldn’t put it down. Several times I felt myself chuckling in acknowledgement at some of the experiences – of course, my husband wondered what I could possibly be laughing at, but he DARED not ask, for fear of what might happen (I’m pre-menopausal, you know?).

The second book — Women Awakening: Discovering Our Personal Truths — is an anthology of I Am Subject Stories that focus on women sharing how the influences of family history, body and mind, internal/external roles, and life-altering moments have helped shape their lives… and their stories.  The stories are raw, honest, risky.  I would like to meet several of these women in person some day.  Diane DeBella, the book’s editor and the creator of the I Am Subject project, has become a friend via the wonders of technology (she lives in Colorado and I’m in North Carolina), and I hope to get together with her very soon to explore some opportunities to expand on this project.

I encourage you to consider these books and their creators.  Here are links to their webpages and book information:

Cecelia Gunther — Letters for My Little Sister Book Order Page
http://thekitchensgarden.com/book-orders/

Diane DeBella — The I Am Subject Project Page
http://iamsubject.com
For Women Awakening Book Orders
http://www.iamsubject.com/diane-debella-books/women-awakening/

Here’s me… as proud as punch!

 

 

 

 

 

Star-Spangled… Me?

When I was young, I spent lots of time at Granny’s house.  She was a career public school music teacher and, after retirement, taught voice and piano privately. Even had a “musical kindergarten” called Rhythm Band. In her small town, everyone knew her as the spunky, creative… and slightly nutty…  lady who brought joy and beautiful music – and a bit of the unexpected – to nearly every holiday gathering in town.

Aside from Christmas… and Halloween… and Valentine’s Day… well, hell, she loved every holiday, who am I kidding? It seemed that July 4, 1976, was a challenge for her.  She went nuts, decorating EVERYTHING in sight with red, white, and blue, and honing up on her piano versions of all things patriotic.  It was insane but really amusing to watch.

Tonight, thumbing through a box of old photos, I came across one that truly represented just how geared up she was for our 200th birthday celebration. Okay, so let’s build a giant birthday cake out of boxes, wipe out the local dollar store of its miniature flags, stick the thing in the back yard, and get the oldest grandkid to dress up like Uncle Sam to pose for pictures.

Geez, the other two grandkids were BOYS, for crap’s sake!  At least she didn’t make me wear a beard. Well, they were only about four and two at the time… they weren’t tall enough to peer over the top layer yet.

Yep, that’s me.  Nine years old.  The curse of being the oldest was always serving as “guinea pig” for photo shoots like this. I think she secretly enjoyed this – thank goodness she never showed it to any of my friends. Ugh.

Truth is, this year, I would have given my left, er, ovary, to have climbed up on that damn cake, listening to her direct with more finesse than a Hollywood producer, “Now, wave the flags and smile, Leigh,” as she snapped the photo.  I would have sung every patriotic song I knew, if it would have meant a little more time with her.

Well, except for that awful “God Bless the USA” song.  Forgive me — if you were subjected to that song as often as I was as a kid, you’d feel the same way.  Seriously, you would. (Sorry, Granny.)

July 4, or any holiday for that matter, doesn’t quite have the same sparkle as it did when she was in charge of making them fabulous.

Come on out… the air’s just fine…

A story I wrote has been accepted for publication in the book, I Am Subject: Sharing Our Truths to Reclaim Our Selves.

I’m extremely excited about this. I believe there are over 70 stories from women – all over the world – that will be included in this anthology. It’s amazing and quite humbling to know that my story has been heard… and acknowledged.

And it couldn’t have come at a better time in my life — a time when “the change” has my body going haywire, the mind following suit most of the time, and my spirit jumping up and down, waving its hand in the air, frantically screaming, “Hey!  Remember me?  Can I please come out and play now?”

Through this project, the box lid on my comfortable, safe, secure little world has been ripped open and exposed to the elements, and I’m finding that the air outside is safe to breathe. Actually, it’s quite refreshing.

 

So go on, spirit. Climb out now. Inhale deeply… and play ’til your heart’s content.

For more information on Diane DeBella and her wonderful project, visit her website: http://www.iamsubject.com/