"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone..." has been stuck in my head lately. We've been covered in clouds and fog for at least two weeks now - although, today, almost as if Mama Nature heard me bitching mightily yesterday about how sick I am of the rain and cold, the sun is poking through. (I like to imagine the sun as a person who is up there actually poking her fingers through these obstinate clouds. Determined.)
"Only clouds when she's away..."
I read this article on Saturday (sitting in a cafe in Sydney, drinking and eating and taking an hour to myself, which was just lovely) and it really struck a chord with me. I haven't been getting enough sleep. Worse, I really undervalue my sleep. I know it's really important, but for some reason everything else always seems more important. And that's not right.
Because the other stuff - going on Facebook and reading what "everyone else" is up to, or going on Pinterest and zoning out while scanning interesting photos, or even doing the dishes - really isn't worth skipping out on sleep. Precious sleep that helps my brain repair itself, my body clean out toxins, my sense of balance return.
This week I've been inspired, therefore, to shut the computer down at 9 pm. To sit and stare off into space. To go to bed at an earlier time, and to not worry about the stuff that does not get done. It's like I've just had it with being stressed about anything, and I just don't want to give stress free rent in my head anymore.
Maybe that's how the sun feels about the clouds.
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
still life
I mean, it's just SO rainbow!
It's like in "Under the Tuscan Sun" when the main character goes on a tour of Italy that's called "Gay and Away!".
Still life.
Taking time off. Breathing space. Being sick last week and HAVING to slow down showed me that-
-that's what I really want. Time to sit on the couch and forget that time exists. Not look at the clock for hours. Let the day just pass.
But it's so hard to do, to take that time when you're not sick. Why? All this rushing around, why do we do it? What are we so scared of? Scratch that - what am *I* so scared of?
I've also been feeling that the Internet and the world around is just so busy, so full, so loud. It's inspiring but it's also overwhelming. All these beautiful and wonderful images to check out! One leads to another to another... where do you stop? How do you decide when to log off?
Sometimes silence is the best new. The best change. (I find I want new and change so much - and that sometimes turning off the noise and turning off the images and just sitting in silence is the best shift. It feels like salt water on a hot day, or like drinking a mason jar of cool water when you're thirsty.)
Also I'm on Pinterest now. Check out my boards! It's really addictive and a lot of fun.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
the time I almost moved, then didn't
Well, I'm well-rested right now. I had a great night's sleep and the world feels like a solid place again. But that wasn't the case yesterday. I was exhausted.
All night, I'd lain in my bed, not sleeping, turning onto one side or the other, hoping that side would be the magic bullet that would help me turn my head off and go to sleep. It wouldn't, so I'd lie there trying to calm my breathing, then turn onto my other side. The anxiety was there the whole time - thoughts running through my brain. Fears. I'm going to move, and I'll lose all my money and be broke. How will I afford it? All my neighbours will watch my every move. I'll have no privacy in this small town. There are houses all around me. I won't be able to walk outside and just sit and look up at the stars. Or go outside wearing my bathrobe. Or or or...
And so on. Over and over, a cycle without end.
I'd been planning to move. I had an apartment lined up, accounts with the power and phone companies started, friends agreeing on a date to lend trucks and hands to move my furniture. It felt a bit sudden, but not, at the same time. This was an apartment I'd had my eye on for a year or so. The person living in it was having a house built, and these things take a while. The landlord got in touch a few weeks ago to tell me the tenant was moving out soon. I mulled it, I added and subtracted numbers on paper. I figured - I can do it. It'll be a bit tight, but I can do it. I've been wanting to move, so dammit, I will!
The emotions started coming right away. Guilt at leaving my family when we were all kind of getting used to living with each other, sadness at leaving my comfortable home - and my cats! Good lord, I was goig to miss my cats. The apartment wouldn't allow pets and anyway it wouldn't be fair to take a country, outdoor kitty and move her into town. When I wouldn't be home all day. Also, there was excitement - my own place! my own space! a bathtub! and nervousness.
And as it was when I was in university, the anxiety manifested at night. I'd lie down to go to sleep and couldn't. And of course, lying there, thinking: I can't sleep and ohmigod I'm going to be so tired tomorrow, I'll be tired at work, I'll lose my job - it feeds itself. It's hard to make it stop. Make the thoughts lie down, be peaceful.
I took some melatonin. It worked some nights. But I'd feel groggy the next day. And other nights it didn't work, and then I'd lie there terrified. I have no defense against this. Even the pills didn't work. I have to just lie here and take it.
Night before last was the worst. My world felt shrunken down, scary. I felt like I was losing it - tired and out of it. What if I lose my job because I'm too tired? What if I lose myself, again? There is nothing the doctors can really do besides prescribe medication. Not being able to sleep is not something they can operate on. It's entirely internal.
Finally the moment came when I admitted it to myself. This is too much. I'm so not willing to put myself through this. I value myself and my sanity more than showing other people I'm so-called "independent". I value my job too much to sabotage my health.
So, when the morning came, I made some phone calls. I admitted my anxiousness, made myself vulnerable. To my family, with whom I usually set strict boundaries so I don't feel so much like a kid, I admitted I was scared. They said they loved me and they would support me no matter what I did. "Welcome home," they said, though I hadn't packed a single box yet.
I made food that was exactly what I wanted to eat - a toasted cheese and cucumber sandwich. Later, a frozen chicken pot pie, baked and warm, with beet pickles. I took a long walk along a dirt road with freshly fallen snow, hands in my pockets. (I remember reading somewhere, some time ago, that if you walk with your hands in your pockets, it is because you are in a thoughtful mood.) I played card games with my brother, who was also home sick from work. We watched The Office, some of season three. I talked to some girlfriends, who told me, "This is a GOOD thing. You're listening to yourself. Respecting yourself."
Last night, I slept well. I sunk into sleep like a rock into water. And just two days later - two days that feel like they held a whole week - I'm back at work. Taking it one day, one breath at a time. Working on trusting life, trusting that it holds all kinds of good things, and that they'll come along as I'm ready for them.
All night, I'd lain in my bed, not sleeping, turning onto one side or the other, hoping that side would be the magic bullet that would help me turn my head off and go to sleep. It wouldn't, so I'd lie there trying to calm my breathing, then turn onto my other side. The anxiety was there the whole time - thoughts running through my brain. Fears. I'm going to move, and I'll lose all my money and be broke. How will I afford it? All my neighbours will watch my every move. I'll have no privacy in this small town. There are houses all around me. I won't be able to walk outside and just sit and look up at the stars. Or go outside wearing my bathrobe. Or or or...
And so on. Over and over, a cycle without end.
I'd been planning to move. I had an apartment lined up, accounts with the power and phone companies started, friends agreeing on a date to lend trucks and hands to move my furniture. It felt a bit sudden, but not, at the same time. This was an apartment I'd had my eye on for a year or so. The person living in it was having a house built, and these things take a while. The landlord got in touch a few weeks ago to tell me the tenant was moving out soon. I mulled it, I added and subtracted numbers on paper. I figured - I can do it. It'll be a bit tight, but I can do it. I've been wanting to move, so dammit, I will!
The emotions started coming right away. Guilt at leaving my family when we were all kind of getting used to living with each other, sadness at leaving my comfortable home - and my cats! Good lord, I was goig to miss my cats. The apartment wouldn't allow pets and anyway it wouldn't be fair to take a country, outdoor kitty and move her into town. When I wouldn't be home all day. Also, there was excitement - my own place! my own space! a bathtub! and nervousness.
And as it was when I was in university, the anxiety manifested at night. I'd lie down to go to sleep and couldn't. And of course, lying there, thinking: I can't sleep and ohmigod I'm going to be so tired tomorrow, I'll be tired at work, I'll lose my job - it feeds itself. It's hard to make it stop. Make the thoughts lie down, be peaceful.
I took some melatonin. It worked some nights. But I'd feel groggy the next day. And other nights it didn't work, and then I'd lie there terrified. I have no defense against this. Even the pills didn't work. I have to just lie here and take it.
Night before last was the worst. My world felt shrunken down, scary. I felt like I was losing it - tired and out of it. What if I lose my job because I'm too tired? What if I lose myself, again? There is nothing the doctors can really do besides prescribe medication. Not being able to sleep is not something they can operate on. It's entirely internal.
Finally the moment came when I admitted it to myself. This is too much. I'm so not willing to put myself through this. I value myself and my sanity more than showing other people I'm so-called "independent". I value my job too much to sabotage my health.
So, when the morning came, I made some phone calls. I admitted my anxiousness, made myself vulnerable. To my family, with whom I usually set strict boundaries so I don't feel so much like a kid, I admitted I was scared. They said they loved me and they would support me no matter what I did. "Welcome home," they said, though I hadn't packed a single box yet.
I made food that was exactly what I wanted to eat - a toasted cheese and cucumber sandwich. Later, a frozen chicken pot pie, baked and warm, with beet pickles. I took a long walk along a dirt road with freshly fallen snow, hands in my pockets. (I remember reading somewhere, some time ago, that if you walk with your hands in your pockets, it is because you are in a thoughtful mood.) I played card games with my brother, who was also home sick from work. We watched The Office, some of season three. I talked to some girlfriends, who told me, "This is a GOOD thing. You're listening to yourself. Respecting yourself."
Last night, I slept well. I sunk into sleep like a rock into water. And just two days later - two days that feel like they held a whole week - I'm back at work. Taking it one day, one breath at a time. Working on trusting life, trusting that it holds all kinds of good things, and that they'll come along as I'm ready for them.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
what yoga taught me, this week
Another rushed blog post in between work items. Writing and hoping nothing interrupts for the next ten minutes. And in that time, trying to get something resembling my thoughts on things - or some thing - for the last week, out into the Internet.
(Having to rush and blog from work like this is mostly because, at the end of my work day, I don't have much time at home. And I don't feel like hauling out my new laptop, which I don't really like using, and connecting to dial-up, another pain in the butt, and then sitting at my desk in the middle of the living room with a big pile of messiness all around, and writing. I'd rather - make my supper, and my lunch for the next day, and have a few minutes of downtime by myself, before going to bed at 9 pm like I've been doing lately, so that I can get enough sleep.)
Yoga started back up and at first I was hating it. Like, my brain was kicking and screaming as I'd get ready to go. I'd feel like I just barely made it through the hour session. Going into a pose and hating it every second, every breath. My legs and arms and torso feeling weak, and then berating myself for the weakness. My face warm and my body tired. I started to wonder what was so different from when I was taking yoga before the summer, when I was genuinely enjoying it, even the difficult poses.
But then last night I went and a few things were different. First, I didn't eat shortly beforehand. I'd eaten a late enough lunch that I was still mostly full from it, so I didn't have to grab a snack or meal before the class.
Second, I spent the time before yoga in my room, being quiet. Not rushing to do something, but just sitting on my bed. Writing in my journal. Petting my cat. Then I put on some new yoga pants that are more spandex-y than my old, cotton-y ones. And I played a song that gets me pumped up, and jumped around my room a little. "I'm going to kick butt," I thought. Then I remembered how Faye, the instructor, says to release all attachment with the outcome, and release all competition. "OK, so I'll kick my OWN butt. And if I don't, that's OK too."
I went. I don't know if it was the spandex-y pants, or the fact that we're a couple of weeks into it now and I'm getting stronger, or what, but I genuinely enjoyed the class again. I went into my breath and challenged myself, and instead of hating every second of it, I actually liked it. Well, maybe "like" is a strong word. But, I was getting something from it, instead of feeling like I was putting all my energy in, for nothing. And I could feel how my body has changed in the past two weeks. Going into "plank", I could feel my arms holding me up. Strong, sturdy, ABLE.
I feel like I have some challenges right now that are long-term challenges. Saving my money so I can move out, while feeling secure. (As opposed to moving out right-the-heck-now, like I sometimes want to, but being stressed about money.) Getting stronger through yoga and other exericise. Figuring out if I have a "next move" - like school, or a career, or what - and if so, what it is. These are things that take time to figure out, that take time to accomplish. And I'm impatient. I like instant gratification. I need some reinforcement each day, and sometimes you don't get that. Sometimes it feels like you're stuck, like you're just HERE, and you're not moving forward. Just holding a pose.
But if you breathe through it, you do get better at it.
(Having to rush and blog from work like this is mostly because, at the end of my work day, I don't have much time at home. And I don't feel like hauling out my new laptop, which I don't really like using, and connecting to dial-up, another pain in the butt, and then sitting at my desk in the middle of the living room with a big pile of messiness all around, and writing. I'd rather - make my supper, and my lunch for the next day, and have a few minutes of downtime by myself, before going to bed at 9 pm like I've been doing lately, so that I can get enough sleep.)
Yoga started back up and at first I was hating it. Like, my brain was kicking and screaming as I'd get ready to go. I'd feel like I just barely made it through the hour session. Going into a pose and hating it every second, every breath. My legs and arms and torso feeling weak, and then berating myself for the weakness. My face warm and my body tired. I started to wonder what was so different from when I was taking yoga before the summer, when I was genuinely enjoying it, even the difficult poses.
But then last night I went and a few things were different. First, I didn't eat shortly beforehand. I'd eaten a late enough lunch that I was still mostly full from it, so I didn't have to grab a snack or meal before the class.
Second, I spent the time before yoga in my room, being quiet. Not rushing to do something, but just sitting on my bed. Writing in my journal. Petting my cat. Then I put on some new yoga pants that are more spandex-y than my old, cotton-y ones. And I played a song that gets me pumped up, and jumped around my room a little. "I'm going to kick butt," I thought. Then I remembered how Faye, the instructor, says to release all attachment with the outcome, and release all competition. "OK, so I'll kick my OWN butt. And if I don't, that's OK too."
I went. I don't know if it was the spandex-y pants, or the fact that we're a couple of weeks into it now and I'm getting stronger, or what, but I genuinely enjoyed the class again. I went into my breath and challenged myself, and instead of hating every second of it, I actually liked it. Well, maybe "like" is a strong word. But, I was getting something from it, instead of feeling like I was putting all my energy in, for nothing. And I could feel how my body has changed in the past two weeks. Going into "plank", I could feel my arms holding me up. Strong, sturdy, ABLE.
I feel like I have some challenges right now that are long-term challenges. Saving my money so I can move out, while feeling secure. (As opposed to moving out right-the-heck-now, like I sometimes want to, but being stressed about money.) Getting stronger through yoga and other exericise. Figuring out if I have a "next move" - like school, or a career, or what - and if so, what it is. These are things that take time to figure out, that take time to accomplish. And I'm impatient. I like instant gratification. I need some reinforcement each day, and sometimes you don't get that. Sometimes it feels like you're stuck, like you're just HERE, and you're not moving forward. Just holding a pose.
But if you breathe through it, you do get better at it.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
enough.
When is enough, enough?
When do you decide, "OK, that's it. I have to change something"?
Last night I got home from work. I'd worked from 8 am to 5 pm at the marina, then from 6 pm to 8 pm at the library. I was tired. Beat out. I didn't feel quite IN my body, if that makes sense. I felt like my brain was both buzzing and revved, and at the same time aching for sleep.
I tried to do some relaxation. I had to make my lunch for the next day. I tried not to snap at my family. Knowing I had to get up the next day at 6 am and do it all over again was stressing me out. WHEN am I going to have time that's just mine, all mine? Do I really have to specifically take time off from work in order to have a break? That's foolish!
It was 10 pm. Suddenly it was 10 pm. The day had rushed by and now I was trying to relax enough to get some sleep. Actually, it was more like I knew I had to FIT IN sleep so I could be rested and wake up the next day and do more work. And the longer I stayed up thinking about it all, the less time I was actually sleeping. And the more tired I would be the next day - and in anticipation, my blood pressure rose a little more, a little more. AI AI AI!!
Out of curiosity I looked back in my dayplanner to find the day I resigned from the library job. August 24th. I counted forward, one - two - three - four - FIVE weeks ago. OK, that's enough.
I'm so done. Tomorrow, I'm letting them know. I don't care if I feel bad, that I'm leaving them in the lurch. I just can't do this anymore. Working two jobs is crazy, and I've definitely helped them out while they look for someone new. Five weeks. FIVE WEEKS. If the remaining staff has to take on extra shifts to cover it - oh my goodness, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but - THAT'S NOT MY PROBLEM.
I ended up getting to sleep. I woke up today, I made the necessary calls. I'm done, I'm done. Tonight is my last night at the library. It's coming two or three weeks earlier than I thought - so that's a bit odd. But, entirely OK.
As I shelve the books, as I chat with patrons using the computers, as I do the procedures I've been trained to do and can now do so quickly - I'm thinking, it's the last time, it's the last time.
Maybe I'll be sad later.
Right now, though, I'm just RELIEVED.
***
I took pictures of a dinner party I attended on Saturday, and that was my intended post for this week, so perhaps I'll get them done sometime this weekend. I think I've mentioned these feasts on here before - these are done by a local chef, there are six courses and it's all (mostly) local foods. And, each month is a different theme. You pay what you can (I usually pay $40, that seems to be the average). You can bring your own wine. You sit around a table with 14-18 other people, some of whom you know. It's a great time.
***
Isn't it odd, this practice of sharing one's personal life on the Internet? How do you decide what to put in, and what to leave out? What's the truth? What draws us to reading personal blogs, to learning all about people we may not ever meet?
I think about this, sometimes.
There are certain blogs that really inspire me, that are like reading a book, only every day or every few days you get a new chapter. Like a "serial" in a newspaper from long ago. These blogs - and the women who write them - have come to mean a lot to me. Their ideas and colors and creativity make me feel like my own day-to-day life means something too, like I can also be this creative and colorful and bold. I suppose that if this blog, and I, do that for at least a handful of people, then there's a reason for it existing.
Sometimes the thought of posting is stressful. ("What will I write about? But what if it's not perfect?") But I'm also still drawn to this form, to this blog. Very much so. This year, in December, will be the eighth year I've been writing this blog. Save for a month or so in 2007 when I was ill, I've posted pretty much every week, sometimes more often.
OK. This is where my steam is running out, for now.
That's ... enough.
When do you decide, "OK, that's it. I have to change something"?
Last night I got home from work. I'd worked from 8 am to 5 pm at the marina, then from 6 pm to 8 pm at the library. I was tired. Beat out. I didn't feel quite IN my body, if that makes sense. I felt like my brain was both buzzing and revved, and at the same time aching for sleep.
I tried to do some relaxation. I had to make my lunch for the next day. I tried not to snap at my family. Knowing I had to get up the next day at 6 am and do it all over again was stressing me out. WHEN am I going to have time that's just mine, all mine? Do I really have to specifically take time off from work in order to have a break? That's foolish!
It was 10 pm. Suddenly it was 10 pm. The day had rushed by and now I was trying to relax enough to get some sleep. Actually, it was more like I knew I had to FIT IN sleep so I could be rested and wake up the next day and do more work. And the longer I stayed up thinking about it all, the less time I was actually sleeping. And the more tired I would be the next day - and in anticipation, my blood pressure rose a little more, a little more. AI AI AI!!
Out of curiosity I looked back in my dayplanner to find the day I resigned from the library job. August 24th. I counted forward, one - two - three - four - FIVE weeks ago. OK, that's enough.
I'm so done. Tomorrow, I'm letting them know. I don't care if I feel bad, that I'm leaving them in the lurch. I just can't do this anymore. Working two jobs is crazy, and I've definitely helped them out while they look for someone new. Five weeks. FIVE WEEKS. If the remaining staff has to take on extra shifts to cover it - oh my goodness, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but - THAT'S NOT MY PROBLEM.
I ended up getting to sleep. I woke up today, I made the necessary calls. I'm done, I'm done. Tonight is my last night at the library. It's coming two or three weeks earlier than I thought - so that's a bit odd. But, entirely OK.
As I shelve the books, as I chat with patrons using the computers, as I do the procedures I've been trained to do and can now do so quickly - I'm thinking, it's the last time, it's the last time.
Maybe I'll be sad later.
Right now, though, I'm just RELIEVED.
***
I took pictures of a dinner party I attended on Saturday, and that was my intended post for this week, so perhaps I'll get them done sometime this weekend. I think I've mentioned these feasts on here before - these are done by a local chef, there are six courses and it's all (mostly) local foods. And, each month is a different theme. You pay what you can (I usually pay $40, that seems to be the average). You can bring your own wine. You sit around a table with 14-18 other people, some of whom you know. It's a great time.
***
Isn't it odd, this practice of sharing one's personal life on the Internet? How do you decide what to put in, and what to leave out? What's the truth? What draws us to reading personal blogs, to learning all about people we may not ever meet?
I think about this, sometimes.
There are certain blogs that really inspire me, that are like reading a book, only every day or every few days you get a new chapter. Like a "serial" in a newspaper from long ago. These blogs - and the women who write them - have come to mean a lot to me. Their ideas and colors and creativity make me feel like my own day-to-day life means something too, like I can also be this creative and colorful and bold. I suppose that if this blog, and I, do that for at least a handful of people, then there's a reason for it existing.
Sometimes the thought of posting is stressful. ("What will I write about? But what if it's not perfect?") But I'm also still drawn to this form, to this blog. Very much so. This year, in December, will be the eighth year I've been writing this blog. Save for a month or so in 2007 when I was ill, I've posted pretty much every week, sometimes more often.
OK. This is where my steam is running out, for now.
That's ... enough.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
the gift
So there I was, being glum and feeling sorry for myself.
The Fall is coming on. I'm losing my library job. (Although, I know, I'm the one who's resigning. But - still.) I'm gaining weight (and believe me, I hate admitting that this matters to me, but it does). I'm burnt out from a long summer of work. For these reasons and perhaps others I'll never really know, the critical voices in my head are strong right now, always there, always harping.
Not good enough, never will be. Not smart enough, not cool enough, not thin enough. Never will be, doomed to be this. Ugh.
On and on and on they go. Constantly with me, and this past month stronger than ever.
And I'm tired, really just POOPED right out, and so I listen, and I believe them. It just seems to HAPPEN - before I know it I'm listening and believing that shite. Letting it pile up on my shoulders, and carrying it around.
(Don't worry - I'm doing the right things. I'm going to see my counsellor again. I'm taking walks and swimming and doing what I can to get good sleep. I'm talking back to those voices and telling them to EFF RIGHT OFF. I'm aware of my risks of slipping into sadness again, and I'm doing the right things.)
I think part of it is, I have to understand and recognize and LIVE WITH the fact that: this is what it means to be human. Not everything is roses and light and magic and happiness. The "right things" only do so much. We fight off our own inner critical voice, all the time. We all do. Every single person I deal with every day has their own set of complications, their own patterns of speaking and thinking, an individual history of loves and losses and sadnesses and disappointments. Patterns of negative thinking they slip into. Moments of brightness, moments of amazement. It's not just me - it's all of us. It's part of being alive.
So - like I say - there I was, feeling a bit down, sorry for myself.
My two supervisors at the marina came up to me and said they wanted to tell me something. "OK," I said. sensing something was up.
"Well, we've been dying to tell you this, but we had to get it all together."
Apparently - an American sailboat that stayed at the marina this summer - or, I should say, the people who were on board - wrote to tell us that they liked my service SO MUCH that they wanted to give me something. My supervisors had been emailing back and forth all week with them to figure out what was appropriate - and with my office manager's input, they decided to help me get an eco-friendly yoga mat. (I'd researched them this summer, but never got one - a combination of the cost and just being too busy.) So they're sending up a Visa gift card so I can choose which one I want - or get whatever it is I would like, to the value of $150. One hundred and fifty dollars?!?! What the?!?
The kicker of it is: I do remember them, but I don't remember doing anything out of the ordinary for them. I remember being nice to them, as I am to all the customers, and welcoming them to Baddeck. But I honestly don't know what motivated them to do this. It's kind of overwhelming and amazing.
I guess it means - I'm good at what I do. But it's hard to reconcile this - which is such an amazing recognition, seemingly out of the blue - with my sense of myself, of my service at work. I mean, I feel I do a pretty good job. But this - this is like - 100%. A plus! YOU ROCK!
Maybe the universe decided I needed a kick in the pants. Maybe what you put out there DOES come back around to you. Maybe, maybe.
The Fall is coming on. I'm losing my library job. (Although, I know, I'm the one who's resigning. But - still.) I'm gaining weight (and believe me, I hate admitting that this matters to me, but it does). I'm burnt out from a long summer of work. For these reasons and perhaps others I'll never really know, the critical voices in my head are strong right now, always there, always harping.
Not good enough, never will be. Not smart enough, not cool enough, not thin enough. Never will be, doomed to be this. Ugh.
On and on and on they go. Constantly with me, and this past month stronger than ever.
And I'm tired, really just POOPED right out, and so I listen, and I believe them. It just seems to HAPPEN - before I know it I'm listening and believing that shite. Letting it pile up on my shoulders, and carrying it around.
(Don't worry - I'm doing the right things. I'm going to see my counsellor again. I'm taking walks and swimming and doing what I can to get good sleep. I'm talking back to those voices and telling them to EFF RIGHT OFF. I'm aware of my risks of slipping into sadness again, and I'm doing the right things.)
I think part of it is, I have to understand and recognize and LIVE WITH the fact that: this is what it means to be human. Not everything is roses and light and magic and happiness. The "right things" only do so much. We fight off our own inner critical voice, all the time. We all do. Every single person I deal with every day has their own set of complications, their own patterns of speaking and thinking, an individual history of loves and losses and sadnesses and disappointments. Patterns of negative thinking they slip into. Moments of brightness, moments of amazement. It's not just me - it's all of us. It's part of being alive.
So - like I say - there I was, feeling a bit down, sorry for myself.
My two supervisors at the marina came up to me and said they wanted to tell me something. "OK," I said. sensing something was up.
"Well, we've been dying to tell you this, but we had to get it all together."
Apparently - an American sailboat that stayed at the marina this summer - or, I should say, the people who were on board - wrote to tell us that they liked my service SO MUCH that they wanted to give me something. My supervisors had been emailing back and forth all week with them to figure out what was appropriate - and with my office manager's input, they decided to help me get an eco-friendly yoga mat. (I'd researched them this summer, but never got one - a combination of the cost and just being too busy.) So they're sending up a Visa gift card so I can choose which one I want - or get whatever it is I would like, to the value of $150. One hundred and fifty dollars?!?! What the?!?
The kicker of it is: I do remember them, but I don't remember doing anything out of the ordinary for them. I remember being nice to them, as I am to all the customers, and welcoming them to Baddeck. But I honestly don't know what motivated them to do this. It's kind of overwhelming and amazing.
I guess it means - I'm good at what I do. But it's hard to reconcile this - which is such an amazing recognition, seemingly out of the blue - with my sense of myself, of my service at work. I mean, I feel I do a pretty good job. But this - this is like - 100%. A plus! YOU ROCK!
Maybe the universe decided I needed a kick in the pants. Maybe what you put out there DOES come back around to you. Maybe, maybe.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
ah yes. autumn.
I'm SO ready for it. It's time.
The nights are cooling down. The tourists are ebbing. People talk of "back to school." (I kind of want to go school-supply shopping, even though I'm not going back to school. I just love - the aisles, the paper, the pens, the possibilities.)
I'm ready for this season more - it feels like - than ever before in my life. I feel like I'm flinging myself into it like you run into the water after lying on the beach and getting all hot. I'm ready for a quieting. Or maybe not a quieting but a CHANGING. Yes, that's it. Less hot + sticky chaos, more ordered, cooled-down chaos.
Less theoretically, more practically, this is what I've been doing in the spirit of Fall + time to myself + less chaos:
The nights are cooling down. The tourists are ebbing. People talk of "back to school." (I kind of want to go school-supply shopping, even though I'm not going back to school. I just love - the aisles, the paper, the pens, the possibilities.)
I'm ready for this season more - it feels like - than ever before in my life. I feel like I'm flinging myself into it like you run into the water after lying on the beach and getting all hot. I'm ready for a quieting. Or maybe not a quieting but a CHANGING. Yes, that's it. Less hot + sticky chaos, more ordered, cooled-down chaos.
Less theoretically, more practically, this is what I've been doing in the spirit of Fall + time to myself + less chaos:
- I've resigned from one of my two jobs. The library one, which was only a handful of hours per week. Yes, I loved working in a library. Yes, it felt like a dream come true. What was not a dream come true was feeling like I was working my butt off, my focus was split between two jobs, AND I wasn't even doing the job there as well as I wanted to be. They need someone who can make it their focus. (I'm not totally gone from the library yet - I'm staying on while they find my replacement. So, in another month or two I'll actually be done.)
- I'm planning a trip. A road trip to Newfoundland, where I've had two great road trips already in my life. This time I'm going to St John's, where a dear friend lives. I haven't seen her in far too long. I've never been to that city. My car needs an inaugural road trip that's actually off Cape Breton. It seems like a no-brainer.
- Admitting my limits and scheduling shorter work days. (Meaning, normal-person, eight or nine hour work days.) For a little while there I thought I was Superwoman, and I had all kinds of 12-hour days on my schedule. I thought, "Heck yeah, look how tough I am, I can take it." Then I started feeling angry all the time. And that made me realize how tired I was. It was hard to say NO to myself, because I'm the one who makes up the schedule at the marina, and to admit it to my superiors. Of course, they said, "OF COURSE you can't do all those twelve-hour days, no-one can! Of course it's going to drive you nutty!"
- I cleaned my room and made space for my art supplies. So now if I want to get something for making art, it's easily at hand, instead of having to dig through a crammed cardboard box that was all dusty. THIS FEELS REALLY GOOD. The day I finally could stay home and play my music and move my bedroom around in a way that made sense, that day was damn sweet.
It seems - it's about putting your time and energy where your mouth is. And it's about - going through the cycles. It's necessary to come to a burn-out space, so you can learn from it and make your way back from it.
Things aren't perfect, by any means - there are still many things I feel all frustrated and crammed up about, because I don't have the time or the money or both. Like gardening my butt off, like I would like to. Preserving foods for the Fall. Travelling ALL the trips I want to take and going to see ALL the long-lost far-flung people I'd like to see. (Grandmaman and Grandpapa and Grandpa, I'm thinking about you. Maile, you too. Ginger and Billy. My Halifax girls. The folks on the West Coast.)
And I still feel somewhat brain-dead and burnt out from the summer. Like a stunned bunny. Tired and forgetful and needing to be easy on myself.
BUT: Change it up. The seasons are doing it, why not you?
Thursday, August 5, 2010
my heart is my compass
I had a dream a few weeks ago - which could also have been two days ago, the way time is going around here - that I looked at myself in the mirror and I was naked. Between my breasts, over my heart, was a tattoo of a compass.(I also had long hair in the dream, which happens often. I'll dream that I still have my long, long hair, which I don't at all right now - it's quite short. Then I'm awake and I wish I could just press a button and have my long hair back! But alas - it takes a good two years to really get it long, and involves all those awkward in-between stages. Sigh.)
Anyway. The idea of my heart being my compass has been like a talisman for me lately. It's really hard to learn how to trust yourself - really trust yourself, know that you've got your own back. That you'll catch yourself if you fall. And to trust that your own heart, and all your own feelings and emotions, is the compass, is the only thing you really need as you're sailing around, living, being.
This photo is of a compass from the 30's. It was on a boat that visited Baddeck last month, a boat called the Daegmar Aaen, from Germany. (Originally from another Scandinavian country which I forget. Finland, perhaps? Sweden?) I was able to go aboard and visit with the sailors, who had been to the marina to use our showers and laundry room. The vessel is all made of wood, it was really something else. Beautiful, solid. They make trips to the Arctic for science, and they use this cool old compass to navigate. (As well as all kinds of new-fangled devices.)
This week has been full on NUTS. It's Regatta Week in Baddeck, and we decided to host a radio remote broadcast during it. Meaning, 94.9 The Cape came up from Sydney and from 10 am to 2 pm yesterday broadcast from our marina! I was on air and everything, doing little chats with the DJ. "Yes, Don, we've got lots of specials on for Regatta Week..." That sort of thing. It was actually really fun - I like being on air, and I think I've got a good voice for it. But it was also nerve-wracking, as at the same time the store was full of people and I had to keep my eye on that.
And so I realized last night that I've reached my limit - of things on my plate - and recognizing this is always hard. It always involves getting FRUSTRATED and sad and angry, and crying a bit. (Once I get home - so far I haven't cried at work, at least not in front of people.) It's a hard emotional "storm" to go through, but then once you do, and you go out the other side, you've learned a little more how to use that compass. So I suppose - it's worth it.
My heart is my compass. I shall not want?
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
and then I got a couch.
And stored it in the staffroom of the marina.
It's something like a hundred years old. It's made of solid wood. It might have once belonged to a hotel in Sydney. Friends who bought an old inn here in town and are turning it into a home gave it to me - just gave it away! I saw it and went, YES. Even though I don't have a place of my own right now, and even though I have to store it in the staffroom with a blanket over it to keep the dust off, this baby is MINE.
We brought it the kilometer or so to the marina in Monty's old truck, which is 1984 Ford Ranger, diesel, probably the loudest and most beat up old truck you can get away with driving. With this fabulous couch in the back. I felt like wearing a ball gown and sitting on it as we drove through the streets of Baddeck, waving at the passersby.
I want to dress up in a variety of cool outfits and take pictures of myself and friends sitting on it.
Isn't it just the best?
Other news: if I thought I was busy now, things are about to get even busier. July 1st is tomorrow and from then on, the marina is open from 8 until 8, all summer. That means some evening shifts for me, and more foot traffic through the store. But it's only for two months so BRING IT ON summer, let's make some money!
I'm still reading "The Time Traveler's Wife", which I'm mostly still in love with. I just wish I had more time to lie around and read.
I eat a lot of food out of my car. But, mostly it's home-made stuff. A lot of quinoa and salad-y type things. A lot of chocolate chips and fruit bars (that is actually a really good combination - and it's become my morning addiction).
I miss my camera. I took the shots of the couch with a camera that lives at work. Oh, well. Too much else to do and fuss with to bother about it.
I sailed a pram last week! The first time EVER. I got in a little boat that had only a mainsail and one sheet (rope) , and sailed it around and around the little harbour. Thinking, am I really doing this? Holy crap, I am doing this!
I saw Buffy Ste Marie LIVE! What a frigging rig she is. She's sassy and energetic and her voice makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. She sang "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee" and "Windigo" and a lot of other songs. I bought an orangey-red tee shirt with her name and picture on it. Thirty bucks but I'd like to think it was worth it. The concert itself was free so there you go. It was part of the Membertou 400 celebrations - the 400th anniversary of Chief Membertou's baptism.
The Baddeck Writers' Group had a meeting this week where we did writing exercises. It was SUCH a treat. So much fun. Pick a prompt randomly, then write for ten minutes. After the time is up, each person reads aloud what they wrote. You would not believe how cool and different each person's writing was, all based on the same thing. Wow. So cool, too, to just frigging DO IT ALREADY - write. Not talk about it, but do it. And holy cow, just like that, we were all WRITERS.
And now - time to eat some supper. And then take a walk by myself, so I can swat at flies and clear my head a little. Work is busy but I keep being surprised by how much I LOVE IT. I mean, by rights I shouldn't, right? But I do. It's kind of amazing. The people I work with are a good seventy-five percent of the equation, because they're all awesome. We have a lot of fun.
Still, I have to be careful not to give over too much of myself, of my time. I'm making sure I have two consecutive days off all summer, and that on those days, I do not plan to do anything. I do not make dates with anyone, except maybe my car and some beach somewhere. (An actual beach, not the racehorse.)
PS Thank you for your comments, if you commented last post. It was really great to be able to share photos with you all! To show little snapshots of what my life is like these days. To answer Laura's Q: I like the new Sade album somewhat. I really like some of the songs, and some of the others just haven't grabbed me yet. But then I haven't really been able to sit and give it my full attention. I figure at some point in the future, I will, and then it's going to open right up and let me in. At least, I hope so.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
this time I'm the time thief
It's Wednesday evening. I'm stealing a moment to post. That's how it feels these days to take time to do something like write a blog post or an email to a friend: stealing time.
I've got my money binder open on my desk/lap (my desk is rather small, one that someone gave me and I'm making do with), and piles of things all around me that don't feel like they're getting my full attention. Because, well, they're not. And I'm thinking, "I don't have time to write a well-thought out post! All I can really do is ramble for a few minutes and post it the night before!"
But, that just is what it is. "Just enough is plenty," right? I hope so.
I know that things are busy because I planned it that way - my schedule is filled with things that I put there. Which is good to remember sometimes. But I think that even if all I did was work one job, there would always be other things. There would be meals to make, family to be with, neighbours passing away (as one did this week). Food to grow or buy. And so on, and so on.
I've been thinking about multitasking. And the environment. And how we get so busy in our jobs and lives, and then have a consciousness moment where it's like, OH YEAH, holy crap, there is some serious shit going down in the world. And the two realities are side by side, just barely touching, but somehow not the same.
And that's where a lot of the anxiety comes from - from half the time feeling like the world is or could be seriously ending - or at least, you know, the world as I know it, as is hospitable to humans and to my culture - and the other half the time going about my business as if nothing has changed. I still drive a car. I still get stuff shipped to me from around the world. We're still going about our business as if nothing is wrong with the way we're doing things.
Yet some things are changing. And then - are they? It's hard to know - the world is a big place. There are a lot of people doing positive things out there, and there are also a lot of people NOT doing positive things. It really depends on what mood I'm in or on how much sleep I've had, how hopeful I feel.
Anyway. That's where my head's at right now. There and about sixty-two other places! Including but not limited to: all the day-to-day decision-making of work (which I usually forget about ten minutes later and have a hard time remembering - just what DID I do all day?), sailing lessons starting tomorrow, my writers' groups, yoga classes, et cetera. But - my family is now watching a movie and my "office" - the tiny desk and a few other desks and some makeshift shelves - is right behind the couch, and I get terribly distracted by movies playing right next to me. So I'll end it there for now.
Are you busy, like so busy you steal time? Or are you comfortably paced, and wondering what the fuss is all about?
PS STILL NO CAMERA! And that makes me a little bit pissed off. I called them today and asked them what the EFF was up. Well, I said it a lot nicer than that. Apparently the part is in, it's on the camera, I've been billed for it. It was supposed to get on the courier either Friday or Monday, and arrive Tuesday. Nada! So when I called they didn't know whether or not it had gotten on the courier. The girl who would know wasn't back from break, or something. They would call me back. And they didn't call me back.
Mind you, I know what that's like - at work, we're constantly getting calls. And most people have requests that they feel are super important, meanwhile, there are a bunch of things actually more important and ahead of them for attention. So, I'm pretty sympathetic. But still - I guess I was expecting a lot from a small, locally-owned business. And turns out - they're human too. Whaddaya know?
I've got my money binder open on my desk/lap (my desk is rather small, one that someone gave me and I'm making do with), and piles of things all around me that don't feel like they're getting my full attention. Because, well, they're not. And I'm thinking, "I don't have time to write a well-thought out post! All I can really do is ramble for a few minutes and post it the night before!"
But, that just is what it is. "Just enough is plenty," right? I hope so.
I know that things are busy because I planned it that way - my schedule is filled with things that I put there. Which is good to remember sometimes. But I think that even if all I did was work one job, there would always be other things. There would be meals to make, family to be with, neighbours passing away (as one did this week). Food to grow or buy. And so on, and so on.
I've been thinking about multitasking. And the environment. And how we get so busy in our jobs and lives, and then have a consciousness moment where it's like, OH YEAH, holy crap, there is some serious shit going down in the world. And the two realities are side by side, just barely touching, but somehow not the same.
And that's where a lot of the anxiety comes from - from half the time feeling like the world is or could be seriously ending - or at least, you know, the world as I know it, as is hospitable to humans and to my culture - and the other half the time going about my business as if nothing has changed. I still drive a car. I still get stuff shipped to me from around the world. We're still going about our business as if nothing is wrong with the way we're doing things.
Yet some things are changing. And then - are they? It's hard to know - the world is a big place. There are a lot of people doing positive things out there, and there are also a lot of people NOT doing positive things. It really depends on what mood I'm in or on how much sleep I've had, how hopeful I feel.
Anyway. That's where my head's at right now. There and about sixty-two other places! Including but not limited to: all the day-to-day decision-making of work (which I usually forget about ten minutes later and have a hard time remembering - just what DID I do all day?), sailing lessons starting tomorrow, my writers' groups, yoga classes, et cetera. But - my family is now watching a movie and my "office" - the tiny desk and a few other desks and some makeshift shelves - is right behind the couch, and I get terribly distracted by movies playing right next to me. So I'll end it there for now.
Are you busy, like so busy you steal time? Or are you comfortably paced, and wondering what the fuss is all about?
PS STILL NO CAMERA! And that makes me a little bit pissed off. I called them today and asked them what the EFF was up. Well, I said it a lot nicer than that. Apparently the part is in, it's on the camera, I've been billed for it. It was supposed to get on the courier either Friday or Monday, and arrive Tuesday. Nada! So when I called they didn't know whether or not it had gotten on the courier. The girl who would know wasn't back from break, or something. They would call me back. And they didn't call me back.
Mind you, I know what that's like - at work, we're constantly getting calls. And most people have requests that they feel are super important, meanwhile, there are a bunch of things actually more important and ahead of them for attention. So, I'm pretty sympathetic. But still - I guess I was expecting a lot from a small, locally-owned business. And turns out - they're human too. Whaddaya know?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
So it basically always comes back to this.There is too much to do in life. But in a good way. Like, there are too many places in the world I want to visit - Tahiti, Antarctica, Sicily, Newfoundland - than I will ever have time for. (Although it's likely I can make Newfoundland again in this lifetime, since it's only a ferry ride away.)
There are too many books to read. Too many musicians to fall in love with and listen to and have their music imbue a part of my life. Too many recipes to cook, creative projects to start and follow through, too many blogs to read. (Oh, WAY too many blogs to read.)
(Too many carpets to vacuum, dishes to do, meals to cook, laundry loads to do, garden beds to ready, gas tanks to fill, errands to run, et cetera...)
Life has been stressful. At least, yesterday was. I found myself feeling really f-ing stressed at work, and really, over nothing. I mean, there were lots of somethings - lots of little somethings all coming at me at once - and that's what gets stressful, when you have to constantly be reorganizing your brain as to what's priority. When they ALL feel like they're the priority? Like, they ALL need to be done right-the-fuck-NOW? That's stressful.
I did my best. I don't think anyone there knew how stressed I was feeling, because I kept on smiling and giving out happiness to anyone who came through the door. Acting laid back and cool. Inside my head, though, it felt like my brain was going "OK hold the fuck on here people - how on earth do you expect me to remember ALL THIS?!? And do it RIGHT NOW?? I think I'm going to go on strike until you get things UNDER CONTROL." And then it started turning to mush.
I left work and wasn't sure if I needed to cry or stare into space for a full hour or WHAT. I drove to the Co-Op (my town's grocery store) and sat in the parking lot, waiting for my brother to be done work. I took off my sneakers and realized that that morning (which at that point felt like it might have been a few days ago) I had been smart and put my sandals in the car. The day had ended up warming up and so my now-bare feet had something to drive home in, something that wasn't sweaty sneakers. A bit of relief.
I ended up going to the pool. I went home to change clothes, drop off my brother, and get a bit of food, enough to tide me over. I didn't interact very much with either Mum or Mat, which might make them upset ("She's always so grumpy, she never interacts with us!") but oh well. My brain was in rapid shut-down mode. I needed to get the heck away from anything resembling responsibility.
So, the pool. It was everything I wanted it to be, and more. It was all-by-myself, floating, swimming, pushing and pushing at the water, doing laps and kind of not even realizing where I was until I forced myself to think, "Here I am, notice it." My body just wanting to move, move, move, move. Not stop, not stop. Push it all out. Go, go, swim, swim, SWIM. Be alone, process the day and all that happened, come to conclusions. Take all the pieces out, lay them on the mental "floor" and sort them.
TIME and SPACE to BREATHE.
Really, forgive the caps, but I'm taking a page out of Kal's book on this one. Sometimes words need to be emphasized.
Now here it is, the next day. Morning time. 7 am, and I'm about to go get ready and be off to work, to another work day. I've slept, a nice huge load of sleep. (I went to bed at - no kidding - 9:30. It felt really, really good.) I'm feeling - better. I've remembered that not everything has to get done. That yeah, there ARE more things to do in life than will ever, ever get done, so back off a little. Pull back in a little. Look at what is healthy for you, for your schedule. Cut out what you just plain old don't have time for. And realize, remember, put it in writing if you need to: THAT'S OK.
(Part of me feels like, "Man, all I ever write about these days on my blog is time management and stress." But that's what I'm thinking about these days, and since a blog really is just about the writer's head and heart and life, then that's what we get.)
Here's a random thought to end things with. Something I've been thinking lately. You know what's neat about spring? You don't have to do anything and it still happens. You really don't have to do a damn thing, and the trees will still come out of dead-mode and bear leaves. And then those leaves will grow, unfurling like miniature, damp-green sails from every point of what were just dead-looking sticks. It's truly amazing, and no photograph could capture this ever-startling CHANGE.
Oh and on the subject of photographs: I'm still waiting on my camera. That picture above is from May 9th of last year. Oh, well. Soon, soon. (OH God I miss my camera! It's like someone took away paper and pencil and I haven't been able to WRITE. Well, maybe not quite that bad. But close.)
Thursday, May 20, 2010
kitchen party
Last night I was thinking about Otis Redding. I was also listening to him, to his music, coming out of my brother's mp3 player and my speakers. Otis Redding is damn good kitchen music, you know that?
I was cooking. Supper for my brother and I, and lunch for the next day, also for the two of us. It's easier that way, actually, to cook enough that you can share it, and then eat it again the next day. I was having a little kitchen party, Otis Redding, the onions, and me.
Food is where I can let go of the stress of the day. At least, when I remember that it can be that way, and not get stressed about the fact that I just got home from a FULL day of work, and I really don't want to cook. When I remember that I can turn on some really amazing soul music, have the kitchen to myself, and slice slowly. Dance around. Let my mind wander.
These days are the kind where there actually IS more planned than you can actually do - and you kind of go from one thought/planned thing/thing you want to do, to the next, optimistically thinking "oh that will get done" and at the same time thinking "how on earth is that going to get done?"
Then back to cooking - slicing the onions, in delicate yet strong rounds, rings, cooking in olive oil, then adding cabbage. Red peppers from the freezer, the color a punch in the face. The whole thing reassuringly hissing, sizzling, letting off steam in the cast-iron pan.
This is going to be or already is a stream- of-consciousness post - kind of the way life is right now. Writing down what comes into my mind as it comes. Dressing it up slightly, after the fact. Presenting it on a plate, to you.
These days (this past week, this past month, yesterday) I have an overstimulated mind but I'm also kind of liking that, maybe addicted to it? I woke up last night a few times, my brain a frenzy from thoughts about work - where I will put the Viking coats we just ordered, what I might do with the quarterly newsletter I've taken on writing for the company, and also picking my nose in my sleep. Picking my nose is how I relax - and I woke up doing it! WTF?!
(Funnily enough - these dreams were not STRESSFUL so much as just constant. I used to have dreams when I waitressed, and those dreams were hella stressful. I would be half-naked and having to serve people. Not good. No, these dreams are more like my brain is going, Well, we still have stuff to do, so we're going to do it while you're sleeping, ummkay?)
Fertility and creativity - big time right now - that sense of overabundance, that there are more impulses and possibles than you have room in the garden bed for. Every plant eventually dies - and to have a productive garden you have to weed.
Maybe it's the Internet's fault - everything is just a click away - or so it feels. We click on something and if it doesn't instantly appear we get frustrated. "GAH! This link is taking TEN SECONDS to load. My life is wasting away!"
Do you ever notice holding your breath when you're online? Or breathing shallow?
The thing is, I'm not sure how to overcome this. Except for the obvious, hard, slow way of trying to be aware of it, trying to take deep breaths, trying to look away from the screen every now and then and focus on something else.
Perhaps all of this is to say that anyone who thinks life in Cape Breton for a young person is slow, boring, devoid of stuff, is DEAD WRONG. There is so much to do here and be done that I honestly wish there were two of me. Or five.
Let me clarify, too, about STRESS. I don't actually feel awful, for the large majority of the time. What's at my core is calm, is peace, is happiness and excitement about my life and where it's going, both at the micro level (today, tomorrow) and the macro (next month, next year). And I'm pretty amazed at that. It's like I dug a little bit at the topsoil on my lawn and found a solid vein of gold.
When I'm talking about stress, at least in this post, what I mean are the logistics of fitting it all in, or at least as much of "it" as I can. Activities, work, sleep, seeing friends, my extracurriculars, all of that. Trying to be conscious of each moment as it comes and passes - and not living all the time in my head, in my dayplanner's version of the future.
Creativity is an amazing thing. I suppose I could also say LIVING is an amazing thing. And both are equally hard to stay in the moment with.
Also - I went to my first-ever yoga class, and LOVED it. I'll be going back, for sure.
That's all for now. Now I must dress and be off to work. And another day. Moment by moment. Right, Otis?
I was cooking. Supper for my brother and I, and lunch for the next day, also for the two of us. It's easier that way, actually, to cook enough that you can share it, and then eat it again the next day. I was having a little kitchen party, Otis Redding, the onions, and me.
Food is where I can let go of the stress of the day. At least, when I remember that it can be that way, and not get stressed about the fact that I just got home from a FULL day of work, and I really don't want to cook. When I remember that I can turn on some really amazing soul music, have the kitchen to myself, and slice slowly. Dance around. Let my mind wander.
These days are the kind where there actually IS more planned than you can actually do - and you kind of go from one thought/planned thing/thing you want to do, to the next, optimistically thinking "oh that will get done" and at the same time thinking "how on earth is that going to get done?"
Then back to cooking - slicing the onions, in delicate yet strong rounds, rings, cooking in olive oil, then adding cabbage. Red peppers from the freezer, the color a punch in the face. The whole thing reassuringly hissing, sizzling, letting off steam in the cast-iron pan.
This is going to be or already is a stream- of-consciousness post - kind of the way life is right now. Writing down what comes into my mind as it comes. Dressing it up slightly, after the fact. Presenting it on a plate, to you.
These days (this past week, this past month, yesterday) I have an overstimulated mind but I'm also kind of liking that, maybe addicted to it? I woke up last night a few times, my brain a frenzy from thoughts about work - where I will put the Viking coats we just ordered, what I might do with the quarterly newsletter I've taken on writing for the company, and also picking my nose in my sleep. Picking my nose is how I relax - and I woke up doing it! WTF?!
(Funnily enough - these dreams were not STRESSFUL so much as just constant. I used to have dreams when I waitressed, and those dreams were hella stressful. I would be half-naked and having to serve people. Not good. No, these dreams are more like my brain is going, Well, we still have stuff to do, so we're going to do it while you're sleeping, ummkay?)
Fertility and creativity - big time right now - that sense of overabundance, that there are more impulses and possibles than you have room in the garden bed for. Every plant eventually dies - and to have a productive garden you have to weed.
Maybe it's the Internet's fault - everything is just a click away - or so it feels. We click on something and if it doesn't instantly appear we get frustrated. "GAH! This link is taking TEN SECONDS to load. My life is wasting away!"
Do you ever notice holding your breath when you're online? Or breathing shallow?
The thing is, I'm not sure how to overcome this. Except for the obvious, hard, slow way of trying to be aware of it, trying to take deep breaths, trying to look away from the screen every now and then and focus on something else.
Perhaps all of this is to say that anyone who thinks life in Cape Breton for a young person is slow, boring, devoid of stuff, is DEAD WRONG. There is so much to do here and be done that I honestly wish there were two of me. Or five.
Let me clarify, too, about STRESS. I don't actually feel awful, for the large majority of the time. What's at my core is calm, is peace, is happiness and excitement about my life and where it's going, both at the micro level (today, tomorrow) and the macro (next month, next year). And I'm pretty amazed at that. It's like I dug a little bit at the topsoil on my lawn and found a solid vein of gold.
When I'm talking about stress, at least in this post, what I mean are the logistics of fitting it all in, or at least as much of "it" as I can. Activities, work, sleep, seeing friends, my extracurriculars, all of that. Trying to be conscious of each moment as it comes and passes - and not living all the time in my head, in my dayplanner's version of the future.
Creativity is an amazing thing. I suppose I could also say LIVING is an amazing thing. And both are equally hard to stay in the moment with.
Also - I went to my first-ever yoga class, and LOVED it. I'll be going back, for sure.
That's all for now. Now I must dress and be off to work. And another day. Moment by moment. Right, Otis?
Thursday, November 26, 2009
why did the chicken get into bed?
Happy little treats. They are so important to a person's sanity. This week, I went to a stationery and office supplies store in North Sydney, Buffett's. I love roaming the aisles at Buffett's, partly because it's a small store (ahem, STAPLES it is not) and the aisles are close together, and you can still talk to the person at the front of the store when you're at the back. Also because of all the cool office supplies and stationery supplies you can look at while you're taking your time looking around.
I bought these for myself as a treat. I've always wanted to have some. I have a few ideas of what to use them for (Christmas card tags? jazzing up envelopes?) but I don't actually need them. I just really like them.
Also making the "awesome" list this week are these sheets. As in, "Are you chicken-sheet?" Anything that makes a pun and makes me comfortable at the same time wins my vote. And these are "more flannel than flannel," as I said to someone yesterday. They are intensely flannel, so comfy and soft that I want to lay in them all day. And, they have these awesome look-like-hand-painted-but-probably-aren't chickens on them! I have never seen any cooler sheets.
I'm having one of those weeks where it feels like every square inch of space is planned out, scheduled. It's my own fault - I'm far too zealous when it comes to my spare time, giving it away. I've had to simplify a bit - what is it I can let go of? Where can I free up time, and make it so that I have unplanned time that is just mine? It's a necessary thing, free time.
But, these little things - shipping tags and flannel chicken sheets - are making even the stressful times better.
What are you treating yourself to this week?
I bought these for myself as a treat. I've always wanted to have some. I have a few ideas of what to use them for (Christmas card tags? jazzing up envelopes?) but I don't actually need them. I just really like them.
Also making the "awesome" list this week are these sheets. As in, "Are you chicken-sheet?" Anything that makes a pun and makes me comfortable at the same time wins my vote. And these are "more flannel than flannel," as I said to someone yesterday. They are intensely flannel, so comfy and soft that I want to lay in them all day. And, they have these awesome look-like-hand-painted-but-probably-aren't chickens on them! I have never seen any cooler sheets.
I'm having one of those weeks where it feels like every square inch of space is planned out, scheduled. It's my own fault - I'm far too zealous when it comes to my spare time, giving it away. I've had to simplify a bit - what is it I can let go of? Where can I free up time, and make it so that I have unplanned time that is just mine? It's a necessary thing, free time.But, these little things - shipping tags and flannel chicken sheets - are making even the stressful times better.
What are you treating yourself to this week?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
the busy
Another busy week. It's funny how "busy" is both a cross to bear and a badge of honor. We are busy women, therefore we have a right to be here. I am busy, hear me roar! I am so busy, busy busy busy. I am needed by all these projects, therefore I am needed, therefore I am worthy.
I'm not suggesting that we're making all this busy-ness up. I know that especially for those with kids, it's how life is and you just swim with the current and struggle to keep up with it all. I know for those of us without kids, it can still get pretty damn busy. Some of us are students, thrashing around with our theses, trying to pin them to the ground. Some of us have jobs that keep us challenged and running from one project to the next. Some of us, on top of our jobs or maybe until the next job comes, have other projects taking up our time.
I was sick last week. I got a cold - and I nipped it in its bud. I kept it at a low level by lying low, resting and drinking herb teas. Now I'm back to work. My throat is still tender and I still cough at the itch every few minutes. Part of the reason why I went back to work was that I was needed - but part of the reason was that I needed it. I didn't like being at home, half-able to do stuff and half not. My house is beautiful and my bed and couch are comfy - but - I like who I am when I'm dressed in "office casual" and at the library, doing one of my two jobs.
Waves come onto the shore in cycles. I learned this last summer when I visited friends who live literally right on the beach, their house a scanty twenty feet from the Atlantic Ocean. You have to know waves to surf them, and you have to know waves to be safe from them when the ocean is stormy. Apparently waves come in sets of six or so. Six little ones. Then six bigger ones. Then six little ones. Then six even bigger ones. And back and forth, going to really big and then back to really little. So if you see five little waves and you think, "Oh, this is safe, I can stand really close to these waves," be careful because the next set is apt to be a big one.
The reason for this rambling about waves is I've been thinking about lessons. How we learn lessons. We tend to think that we learn the same damn lessons over and over and over. But maybe each little lesson that we learn - each time - is just a wave in a bigger cycle. A little wave making up a bigger set, a longer pattern.
When I was sick last week, I learned (yet again) about slowing down. I learned, yet again, that you CAN slow down. That when you do stop something, when you do say "No, I can't work today," and stay home, the world keeps spinning on its axis. The sun still moves through the sky. People elsewhere still go about their own daily lives. Lots of nonsense and some good stuff still gets published on the Internet (whether you're there to read it or not). You breathe. In and out. You keep breathing. You rest.
Going back into it, into my schedule, into my "life" (as though my scheduled events are all that keep me together, are all that make ME), I'm trying to remember to breathe and take it all with a relaxed attitude. Yes, I could take the crammed book deposit box with all the books to be discharged as a stressful thing, along with the people who come in and need my attention, et cetera. Or, I could do the book discharging in as relaxed a way as possible, remembering to breathe, remembering to sit up straight, remembering to take a second here and there and zone out entirely. Because if I can't do the perfectly normal tasks of my job and my life in a relaxed way? I don't want to be doing them.
I learned, yet again, that it's not worth it to me to live in a rushed way. But what I realized a second after that is what's harder to put into practice. That: it is up to ME to then slow things down. To take those seconds to stare off into space, and not punish myself for it. To literally put brakes on myself - and apply them. Meaning - when I'm rushing from one thing to the next, I have to notice it, then pull at myself as you would at a wayward horse or a runaway car - put the brakes on. Slow it down.
Why run when you can walk?
I'm not suggesting that we're making all this busy-ness up. I know that especially for those with kids, it's how life is and you just swim with the current and struggle to keep up with it all. I know for those of us without kids, it can still get pretty damn busy. Some of us are students, thrashing around with our theses, trying to pin them to the ground. Some of us have jobs that keep us challenged and running from one project to the next. Some of us, on top of our jobs or maybe until the next job comes, have other projects taking up our time.
I was sick last week. I got a cold - and I nipped it in its bud. I kept it at a low level by lying low, resting and drinking herb teas. Now I'm back to work. My throat is still tender and I still cough at the itch every few minutes. Part of the reason why I went back to work was that I was needed - but part of the reason was that I needed it. I didn't like being at home, half-able to do stuff and half not. My house is beautiful and my bed and couch are comfy - but - I like who I am when I'm dressed in "office casual" and at the library, doing one of my two jobs.
Waves come onto the shore in cycles. I learned this last summer when I visited friends who live literally right on the beach, their house a scanty twenty feet from the Atlantic Ocean. You have to know waves to surf them, and you have to know waves to be safe from them when the ocean is stormy. Apparently waves come in sets of six or so. Six little ones. Then six bigger ones. Then six little ones. Then six even bigger ones. And back and forth, going to really big and then back to really little. So if you see five little waves and you think, "Oh, this is safe, I can stand really close to these waves," be careful because the next set is apt to be a big one.
The reason for this rambling about waves is I've been thinking about lessons. How we learn lessons. We tend to think that we learn the same damn lessons over and over and over. But maybe each little lesson that we learn - each time - is just a wave in a bigger cycle. A little wave making up a bigger set, a longer pattern.
When I was sick last week, I learned (yet again) about slowing down. I learned, yet again, that you CAN slow down. That when you do stop something, when you do say "No, I can't work today," and stay home, the world keeps spinning on its axis. The sun still moves through the sky. People elsewhere still go about their own daily lives. Lots of nonsense and some good stuff still gets published on the Internet (whether you're there to read it or not). You breathe. In and out. You keep breathing. You rest.
Going back into it, into my schedule, into my "life" (as though my scheduled events are all that keep me together, are all that make ME), I'm trying to remember to breathe and take it all with a relaxed attitude. Yes, I could take the crammed book deposit box with all the books to be discharged as a stressful thing, along with the people who come in and need my attention, et cetera. Or, I could do the book discharging in as relaxed a way as possible, remembering to breathe, remembering to sit up straight, remembering to take a second here and there and zone out entirely. Because if I can't do the perfectly normal tasks of my job and my life in a relaxed way? I don't want to be doing them.
I learned, yet again, that it's not worth it to me to live in a rushed way. But what I realized a second after that is what's harder to put into practice. That: it is up to ME to then slow things down. To take those seconds to stare off into space, and not punish myself for it. To literally put brakes on myself - and apply them. Meaning - when I'm rushing from one thing to the next, I have to notice it, then pull at myself as you would at a wayward horse or a runaway car - put the brakes on. Slow it down.
Why run when you can walk?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
hey, it's OK...
In Glamour magazine, there is a page called the "Hey, it's OK" page. I don't buy Glamour anymore, for reasons both economical and social, but I do still have a few of these pages, ripped from Glamour, tacked up on my wall. And I've added to them, too - in blue ballpoint pen I've written in my own things that it's OK to have, do or be.
I like the idea of a list like this. It runs in the same vein as the phrase "Just enough is plenty," which I wrote about a few weeks ago, and which my cousin Maile was inspired by. The idea these two phrases share is that you don't need to be Super You in order to have a healthy and happy life. "Just enough" of something is just that, enough. And therefore, plenty. All you need.
Where "hey, it's OK..." comes in is as a reminder, and as a list we can post on our actual walls, or just carry around in our heads. We then apply the phrase to whatever it is that's flying around us like a pesky horsefly, wanting to land and bite us with guilt. "You're not sexy enough! You're not thin enough! You don't have all of this [whatever your project might be] under control! Everything is chaotic! Why even start that when you know you won't finish it perfectly?" Et cetera, ad nauseum.
Here is the list I have posted on my wall. It's from the May 2008 Glamour. What I've added in blue pen to the real list, I've added here in blue too.
After you read it, tell me your additions to the list. They don't have to be witty, they just have to be true.
Hey, it's OK...
...to cancel things.
...to have a strict no-bed-making policy on weekends. And no socializing, if that's how you feel.
...if you've never quite figured out what to do with the back of your hair. Or the front!
...to ask for whatever it is - an intern, an appliance, a third shot in your cappuccino - that helps you get the job done.
...if you're happy to have sex on the beach, provided it's actually on a bed in a room in a house that's on the beach.
...to buy $200 shoes but hoard Splenda packets from Starbucks.
...if you just don't get the appeal of techno and some indie music.
...to make your guy see the Sex and the City movie with you. Consider if payback for Rambo.
...if you're not especially interested in finding yourself. (Some days of the week.)
...TO SAY NO.
***
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
it is not easy
In my last post I was talking a little bit about wanting to slow one's life down. And I've been thinking that an important part of that process is letting go. I'm learning how to let go, and I think I'll still be learning how to let go when I'm eighty-five! It's a life-long thing. It's like exercise. You don't jog once and then decide you're fit and you never have to jog again. It's a practice.So how does one practice letting go? And what are we letting go of?
I practice letting go of my need to control things. I practice letting go of my fears and anxieties. To do this, in my mind or out loud, I repeat the phrases "Let it be," and "Let go, let God."
(If you don't like to use the word "God," then don't use it. Replace it with "fate" or "the yet-unknown future" or whatever suits you. I've only recently started using the word "God" to address the Being that I can feel is there. I'm not going to get into a religious/faith debate here, but suffice it to say that I have been atheistic, and I've been agnostic, and I definitely understand both those positions. And while I do have faith now, I'm not a born-again Christian or anything, and the last thing I want to do is push my beliefs on anyone. There. That's all I'm going to say about that, for now.)
"Let it be."
"Let go, let God."
These phrases remind me that whatever is to come, is out of my hands. When we want to slow our lives down, the main opposition actually comes from ourselves - from the way we've behaved all our lives. Our own habits are really hard to break, especially when they don't feel like habits, but like 'just-the-way-it-is'! And one of my main habits, a way-of-behaving-so-far, has been to tell myself that I can control what's to come. But not only is that not true, but it's just going to get me all stressed out!
So when you start feeling tense and crazy, thinking of what's to come, of all the things you've got to get done this week, try one of those phrases. Letting something be is pretty easy, really - you don't have to do a thing! You just let it be what it is, what it has been all along. Let go, and let God, or randomness, take care of tomorrow's business. You can't control it from here, anyway.
We also have to let go of a certain number of items on the To-Do list. If we are serious about slowing down our lives and spending time doing things that are important to us, that means taking time away from other things. So there are things that won't get done, and we need to let go of them. Maybe I won't actually get to volunteer at the different events I want to, and maybe I won't get to socialize with all the people I've made tentative plans with. I won't get to read all the blogs that interest me, or comment meaningfully at each. I won't be able to clean the house every time a part of it gets a little dirty. (You get the idea.)
Each time I feel pent up and anxious thinking of something that won't get done, that's when I practice letting go. I tell myself to take a step back, then to take a deep breath, deep from in my belly. I tell myself to feel the anxiety, and usually, when I let the anxiety just be itself, the tension melts.
And sometimes letting go is as easy as opening a fist. Other times it's really hard. But each time I face that moment where I know I must let go, it's practice. And that moment, that's where you learn, and that's how you slow things down.
***
In my counsellor's waiting room there is a small, wooden plaque. The last time I was there I wrote down what it says, to share it here. I like it a lot.
Here it is:
it is not easy...
to apologize,
to begin over,
to be unselfish,
to take advice,
to admit error,
to face a sneer,
to be charitable,
to keep trying,
to be considerate,
to avoid mistakes,
to endure success,
to profit by mistakes,
to forgive and forget,
to think and then act,
to keep out of a rut,
to make the best of little,
to subdue an unruly temper,
to shoulder a deserved blame,
to recognize the silver lining,
BUT IT ALWAYS PAYS.
***
This Blog's News: I like blogs that have interactive features, so I'm experimenting by using JS-Kit's star-rating system. It's pretty simple: just click on the stars at the bottom of each post, to indicate what you think that blog post rates. 1 star means "not so great, in fact not great at all", and 5 stars means "amazing! changed my life!". Or something like that.
Redesign? I've been wanting to have an RSS feed for a while now, as well as wanting to change up the design of this blog. I think at some point in the near future, perhaps the next month, I'm going to change my template so both of those goals are reached. Woot! But the URL will stay the same, so worry not.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
raw
The last week or so we've been saying a variation on this phrase: "Oh, but it's raw outside!" This means we've come into the house or the cafe or wherever, with hands that feel nipped at, like the air is trying to get a bite out of them.
The air is cold, and there's moisture in it. The wind is up, and it sucks at your face, trying to get at your warmth. There is much bundling happening, when one wants to go outside, and the landscape is shades of brown, grey, white and purple.
"Raw" is also what you use to describe uncooked food, food still crisp. I've been eating a fair share of carrots, because a neighbour planted a lot this summer, and as I'm slicing them for whichever cooked dish I'll be putting them in, I eat some raw. I slice them into sticks or into rounds, and then bite into them. Crunch, crunch, crunch go my teeth and my jaws as they masticate the carrots into sweet orange pulp. Crunch, crunch, crunch: the sound of raw.
Then there's meaning 6c from my dictionary: "Sensitive to emotional pain, etc." I think that a combination of the shortening daylight hours, demands which I allow to be placed on me, and stress which I allow to get to me, leaves me feeling raw. You know that feeling when you're tired and your eyeballs feel dry, like you can't blink enough? That's sort of how my soul feels at the moment.
I debated writing about this, because it's not a catastrophe or anything. It's not a crash, or another depression. It's more like November having its way with me, which it does with everyone. And that's the reason why I decided it would be good to write about it - because we all feel crazy from time to time, tired out and drained, yet a lot of us go through this alone. "Oh, I've got to be the only one feeling this way," we think. "I don't want to bring this up because so-and-so will think I'm crazy!"
But then we do bring it up, and lo and behold, so-and-so was feeling the same way! Tired, drained, raw. And we all feel a little less crazy, by talking about it. It's the emotional equivalent of coming in from the cold outdoors, stamping our feet and shivering, and saying, "Oh, but it's raw out there!"
Thursday, October 23, 2008
an accomplishment of apples
On a sunny day in September, two young women -- myself and a friend -- picked some Whitney Crab apples from a neighbour's orchard. It was a good time and we chatted as we worked the trees. My friend would climb up into the central boughs of a tree, and shake the branches, joking, "Feel my wrath!" Apples would tumble down, falling "plop plop plop plop!" all over the grass. After she'd shaken a good amount, I'd go around with a plastic bag picking them up. We talked and talked and shook branches and picked up apples, not realizing how many we were picking, until we'd run out of the bags I'd brought. It didn't seem like that much at the time, but then once I got them all home I realized what I'd set out for myself: something like 12 or 13 full-size plastic grocery bags filled with apples.
September and October, I'm realizing, is still full-on food production and processing time, in the Maritimes. I don't know where I got the idea from, but I had held the notion that things wound down in September. Nope! Our slow spring and summer mean that a lot of crops come to fruition in the Fall, not just the usual root crops like winter squash (including pumpkins), turnips, potatoes, carrots, and onions. There are also crops that in more Southern climates are all summer long, like tomatoes, zucchini and corn. And if you're into apples, as I am, increasingly, then Fall's the time to get busy!
So I looked at the grocery bags full of apples. I started to freak out a little. I said to myself, "It's OK if I only process some of them. Whatever I don't process can go into compost, or maybe I can even take them over to Murdoch's and give them to his horses."
When I did actually start processing them, I wrote down each day I worked and how many hours I was working. So now, I have the statistics, ready to present.
Over a period of nearly two weeks (September 27th to October 10th), one woman (that'd be me) worked a total of thirty-one and a half hours making and then either freezing or canning:
- 9 quarts of spiced applesauce
- 14 pints (7 quarts) plain applesauce
- (1 gallon of cider that went into making cider butter, which made)
- 8 half-pints of cider butter
- 5 and 1/2 Liters of cider (additional)
For the non-Imperial minded in you, a quart is equal to four cups of liquid measure. A pint is equal to two cups, and a half-pint is equal to one cup. Also, one Liter is equal to four cups, and one gallon is roughly equal to eight quarts, or eight Liters. So to convert my production to the cup measure, we have:
- 36 cups spiced applesauce
- 28 cups plain applesauce
- (32 cups cider that went into making cider butter, which made)
- 8 cups cider butter
- 22 cups cider (additional)
This is not including the apples which rotted along the way and had to be tossed out, which wasn't a large percentage, but did account for some. So that's between 31 and 32 hours of work, spread out over two weeks (because real life is still existing, with other, paid, jobs to do, as well as chores around the property and home, and oh yeah, down time), to process what took two women just two and a half hours to pick. That means about 12.5 hours of processing work for each hour of picking time.
And in the end, I actually did process nearly every single apple, even though along the way I kept telling myself, "If I don't process all of them, that's fine too!" It taught me that for a big project, one where you can't see the end after a day's work, it's best to keep your head down, looking at the part you can see for now, and pace yourself. That's really the only sensible way to get through it.
Now I think: imagine if I had to live, for the winter and early spring, off what I and my family could preserve in the summer and fall. And not just that, but imagine how it was when people around here did live off what they preserved. There'd be more than 9 quarts of applesauce going into the cold room, that's for sure!
It's all food for thought, while I learn how to preserve the real food.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
country song
I wrote this comment in response to a friend's blog post, which was about everything in her life breaking recently. I thought that since lately I've been a little too busy to post (and that hasn't happened in a while!) I'd post this instead.
(And what have I been up to? Working for Elections Canada, harvesting veggies and apples and then processing them, and fighting off a cold, along with lots of other things that will at some point get mentioned.)
Also, I should mention that I've signed up to be part of Blog Action Day, for the second year. This year's topic is poverty. I have no idea what I'm going to write yet. If you've got ideas, leave them in the comments box. Blog Action Day is on October 15th, a week from now.
Without further ado: my contribution to the country song genre, in response to my friend's blog post.
(And what have I been up to? Working for Elections Canada, harvesting veggies and apples and then processing them, and fighting off a cold, along with lots of other things that will at some point get mentioned.)
Also, I should mention that I've signed up to be part of Blog Action Day, for the second year. This year's topic is poverty. I have no idea what I'm going to write yet. If you've got ideas, leave them in the comments box. Blog Action Day is on October 15th, a week from now.
Without further ado: my contribution to the country song genre, in response to my friend's blog post.
Oh hon! It's starting to sound .. no, wait, it's definitely sounding like .. a country song!
"My truck broke down, the dog got run over..." That variety.
The other night the septic tank overflowed. At 9 PM. Mum and I had just finished long, busy days of work. Then we had to clean up smelly, poopy water off the basement floor. We'd gotten it all cleaned up and then we noticed... one of the cats had pooped on the stairs!
We just started laughing. Maybe it was the fatigue. Maybe it was that it was, honestly, funny.
Sometimes it helps.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
stargazing
The last few days, as the weather is warming up, I've been able to comfortably stay out on the back deck to watch the sun set. It started out on Sunday as a way for me to calm down after we returned from a trip to Mabou, and I was overtired and having trouble concentrating. So I took our "summer/guest mattress" out onto the deck at the back of the house, along with a blanket, since it was 7 pm and the air had a chill to it, and lay down, watching the clouds move slowly overhead, and breathing in and out from my belly. It was peaceful and stilling, to listen to the peepers making big sound in the wetlands, and to watch the bats swooping in the dusky sky.
It's since become a habit, and last night, along with the requisite mattress and blanket, I took out a newspaper clipping from Saturday's Chronicle Herald. It's the monthly astronomy column, called "Starstruck", written by John McPhee, whose author photo makes him look geeky, but in a friendly, rumpled way, which happens to be the way he writes: intelligent but also down-to-earth (no pun intended). The monthly column includes a chart of the night sky for Nova Scotia for that particular month, showing the constellations to be seen, as well as the prominent planets or stars. I'm not an astronomy expert — at least, not yet — but I'm interested in it. What started me going was getting the Farmer's Almanac this past January, and keeping it in the bathroom. I mean, you need something to read when you're on the loo! It might as well be something educational about the natural world. So I've learned about sun and moon set and rise times, and eclipses, and what's happening in the night sky month by month, as I'm, ahem, doing my business.
Mind you, when I go out to actually look at the stars, I can't really figure out which constellation is which, except for Ursa Major (the Big Dipper) and Polaris, the North Star, which I've always known. I thought I had found Bootes, using the Chronicle Herald chart, which I thought was a hilarious name for a constellation. But now I'm not so sure — the stars that I thought made up Bootes (snicker) look like they could be something else entirely. I'm thinking I need to get myself a stargazing-for-beginners book from the library. Luckily, library books are free, and I'm thinking stargazing books will be plentiful in the library system. And also luckily for me, I already have access to what most urban astronomers would love to have: an un-light-polluted sky. That's one of the major bonuses of living 8 kilometres from the nearest village, and 40 km from the nearest big town: bucketfuls of stars overhead.
So I was lying on the mattress last night, the blanket bundled around me to prevent chills and mosquito bites, and I was waiting for the crescent moon, only 1.6 days old, to appear in the West, along with Mercury, "the charbroiled planet", as the Almanac calls it. The moon appeared, fragile and silver as a fingernail clipping, but Mercury had yet to make an appearance. I was breathing in and out from the belly, and watching the clouds move overhead, as they moved from West to East. And I was thinking how activities like this, activities like fishing or stargazing or gardening, activities where the rhythms of the natural world dictate the actions of the human world, are so good for the soul. They slow us down, simply because the rhythms of the natural world are slower than the sped-up, artificial deadlines we humans give ourselves. And this is a good thing to do — we need slowing down.
And then Mercury appeared, tinier than I thought it would be, but still sparkling below the moon. And the peepers made their big sounds in the wetlands, and the bats swooped in the dusky night.
It's since become a habit, and last night, along with the requisite mattress and blanket, I took out a newspaper clipping from Saturday's Chronicle Herald. It's the monthly astronomy column, called "Starstruck", written by John McPhee, whose author photo makes him look geeky, but in a friendly, rumpled way, which happens to be the way he writes: intelligent but also down-to-earth (no pun intended). The monthly column includes a chart of the night sky for Nova Scotia for that particular month, showing the constellations to be seen, as well as the prominent planets or stars. I'm not an astronomy expert — at least, not yet — but I'm interested in it. What started me going was getting the Farmer's Almanac this past January, and keeping it in the bathroom. I mean, you need something to read when you're on the loo! It might as well be something educational about the natural world. So I've learned about sun and moon set and rise times, and eclipses, and what's happening in the night sky month by month, as I'm, ahem, doing my business.
Mind you, when I go out to actually look at the stars, I can't really figure out which constellation is which, except for Ursa Major (the Big Dipper) and Polaris, the North Star, which I've always known. I thought I had found Bootes, using the Chronicle Herald chart, which I thought was a hilarious name for a constellation. But now I'm not so sure — the stars that I thought made up Bootes (snicker) look like they could be something else entirely. I'm thinking I need to get myself a stargazing-for-beginners book from the library. Luckily, library books are free, and I'm thinking stargazing books will be plentiful in the library system. And also luckily for me, I already have access to what most urban astronomers would love to have: an un-light-polluted sky. That's one of the major bonuses of living 8 kilometres from the nearest village, and 40 km from the nearest big town: bucketfuls of stars overhead.
So I was lying on the mattress last night, the blanket bundled around me to prevent chills and mosquito bites, and I was waiting for the crescent moon, only 1.6 days old, to appear in the West, along with Mercury, "the charbroiled planet", as the Almanac calls it. The moon appeared, fragile and silver as a fingernail clipping, but Mercury had yet to make an appearance. I was breathing in and out from the belly, and watching the clouds move overhead, as they moved from West to East. And I was thinking how activities like this, activities like fishing or stargazing or gardening, activities where the rhythms of the natural world dictate the actions of the human world, are so good for the soul. They slow us down, simply because the rhythms of the natural world are slower than the sped-up, artificial deadlines we humans give ourselves. And this is a good thing to do — we need slowing down.
And then Mercury appeared, tinier than I thought it would be, but still sparkling below the moon. And the peepers made their big sounds in the wetlands, and the bats swooped in the dusky night.
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