How a "Thang" is Born and Other Tales of Wonder

I've still got a problem I'm trying to work on. I've also got a friend who has a lot of experience in walking beside people as they work on their problems, who said this to me not long ago. I'm smart enough to know it's true, but it's hard work, people. And it's costing me in a lot of ways.

When I read the words, I remembered some photos I'd taken of a rusty old dog chain hanging on a rotting swing in my back yard. I looked at the old photos but I didn't like them as well as I thought so I went out and took new ones.

This is how a "thang" is born!

I'm trying to get organized to set up an online shop to sell them on cards suitable for sending in the mail or for framing.

Last week's verb was "wonder." I experienced a time of wonder last weekend when I was in the country. My parents were with us and my mom pointed to this rabbit eating grass in the yard. I went and got my camera and slowly moved closer and closer to him. I think I was within 10-15 feet of him before he finally decided to hop away! The camera would make its shutter noise and he would look up but he was too busy eating to let it bother him too much.

And then, the very next day, we went for a walk on a little trail I'm clearing out (it's actually a "fire line" which has been plowed up a while back but is kind of growing back) and we saw this scary looking guy.

Talk about make your heart stop! My mother saw him first. He was on the side of the trail. She went on ahead of him. My dad and I were behind him. My dad has had all that trouble with his eye and he can only see a little bit. I didn't want to send him up ahead to catch up with my mother because I was afraid the snake might strike, or that my dad might not see so well and trip and fall. We could have turned and gone back the other way but I figured my mom would be nervous continuing on without us. I finally picked up a piece of wood and threw at him. It landed a few inches from the snake and he just stared at it! Finally, he slowly started turning the other way and slithered his way down into his hole in the ground, which was a slow process, let me tell you!

The hold he was going into was right behind the trunk of this small tree. I suppose I could have done better at composing my pictures but I was a little bit nervous!

Trust

I recently finished a cheap Kindle book about grief called "The Circumference of Hope," by Margot Storti-Marron. It turned out to be an excellent little book. It was a series of essays written after the author suffered the loss of several loved ones in a rather quick period of time.

One of my favorite quotes from the book was "Loss sometimes feels like encountering a strange place in a familiar landscape." She is a therapist and she writes about her clients telling her that one of the things their grief has changed for them is their expectations. She goes on to say how people had expectations of a paticular future with their loved ones, and now they don't. And they are, understandably sad about this.

That's a very big part of the reason this particular quote on "trust" spoke to me. I had expectations that I would outlive all three of my children. I had hopes and dreams for my son. And now, not only do I have to let go of the hopes and dreams, I no longer have his physical presence in my day to day life.

My own grief swells and then settles down. That is the way it will be for a long time. Lately, the permanence of his physical absence has weighed down on me.

I'm only saying these things as facts and as an admonition to make the most of your present moments. As we all know, but often tend to try and ignore, none of us is guaranteed more than our present breath. Probably no one needs to be reminded of this more than I do at this moment.

(Trust was my verb for last week. I am late for my own deadline, as usual.)

Balance

I often feel like I am walking on the edge, not deliberately, but just because that's where I feel like I am. I work actively not to fall off the edge. Sometimes I forget that's where I am and I walk nimbly and safely. But sometimes I am reminded of how close to the edge I am.

And I fear I will lose my balance and slip through the cracks. So far I have kept my balance and mostly avoided this catastrophe. But not without a great deal of help and support.

It occurs to me now that maybe my fear of falling is holding me back.  

(Balance: the seventh verb of my 52 Verbs project.)

Sparkling Ordinary Moments

I worked on this last night. I knew I wanted to do something with this photo when I uploaded it to my computer a month ago. All yesterday afternoon I thought about what I might want to say. I was going in the direction of "when trouble comes" but the picture ended up wanting something else! Sometimes my words come first and I go looking for a photo to fit the words. This time around, the photo came first and I had to work a bit to get to the word part.

This "thang" speaks of noticing the seemingly unimportant ordinary moments. It is one of my traits that I often delight in the simplest things. I think it runs in my genes. There are others in my family who are very much like me in this aspect (or perhaps it is I who am like them, since they are older than me).

I can't find the words for my "thangs" if I don't have time to for contemplation and slow movement in my life.

Tyler's Tree: February

I took this earlier in the month, the weekend of February 8th, which means it was about a month from the last time I took photos of his tree. What I notice (my verb for week before last, I believe) is that Tyler's tree seems to be a bit slower than the other trees we planted. One of the other rain trees had a small green leaf shooting out from its stem. Tyler's tree is almost too thin to cast a shadow! I have high hopes that it will blossom soon, that maybe when March rolls around, there will be something more than a stick to photograph.

I saw this quote today in the comments section of a blog I read:

"Without your wounds, where would your power be? It is your melancholy that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men. The very angels, themselves, cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children of this world as can one human being, broken on the wheels of living. In Love's service, only wounded soldiers can serve." -- Thornton Wilder

I like it.

52 Verbs, Week 5 and 6: Admit and Permit

This project is not working out like I imagined it in my head. I thought I'd be doing some kind of art work using the verbs but so far, that has not really happened. I'd also like to complain about how I keep pulling hard verbs!

When I first thought about the verb admit, I thought of it in terms of confession, as if I'd have to be telling all my secrets or something. But in thinking further, I thought of the things I admit into my life.

Happiness was what I admitted into my life for a fleeting moment last Sunday when we were getting ready to leave the country to come home. Things are slower there, less stressful, simpler. But happiness (not to be confused with joy, which to me, is a much richer feeling) is fleeting.

But I've also admitted some problems into my life. I've done this to myself. There are some things I could do to make it better. They are difficult things. I will admit: I am struggling with setting boundaries. Things that other people take for granted about setting boundaries, I can not do. And my inability is costing me, and causing problems in my everyday life.

Funny how Mindy just wrote about boundaries--"boundaries that you set yourself can be good and healthy but can hurt. You know it is for the best but it is like carving words into your arms and watching yourself bleed." 

Mindy is not the first person to stress to me the importance of healthy boundaries. And she probably won't be the last.

The other thing she said about boundaries? "Then you decide the blood is not so bad if it will eventually lead to the healing." 

I wish I was past this bump in the road, to the point where the cuts were scars, to the point where I could say I chose healing, but I am not there yet.

Neither am I here, where I feel alive from having chosen to stand my ground, though people tell me things will change if I will just buck up and set the boundaries. It doesn't feel good, thinking you can't do things people tell you can.

On the bright side, Mindy did it and she survived. I know others have too.

Renewal

I have not written much about my experience at the silent retreat I took on the weekend of December 14th. I had surgery the Tuesday after that and then the holidays sort of took over.

But in thinking about this week's verb, renew, I remembered one of the statues where I spent a good deal of time meditating and reading and praying and listening.

It was a statue of Lazarus unwrapping his grave clothes. I think this statue is done by the same person who has done statues in a cemetery/mausoleum near my house where I have taken pictures once. The statues sort of creep me out and draw me in at the same time. I didn't do a great job with the photos. I only had my phone and the light was not quite right.

Lazarus, removing his grave clothes. Renewed.

Me, walking through some pretty tough stuff and slowly emerging, renewed and stronger than ever.

Yeah, renew. It's a good verb. And a very good experience.

I looked at Lazarus and I wondered, what are some of the grave clothes I wear that encumber me and still keep me bound so that I can't move and live as I'd like to move and live?

I looked at Lazarus and I marveled, man it feels good to be freed from some of that tangled mess.

I looked at Lazarus and I knew, there is still more work to be done. But I am on the road to renewal and growth.

And I am grateful.

52 Verbs, Week 4: Renew

This little piece that was created entirely on my phone is my first post on the 4th verb, renew. It is also my contribution to the 52 Photos Project, Gallery 40, Black and White.

Here is the original photo, in color.

 I think I will have more to say about "renew" later on in the week. For now I am headed out the door to listen to a really good musician at church, which in itself is renewing.

52 Verbs, Week 3: Scatter

I'm not doing too very good at keeping up with my little project. It seems to me I keep pulling difficult verbs!

I spent a good amount of time over the Christmas holidays in the country. I thought about what I might want to see/have/do in 2013. I've never been good at making resolutions and I'm even worse about keeping resolutions. Often what works best for me is to sort of remember them casually in my head. I think I might have mentioned that I attempted to work through Susannah Conway's workbook, "Unraveling 2013." I'm still working on it. I'm to the point where you pull out the calendar and write down stuff to do in the coming months of the year. I'm having a tough time deciding to do that! I want to keep the calendar and mark off my various "successes" after the fact! If I write stuff down now and do not do anything about it, that will make me feel bad.

Anyway, I started the work. I answered the questions and came up with several intentions. And then worried that the intentions would scatter like leaves once I started heading home. . .

I get hung up on thinking about all the things I could/should be doing and worrying about all the ways I could get hung up.

No doubt about it, 2013 will take some things from me. One question might be "what is left behind, and how do I live with what remains?"

I could find myself in the crotch of adversity! Oh, dear me!

And there are always thorns to prick and tear.

Fingers pointing out all the things you have not done.

Drooping but still beautiful, no?

Stuck! Or, enjoying the light and the warmth of the sun for just a moment or two?

Is this a helpful leaf, pointing the way?

I want the light to shine through me.

The vine creeps slowly along. The branch quietly supports her growth.

 My favorite leaf of the day.

So, growth is one of the things I hope for from 2013.

Also, there is the intention to be more attentive to my present moment.

There are other things, too, but much of it is scattered like the leaves of the current season. 

Scattered, like my thoughts today. 

Sunday Thoughts

I'm rereading The Prophet and was reminded again of this painful truth in my reading.

This morning at church, I watched as a young boy of about four or five, who was built much like my son at that age, climbed onto the lap of a man who may soon be his stepfather. They were sitting chest to chest with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, almost like they were melted together. Instantly I was brought back into time when I held my own son that way (and my girls, too) and the tears flowed.

Also from my vantage point, I saw a man about my age who lost his wife this past November. He was sitting by his mother-in-law. I couldn't see her so well, but the man looked a lot like a lost little boy. And the congregation was singing about peace in the storm, and how "it's gonna be all right." I prayed earnestly for that man, right then and there. Our pain is not exactly the same, but it's still pain. And I know how dark loss can sometimes be.

There sometimes seems to be so much pain and loss in the world. There often seems to be so little that can be done about it. Many times, we do more harm than good by offering advice and cheery platitudes that do not take into account the depth of the pain we are addressing. I'm wrestling with ways to be better at responding to pain and loss that I come across in my world.

One thing I've learned through my own loss is the value of just sitting in silence with one who is hurting, just being there, without words, and without the cheesy admonitions, and without judgment for how the person/friend is handling their pain/loss, trusting that they will find their way through. That's cheesy advice too! I must acknowledge, some will not make it through their pain/loss. I don't know what to say (or do) about that part. So I won't say anything.

I've wrestled my way through a little over a year of mourning and I know I will wrestle some more. But for now, at this moment, I am very grateful for the joy that is interspersed into and throughout my mourning.

Bidin' My Time, Waitin' on my Muse

"Wrestle" is my second verb of the year (dance was the first). I went looking for wrestling quotes and thought it was hilarious that I found this quote with both verbs!

I really don't have much else to say right now about the verb wrestle. I hope to come up with something a little more substantial. I am thinking hard about it, maybe too hard and that's why I can't come up with anything more at this moment. I think I can safely say I know more about wrestling than I do dancing.

Making these little things on my phone is hard for me to resist. I don't consider them particularly artistic. I think of them as a way to creatively play while waiting for the real ideas to show up!

Right Now

Right now, I am enjoying a home baked gingersnap and a fresh cup of coffee...


Right now, I am wrestling with the dark side of me, the side that can be "malevolent and damaging"-primarily to myself.

By the time you read this, both "right now moments" will be gone. I will have moved on to other moments.

Also right now, we are in the midst of a weather event that is dumping rain on us and prompting flash flood warnings. By the time you read this, I hope that has moved on.

Right now, I am smiling and waving. Do you see me?

(This is my contribution to Gallery 38 of the 52 Photos Project, "Right Now." and, you might notice, I mentioned week two's verb "wrestle" in this post. There will be more to come with the verb of the week, but first I have to ponder.)

Week One: Dance (52 Verbs)

I will confess that Week One's "drawing" is rigged! More honestly, there was no drawing! The verb "dance" came to my attention several times before the year ended and then after the new year, so I knew it was meant to be the verb for week one.

I'm seeing "dance" as a metaphor for life. In my mind, dancing also requires a certain amount of freedom from worrying about how you look or what others might think. That's one of the things I'm working on for this year-to be myself and not worry so much about the opinions of others, which leads into another of my mantras: Don't compare yourself to others. 

One other thing: dancing implies joy. I want to allow myself to experience joy in my life and in my creative endeavors.

I worked a bit on an online workbook called "Unravelling the Year Ahead," by Susannah Conway and at one point, the question is asked, "If 2012 was a book or a movie, what would it be called?" I decided 2012, for me would be called Joy in the Mourning. I am still very much mourning the loss of my son but there are these incredible moments of joy that come alongside the grief. I am so very grateful. . .

Looking Up

I've been thinking about some sort of personal creative project I can do in the coming year, partly to keep an incentive to post regularly on my blog.

Well, ta-da!

The first one will involve monthly photos of a tree. Not just any tree, but the tree we planted on the year anniversary of my son's death. That project will be called (and tagged) "Tyler's Tree: A Year in the Life."

The second project will be called (and tagged) "52 Verbs." A month or so ago, I created a list of verbs. I wasn't sure what I was going to to do with them, but I had a couple of ideas so I went ahead and made my list so it would be ready when the rest of the idea showed up! I have 106 words on my list, so I will have plenty enough not to be stuck with a "dud" verb through the year. I'm going to write the words down on separate pieces of paper and each week, I am going to pull one out of the stack. That will be my verb to focus on that week. I'm not sure how what I will do each week. I already have this week sort of figured out in my head and I will "wing it" from there. I might do an ATC card or a "thang" or I might just write about the word. We'll just have to see what happens.

I also plan to keep on participating in Bella's "52 Photos Project," or, perhaps more accurately, to return to participating in that project, as I have slacked off in the last few weeks.

I have more that I want to write about the silent retreat and a few other things that have happened, or have come to me, over the holidays.