I was wondering why I have never heard what Mary called her little lamb, as in its name. And was the black sheep BaBa by name? Apparently, the sheep was able to answer that inquiry. Did they talk about anything other than business? Then there was “Liddle Lamzy Divey.” Was Divey her/his name? Liddle? Lamzy? Was it her/his nick name? We know he/she was also Kiddley and ate Ivy. But was she/he actually a lamb? I wonder about those kinds of things.
I awoke recently feeling a lot of sadness and emotional pain. While I can control, to some degree, my feelings when I am awake, sleep allows these kinds of feelings to show up during the night and as I wake up. I had this image that I was inside a kaleidoscope and sleep moved me as one might be slowly twirled about in an office chair during the night. I wake up looking through a particular prism. Not one of my choosing but one served up at my psyche’s direction. In that space between sleep and becoming fully awake, I am not in charge of the scene appearing through the window before me. I am aware of two choices I can make. Look closely at what I am seeing or distract myself by looking away. I know what I would suggest you do, if you asked me. I don’t always do that. The lesson through the various windows? People are as they are, the world is as it is, and my experience will be totally determined by what facet of the prism I am viewing them/it from.
Mother Nature has a way of messing with me and teaching me my next lesson. In a good way. Sometimes. On the farm, I am always greeted and enchanted by the sounds of mother nature yawning and stretching. Especially one of the creatures. Her cooing, gentle call is smooth and comforting. Ironically, I realized during our most recent mortality retreat that her name was spelled Mourning Dove. Mourning, in the morning. That messes with my imprint of mourning being associated with darkness and death. And here she is mourning as the new day dawns. Why did we name her that? Who named her? She shows up at the beginning of the day, the end of the night. Maybe she is mourning the end of night. Perhaps doing exactly what my mourning, well done, provides? A salute to what is ending and a welcoming of what is to come. What would I ever do without her, my teacher?
I was talking to a parent, who was chaffing at the experience of their adult children having and repeating a narrative about what did and didn’t happen during their childhoods. A well-rehearsed story that was quite different than mom’s. The memory her son had related to her was not complementary. I can relate.
It is especially hard when my kids’ version of their childhood and growing up years with me is so very painful to hear when they talk about what they experienced. It is especially hard when in my experience of the story they are telling me and themselves is absolutely not true.
Especially when I could produce documented, irrefutable evidence, with eye-witnesses that would conclusively and definitively prove that what they are saying is not true.
What do I do? Do I correct them? Set the record straight? No, I listen. I feel the sadness and loss. I realize and accept that part of being a parent is that my kids will never accurately and fully understand or be able to appreciate what being a parent entails. All the 1,000’s of things (big and little) that were gladly done on their behalf; decisions, choices and sacrifices they will never know about. I can’t figure out why they should need to, except to try to have them help me feel better.
To enlist them in that campaign is what I call emotional incest. Using them to try to make me feel better.
I know some people in my position would demand that the record be corrected. An adage that has served me pretty well. “Do I want to be happy, or do I want to be right?” Sometimes I can’t have both.
I have a hunch all parents have had these moments. My kids, as parents, will someday have those moments also, and, like me, will need to make the same decision as to what to do.
I have seen a lot of things in airports. I had never seen anyone bend over and smell a seat before they sat down. Can anyone help me understand why someone would do that? No fair using google.
I learned a new word the other day. Chuffed. I had remarked to a friend that I really enjoyed something they had written. He responded, “I am very chuffed.” Afraid I had insulted him; I asked what that meant. He said it meant honored and very pleased. Cool.
I am normally a “2” on a “10” scale in terms of fear of flying. That has moved up to “10” on a few occasions. The other day my average “2” moved up to a “7.5 “when I happened to glance out the plane’s window (at 30,000 feet, at a speed of 500 +miles per hour) and noticed a flapping piece of duct tape (called “200 MPH tape” in the stock car racing world, notice the difference). Tape that appeared to be holding the engine cowling and the wing together. It was clear that the tape was going to lose the contest at some point in time. Each time I looked out the window, it was obvious it was getting closer and closer to losing its grip. Each time I looked out the window, the fear scale increased. Thankfully, we landed before I learned the hard way, exactly why it was there.
I was wondering where the term, “Being eaten out of house and home” came from. I didn’t consult Google or Siri, I am consulting you first.
I noticed how the Lodge Pole pines in South Dakota spend most of their energy producing limbs and greenery on the sides which offer the greatest opportunity to be fed by the sun. I wonder about the wisdom in that for me. To what degree am I dedicating my time and energy towards those places, people and things that feed me, and less towards those that don’t offer much nurturance? May I be as wise as the pines.
I think I would have to confess, if accused, to being guilty of having the elder adult version of high school senioritis.
My next blog will be a special edition. In it, I will be mulling over the effects of the most recent national election on me and others I know.
I will be talking about what I have learned about why people voted (or didn’t) the way they did.
Hint, the choices we make, including about religion and politics are not based on logic.
I will be talking about what I have learned about choices/options I need to consider because I believe I am facing situations that will challenge me in ways I have seldom faced.
I will be making a specific proposal to everyone, especially those of us who profess to be a part of the mental health healing world.
I will share what I have learned about what science suggests when we want to have conversations with those whose political, religious, and other choices are different than ours.
If you are not into politics at this time in your life, delete it when it comes.
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