Feelin' Groovy

Slow down, you move too fast

Got to make the mornin' last

Just kickin' down the cobblestones

Lookin' for fun and feelin' groovy...

Earlier tonight I was tearing around the kitchen in my usual mad dash to get dinner - putting dishes away, feeding the dogs, preparing a marinade for the salmon, cleaning and chopping some carrots.  I was stymied by the lid on the Dijon mustard - despite my best efforts, I could not budge it. 

My husband, hearing the sound of my aggravated mutterings, got up from his "desk" at the dining room table, gently relieved me of the jar and popped the lid on the first try.

"If you'd just slow down a little bit things would work out better," he advised me.

I know he's right - and he certainly practices what he preaches, for he is a man who moves very slowly and deliberately through life.  His attention to detail is legend, and when he finally finishes a project it is perfect to every nuance.

Last week as we talked about writing in detail, several of you mentioned the necessity of "slowing down" in order to be aware and attuned to the details that make our writing come alive.  Brenda Ueland, one of my favorite "writers on writing," calls it "moodling - long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling, and puttering."  It is only through taking time to let the mind and spirit wander free that our imagination goes to work generating and gestating ideas.  Because it's not enough to just get an idea, is it?  The idea has to develop and grow, and actually turn into something that words can express.

How hard is it in your busy day to slow down?  We definitely "move too fast," don't we?  I can't remember a time in my life when I've even been in more of a hurry than I am these days.  Perhaps it's because there is genuinely more to do, or perhaps it's because I'm getting older and feeling the pull of life's time clock.  Whatever the reason,  I believe the pace of life is much too harried for most of us.  And it's a lifestyle that is not conducive to creativity.

"Our idea that we must be energetic and active is all wrong," Ueland continues.  "Presently your soul gets frightfully sterile and dry because you are so quick, snappy and efficient about doing one thing after another that you have not time for your own ideas to come in and develop and gently shine."  (If You Want To Write)

Interestingly enough, Ueland wrote those words in 1938.  So it isn't just a 21st century dilemma after all! 

The lyrics of Paul Simon's song have always made me smile, ever since I first heard them back in 1968 (or thereabouts). I think they perfectly describe the concept of "moodling"...tripping down a cobblestone road, looking for fun on an endless sunny morning...what could be more "groovy?" 

And what better way to let the imagination rejuvenate, so it can fill with wonderul ideas.

How about you?  Do you find yourself moving too fast through life?  What's your favorite way to moodle and make the mornin' last?   How does slowing down affect your creativity?

Ring Reminders

About three weeks ago, I went to visit my mother in law for what would turn out to be one of the last times.  She was slightly delirious, I think, and was twisiting her wedding ring around on her finger.  Sometime during the last year, her engagement ring had disappeared, which isn't an unusal occurrence in nursing homes I'm sure, but it saddened me nevertheless.   I didn't want her wedding ring to get  lost as well, so I took it off her finger and placed it on my own. I've been wearing it ever since.

Somehow, when I placed that small gold band on the middle finger of my right hand, it immediatly felt comfortable, settled, not the least bit foreign.  As a matter of fact, it felt odd that night when I took it off before bed, and I was anxious to put it back on the next day.  Every morning since then, I've put it on right after I put my own wedding ring on...it's already a practiced, habitual part of my morning routine.

When she died two weeks ago, I considered placing it back on her finger before she was cremated.  As we drove to the nursing home that morning, and then again to the funeral home that afternoon, I kept twisting it round and round on my own hand, trying to decide what to do.  But somehow, the thought of this little ring being destroyed pierced my heart- I felt as if I needed to keep wearing it, needed to keep it safe for at least the remainder of my lifetime. 

Today, I was cleaning out my kitchen sink, scrubbing some stains and then rinsing it with hot water.  The ring clattered a little bit on the stainless steel- the same sound I heard it make many times when she herself was rinsing out this very same sink, in this house which she built and where she spent most of her married life.  She always cooked Thanksgiving dinner here at our house...it was about the only meal she ever cooked for us, but it became a tradition and probably the one my son remembers most fondly.  After an absence of many years, today her ring was back cleaning that kitchen-a task she undertook with great pleasure. 

I don't know how long I'll wear this ring.  Sometimes I look at it and set arbitrary timetables in my mind - first I thought "until her ashes are buried," but that was done on Tuesday.  Perhaps until their wedding anniversary (November 21), or until her headstone is carved.  Maybe until her birthday (September 11) or her death day (September 13).

Maybe forever.

I realize that at this moment, I'm wearing three true "keepsake" diamonds...my own wedding ring, my mother's diamond engagement ring which (I've made into a pendant I wear around my neck) and my mother in law's tiny diamond encrusted wedding band.

They are all good reminders of the lives of women.

Even Keeled

As you might imagine, I've recovered from my "horrible, no good, very bad day."  (Remember that wonderful children's book by Judith Viorst, Alexander and the Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...and that marvelous tag line..."I think I'll move to Australia."  Love that :) At any rate, the past two very normal days have done wonders to restore my equilibrium.  And the weather here...well, no one could paint a more perfect picture of early autumn.  I must say, I have loved being a Michigander for the past four months.  If only the economy here were as glowing as the climate.

But no talk about depressing things like the economy (or teeth or gynelogical disorders). Instead, here are a few of the things that have improved my mood and my outlook on life:

• A stellar concert last night at the Detroit Symphony, featuring the orchestra's own principal french horn playing Gliere's Concerto, as well as a rousing Leonard Bernstein transcription, and a Sibelius symphony.  The DSO is such an exciting orchestra these days, with lots of new, young faces and good energy surrounding the appointment of Leonard Slatkin as music director.  It's extra fun for us, because we happen to be friends with another of the horn players, so we occasionally get to "hob nob" with the musicians and hang out around the back door.  In addition, Jim and I have both been involved with musical groups that performed as guests with the DSO at Orchestra Hall, and when you do that you get to sign your name on the wall backstage - yep, there's our signatures in black Sharpie, along with everyone from Vladimir Horowitz to Billy Joel.  Cool.
• Getting an email totally out of the blue from a high school friend whom I haven't heard from or seen in 27 years...she found me on Facebook. 
• Facebook is making me smile because I'm connecting with so many of my former high school students.  It's such fun to see where they are in their lives these days.
• And best of all, Brian and Nantana are coming on Wednesday night to spend a few days with us.  The prospect of seeing them always makes me feel better.

All in all, a much better day today.  

How about you? What's raising your spirits these days?

Uneasy

Yesterday was one of those insidiously awful days when everything that could go against me certainly did.  You've had days like that, I'm sure - when it seems the world is conspiring to defeat you and fate turns an angry eye upon you. The details of my undoing yesterday are less important than their cumulative effect, yet I feel compelled to share them with you as would any good soldier describing the forces of battle.  And sometimes, the relating of events helps diminish their importance, and I'm in hopes of shaking off yesterday's miasma so I can move forward into today with fresh focus.

Thursday began with both dogs being sick in the house, certainly not a good omen, and putting them into the yard created new problems since the grass was incredibly wet (as well as freshly cut) so they returned soaking wet and covered in grass clippings.

The clean up efforts put me behind schedule, and so I skip breakfast because I'm running late for my dentist appointment, a routine visit which I've had to postpone several times.  My hygenist barely says hello before she begins poking around my gums, calling out numbers in rapid fire to an assistant sitting out of my view.  "Two, two, three, four, four, five, SIX (I perceive her shaking her head in a "tsk tsk" sort of way), four, four, three, five, five, SIX..."

Apparently, the borderline gingivitis we discussed at my last visit has now become full blown periodontal disease, and she recommends doing a "deep cleaning with scaling and root planing," followed by injections of antibiotic.  Before I can say anything, off she goes, saying breezily "just let me get a print out of the treatment plan so we can see what your insurance will cover."

Three sheets of paper and a bottom line of $610 out of my pocket.  Well, so much for my idea about going away for the weekend next month.  And, since they could only do the top half of my mouth yesterday, now I have to go back next week, which disrupts my carefully planned schedule for "getting things done."

"Oh, and no eating or drinking for an hour," she tells me as I leave the office, the $300 credit card charge buring a hole in my pocket.  I look at my watch - 12:00.  My stomach rumbles angrily.

In my foolish efforts to be efficient and "get things done," I've made another appointment for today - my annual gynecology check up which is scheduled for 2:00.  I decide to go into my office, since it's about halfway between the two destinations, and I end up spending the next hour there, being productive enough that I feel some vindication for the morning which went so badly out of control.

Leaving the office with time to spare (although not quite enough time for lunch) I drive to the physician's office.   I have a new gynecologist, a young woman in a new practice whom I met for the first time a couple of months ago when I had some worrisome symptoms arise.  Luckily there was no waiting, and I was greeted warmly by staff and physician alike.  We reviewed the results of some tests I had done on that previous visit, and I was able to report there had been no reoccurrence of the previous problems.

"It's good you're here," she said.  "Since you've not had any more symptoms, we can do an endometrial biopsy today, and that way we can make sure there's nothing going on that the ultrasounds didn't pick up. "

"What does that involve?" I ask, sensing danger.

"We just go right through the cervix with a brush about this long," (holding her hands about a mile twelve inches apart).

Great.

By the time I leave the office, it's 3:00, I've been rudely invaded on both ends of my body, and have had no food all day.  People who know me will tell you that things get very ugly when I'm hungry.

I stopped for lunch, after which I felt better, well enough in fact to meander through the garden department of Home Depot and pick up some more plants for my burgeoning garden.  After stops at the veterinarian's to pick up some medication for the dogs and the library to drop off an audio book, I finally arrived at home (my safe haven!).  I was quite stern with myself, too.  I purposefully avoided the computer, the mail, and the telephone, poured myself a tall glass of water with lemon, and collapsed into my back porch chair, soaking in the restorative glow of afternoon sun.

There is a general unease about life lately.  Perhaps it's because we've experienced a death in the family, so I feel poised on a precipice of change.  Certainly the situation in the world contributes to it, the news awash with economic calamity.  I feel threatened, a bit paranoid even.  I found myself thinking the events at the dentist's office were (1) purely an attempt to gouge me for money; and/or (2) a way of punishing me for rescheduling my appointment three times and then being late.  I've never been one to see the world as "out to get me," and I don't at all like the feeling of impending doom which seems to invade my thoughts more and more each day.

At any rate, I feel exposed and in a dangerous situation, a feeling that has invaded my emotional world with the same shocking vengenace my body was treated to yesterday. 

I'd like to feel safe again, but I'm not sure how or when that will happen.

How about you?  How have your days been going lately?  How do you help yourself feel safe in a world gone mad?

Write On Wednesday -It's All in the Details

After serious upheaval in ones life, it's rather to surprising to realize that the course of daily living has returned to normal, the small things one does automatically each day have continued to be done, and in the doing have kept you steady and balanced.   This morning I awoke before the clock, and (with no small effort, I might add) extricated myself from between the two small furry bodies that had snuggled close to me sometime during the night.  I pulled on the thermal t-shirt I had been wearing last night when I walked the dogs, the nearest thing I could find to keep the chill from my shoulders since I haven't yet pulled my winter robe from the storage box in the basement closet.

Nine steps into the kitchen - the same nine steps I've trod every morning now for practically all of my adult life - and a flick of the light switch suddenly illuminates the room.  I take note of the fact that the kitchen is now dark when I wake, when just a few weeks ago the sun had risen before me and was already lighting my way into the morning.

I open the dishwasher, a movement which is slightly foreign to my repertoire because we had a new dishwasher installed a few weeks ago and my fingers are still primed to release the lever on the old one, rather than simply press into the center as is required by this new model.  Opening the door, I remove the coffee carafe from the bottom shelf, then the filter basket from the top.  I insert the basket into it's nest within the coffeemaker, and pinch a filter from the package within the cupboard, settling the thin brown paper firmly into place.

The sound of cold water pouring from the faucet jars me slightly, this first sound of the day today slightly angry it seems. It rattles into the glass carafe, and I transfer it with an even louder splash into the reservoir of the coffee maker.  In one deft movement, my left hand inserts the carafe into it's berth, while the right hand raises to the shelf above me and grasps the coffee container, a brightly painted ceramic Italian canister, with a miniature coffee cup perched on top of the lid.

Slipping the rubber band from the gold foil package tucked inside, I unroll the careful seal (Jim made coffee yesterday, and he always seals the package with an engineer's precision).  And then the best part, the smooth, invigorating aroma of the coffee, a scent heady enough that I feel my eyes open a little wider already even before one iota of the precious caffeine has slipped into my bloodstream.

I carefully measure out six (level, not heaping) scoopfuls, tipping each one into the filter basket.  With one finger touch, the lid drops down over the filter basket, and my right had inches the machine out of the way toward the back of the counter, while the left hand presses the "on" button.

And now I wait. 

I unload the dishwasher to pass those agonizing minutes until the coffee has brewed, or sometimes lean against the counter standing guard with my book in hand, listening to the steady stream of water now turned miraculously to coffee by the divine powers of Mr. Coffee himself.

As the cascade becomes a slow trickle and then the last precious drips, I reach for a cup, an important choice, for there are only three which will do for morning coffee.  Today I choose a small, white china mug, purchased from a dollar store in Orlando in 1999 when Jim and I rented a furnished apartment for a month and I discovered I couldn't drink from the heavy stoneware mugs that came with the place.

I pour. 

Taking up the cup, I first hold it to my face, inhaling the warmth and the richness of smell, almost able to taste this comforting cup before I've even put it to my lips.  And with the first sip, the culmination of the coffee making ritual, I feel all of my senses stir to life.

So begins the day.

A routine almost sacred in it's persistence which provides the transition from sleep to waking, allows me to cross the bridge from nightime to day and returns me to the world of the living from that mysterious, somnolent world of sleep.  All told it takes less than five minutes -but aren't the days filled with segments of routine and ritual exactly like this?  Things we do thoughtlessly that profoundly effect our mood.

It's all in the details.

Written for this week's Extra Credit Write On Wednesday.