Yesterday I took the day to not get dressed.
If you don't get dressed, there are precious few activities you can engage in outside your home. I like to do this a few times a year - a day to myself, a day to recharge - COMPLETELY.
I know others who take a day "off" and run themselves ragged doing a bunch of stuff. I do that kind of thing, too.
But back in my Grade 10 English class, our teacher gave us an article written by G. K. Chesterton titled: On Lying in Bed. That article struck a chord in my soul. In it, G. K. bewailed the loss of major morals and the growing concern over minor morals. "Cleanliness is not next to godliness these days, for cleanliness is considered an essential, and godliness is considered an offense." And he said THAT at the turn of the OTHER century!
I did not do laundry yesterday. The dishes in my sink are from two days ago. I did not get any quilting or sewing done. I didn't write to anyone. And the only calls I made were to Videotron, because they buggered up my channels. I spent most of my "awake" time yesterday watching tv. I got up to feed the cat, to feed myself, to let the cat out and in, and to go back to bed. I didn't even bathe. I emptied the air conditioner's little collector every two hours, and stayed in my cool retreat, lying on the couch, lying in bed, quite literally the proverbial "bump on a log."
I was completely happy. This was not an "oh pitiful me" routine. This was simply enjoying a day off after all the stress and activity of the past few months. Even the fun stress is still stress, nudge nudge, wink wink, say no MORE!
Today I will once again gather up the reins and get stuff done. I will wash dishes, vacuum, make cat food, get groceries. I will sew and quilt and connect with loved ones. I am completely and utterly rested. My head is clear, and I am still happy. And I look forward to the next time I will lie quite shamelessly in my bed. One day of peace.
It's worth it.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Reincarnation
Take a deep breath everybody - this blog isn't funny, disrespectful, irreverant, or about my cat.
It is about reincarnation.
To give you a bit of background on why I decided to write this one, I go sometimes to various discussion groups, and the most recent one I missed was on reincarnation. I would have gone, too, except that when I got home from work that night I lay down on the bed for a minute and woke up at 4 a.m. with Bijou asking me where the hell her supper was... Never mind any possible past or future lives, in this one, I tire rather easily!
But in a way I'm glad I missed it, because ever since the group decided that would be the topic, it's been bugging me - ergo, I've been doing some of that stuff they call "thinking". Wonderful thing, thinking, if you can find the time...
See, my original position on reincarnation was a great big smug snicker at all the fools running around in this world and the outrageous things they'll talk themselves into believing in order to avoid taking any personal responsibility for their lives.
I saw it as another version of "Life-After-Death", "Heaven / Hell", "Santa Claus", or "Wait Till Your Father Comes Home..." All of these are methods to control behaviour. Behaviour of small children in some cases, behaviour of hordes of people in others. A way of making sure the bulk of the population stays quiet and does what it's told.
See, human beings are by nature extremely superstitious. We'll read something into any coincidence, any event. Even in the 21st century in the most developed nations of the world, where religion and the state have been separated for generations, and where the churches are empty, few people will willingly walk under ladders, stop to pet black cats, or buy a house whose civic number is 666. And young urban professional couples still usually want that church wedding, even if it's only because their parents went to that church. And a whole generation of youngsters is now watching poker on tv and teaching themselves to believe in luck. Superstition, plain and simple. Snake oil.
This was, and remains, my position on reincarnation, in the strictest sense of "do you believe that souls inhabit different bodies, lifetime after lifetime." Nope. Hogwash. "Do you believe there is a Hereafter?" Nope. Dingo's kidneys. "Do you believe there is a Heaven?" Not up in the clouds with harps. A baby suckling, a kitten's purr, the gaze of a lover - those are what I call heaven. And certain flavours of cheesecake. "Do you believe" is the dead giveaway phrase. If it starts with those words, chances are it's poppycock, plain and simple. I'm not a "believer".
Nevertheless, I found myself wondering why myths of reincarnation continue to flourish. See, I like mythology. I find that myths, by and large, stick around because they contain a grain of truth. The story can be utter nonsense, but the kernel of truth hidden in it is (here comes a big word) an ARCHETYPE of human behaviour or understanding.
Something to learn from. Something to help us understand the gigantic pile of confusion we're mired in. Something to help us get through the day, get through our lives.
So I engaged the analytical, non-cynical part of my brain. Quite an enjoyable experience, I should do it more often. Maybe I'd have more friends...
I love the song "Galileo" by the Indigo Girls. The line is "how long till my soul gets it right?" I can really relate to that line. I've made so many gaffs, pissed of so many people, it's a wonder someone hasn't tried to shoot me. Every time I accidentally shoot myself in the foot, that line comes to mind. Other versions are "Will I EVER learn...?" and "When am I EVER gonna keep my big mouth shut?". We've all experienced these kinds of moments.
Sufferers the world over have been wailing "Why?" and "Why Me?" ever since time began. Nature, the universe, is a harsh place. It is without mercy. There is absolutely nothing we can do to stop the tsunami, the earthquake, the volcano. Children born without limbs, babies dumped in trash cans, rampant disease. Or man's inhmanity. These forces are immensely powerful and totally beyond our control. No matter how kind, how evolved a civilization becomes, there is always a horde of nasty sociopaths waiting at the gates to knock it down, blow it up, rape it till it dies, and take all the booty. That, my friends, is human "Nature." A very nasty piece of work. One which every decent person wrestles with daily in one form or another. One which caused us to to create for ourselves gods and governments. Snatching at straws, we plead to ourselves, to each other, to ANYONE WHO CAN HEAR US - for peace, for a good harvest, for medicine, for our homes and loved ones. For some kind of meaning in the midst of all this horror.
My Favourite Psychiatrist (don't you just have to laugh at someone who can start a sentence that way? I mean, REALLY...!) My favourite psychiatrist pointed out to me many years ago that a certain amount of denial is necessary to get through the day.
Not just for me. For everyone in the world. Because without being able to shut that chaos out of our lives, out of our minds, we'd have no minds left to deal with anything. There is, quite literally, a limit on what an individual can understand, can take on, can do - and some of that energy must be directed inwards, to one's own health and one's own family, if the individual and his or her family is to survive. It's a survival mechanism, to turn off. To stop thinking about things that make us sick, things we can't bear.
And that's why a lot of evil goes unanswered by the developed world, by the way. When our inner thoughts inform us there is nothing we can do about a situation, we turn away from it. Because we'd drive ourselves nuts trying to deal with it. And that particular turn of phrase, which we toss off so easily, actually hides a difficult truth :"drive ourselves nuts." None of us really wants to go there. The white coat? The padded room? The long fall off the bridge? The bottle in the paper bag? There is no point in driving ourselves nuts.
So it is thus that I came to my understanding of the purpose of the myth of reincarnation. Beyond the way most people would use it, as a means to avoid taking any responsibility for what they do in THIS life, it is also a way to understand that the come-uppance will come. That the invaders and rapists and generals and torturers and despots will all go through their own hell, purgatory, or be squished like bugs for millennia to come. A way to create a little island of peace-of-mind for survivors, so we can actually survive and go about the business of living, of raising our families, of being kind to people, despite the horrors all around us. As an archetype, if you will, of inner peace, of personal serenity.
Not in different lifetimes though. In this life. To enable us to pick ourselves up and try again. To get on with living.
I've recently been reincarnated. I left my life of the past 14 years and I'm setting up for whatever the next bit will be. I don't have a clue what it holds, but I still have hope.
My past life, the one with Hubby, was also a reincarnation, from a decade of loneliness with a little girl to care for. And that, in turn, was a reincarnation, from my previous marriage...
I've been reincarnated at work, too. Ever so slowly, I'm beginning to master my attitudes and reactions to people and situations that would normally cause me to blow my stack. I'm getting there. In this lifetime. I can see me, years from now, almost being calm, content to smile knowingly instead of losing my temper and my head.
Every time I fail, every time I lose my temper, every time I forget to be kind or gentle, every time I am completely unreasonable, there is still hope. There is still a chance that NEXT time, I'll think before I speak, that I'll answer softly, that I'll "deal with it." That I'll improve. That I'll get better.
There is hope.
It is about reincarnation.
To give you a bit of background on why I decided to write this one, I go sometimes to various discussion groups, and the most recent one I missed was on reincarnation. I would have gone, too, except that when I got home from work that night I lay down on the bed for a minute and woke up at 4 a.m. with Bijou asking me where the hell her supper was... Never mind any possible past or future lives, in this one, I tire rather easily!
But in a way I'm glad I missed it, because ever since the group decided that would be the topic, it's been bugging me - ergo, I've been doing some of that stuff they call "thinking". Wonderful thing, thinking, if you can find the time...
See, my original position on reincarnation was a great big smug snicker at all the fools running around in this world and the outrageous things they'll talk themselves into believing in order to avoid taking any personal responsibility for their lives.
I saw it as another version of "Life-After-Death", "Heaven / Hell", "Santa Claus", or "Wait Till Your Father Comes Home..." All of these are methods to control behaviour. Behaviour of small children in some cases, behaviour of hordes of people in others. A way of making sure the bulk of the population stays quiet and does what it's told.
See, human beings are by nature extremely superstitious. We'll read something into any coincidence, any event. Even in the 21st century in the most developed nations of the world, where religion and the state have been separated for generations, and where the churches are empty, few people will willingly walk under ladders, stop to pet black cats, or buy a house whose civic number is 666. And young urban professional couples still usually want that church wedding, even if it's only because their parents went to that church. And a whole generation of youngsters is now watching poker on tv and teaching themselves to believe in luck. Superstition, plain and simple. Snake oil.
This was, and remains, my position on reincarnation, in the strictest sense of "do you believe that souls inhabit different bodies, lifetime after lifetime." Nope. Hogwash. "Do you believe there is a Hereafter?" Nope. Dingo's kidneys. "Do you believe there is a Heaven?" Not up in the clouds with harps. A baby suckling, a kitten's purr, the gaze of a lover - those are what I call heaven. And certain flavours of cheesecake. "Do you believe" is the dead giveaway phrase. If it starts with those words, chances are it's poppycock, plain and simple. I'm not a "believer".
Nevertheless, I found myself wondering why myths of reincarnation continue to flourish. See, I like mythology. I find that myths, by and large, stick around because they contain a grain of truth. The story can be utter nonsense, but the kernel of truth hidden in it is (here comes a big word) an ARCHETYPE of human behaviour or understanding.
Something to learn from. Something to help us understand the gigantic pile of confusion we're mired in. Something to help us get through the day, get through our lives.
So I engaged the analytical, non-cynical part of my brain. Quite an enjoyable experience, I should do it more often. Maybe I'd have more friends...
I love the song "Galileo" by the Indigo Girls. The line is "how long till my soul gets it right?" I can really relate to that line. I've made so many gaffs, pissed of so many people, it's a wonder someone hasn't tried to shoot me. Every time I accidentally shoot myself in the foot, that line comes to mind. Other versions are "Will I EVER learn...?" and "When am I EVER gonna keep my big mouth shut?". We've all experienced these kinds of moments.
Sufferers the world over have been wailing "Why?" and "Why Me?" ever since time began. Nature, the universe, is a harsh place. It is without mercy. There is absolutely nothing we can do to stop the tsunami, the earthquake, the volcano. Children born without limbs, babies dumped in trash cans, rampant disease. Or man's inhmanity. These forces are immensely powerful and totally beyond our control. No matter how kind, how evolved a civilization becomes, there is always a horde of nasty sociopaths waiting at the gates to knock it down, blow it up, rape it till it dies, and take all the booty. That, my friends, is human "Nature." A very nasty piece of work. One which every decent person wrestles with daily in one form or another. One which caused us to to create for ourselves gods and governments. Snatching at straws, we plead to ourselves, to each other, to ANYONE WHO CAN HEAR US - for peace, for a good harvest, for medicine, for our homes and loved ones. For some kind of meaning in the midst of all this horror.
My Favourite Psychiatrist (don't you just have to laugh at someone who can start a sentence that way? I mean, REALLY...!) My favourite psychiatrist pointed out to me many years ago that a certain amount of denial is necessary to get through the day.
Not just for me. For everyone in the world. Because without being able to shut that chaos out of our lives, out of our minds, we'd have no minds left to deal with anything. There is, quite literally, a limit on what an individual can understand, can take on, can do - and some of that energy must be directed inwards, to one's own health and one's own family, if the individual and his or her family is to survive. It's a survival mechanism, to turn off. To stop thinking about things that make us sick, things we can't bear.
And that's why a lot of evil goes unanswered by the developed world, by the way. When our inner thoughts inform us there is nothing we can do about a situation, we turn away from it. Because we'd drive ourselves nuts trying to deal with it. And that particular turn of phrase, which we toss off so easily, actually hides a difficult truth :"drive ourselves nuts." None of us really wants to go there. The white coat? The padded room? The long fall off the bridge? The bottle in the paper bag? There is no point in driving ourselves nuts.
So it is thus that I came to my understanding of the purpose of the myth of reincarnation. Beyond the way most people would use it, as a means to avoid taking any responsibility for what they do in THIS life, it is also a way to understand that the come-uppance will come. That the invaders and rapists and generals and torturers and despots will all go through their own hell, purgatory, or be squished like bugs for millennia to come. A way to create a little island of peace-of-mind for survivors, so we can actually survive and go about the business of living, of raising our families, of being kind to people, despite the horrors all around us. As an archetype, if you will, of inner peace, of personal serenity.
Not in different lifetimes though. In this life. To enable us to pick ourselves up and try again. To get on with living.
I've recently been reincarnated. I left my life of the past 14 years and I'm setting up for whatever the next bit will be. I don't have a clue what it holds, but I still have hope.
My past life, the one with Hubby, was also a reincarnation, from a decade of loneliness with a little girl to care for. And that, in turn, was a reincarnation, from my previous marriage...
I've been reincarnated at work, too. Ever so slowly, I'm beginning to master my attitudes and reactions to people and situations that would normally cause me to blow my stack. I'm getting there. In this lifetime. I can see me, years from now, almost being calm, content to smile knowingly instead of losing my temper and my head.
Every time I fail, every time I lose my temper, every time I forget to be kind or gentle, every time I am completely unreasonable, there is still hope. There is still a chance that NEXT time, I'll think before I speak, that I'll answer softly, that I'll "deal with it." That I'll improve. That I'll get better.
There is hope.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Unashamed Felinity
Today was the big day. After I put the coffee on, I took the harness in one hand and the ID tags in the other. I attached the tags to the harness, and the harness to the cat. And opened the kitchen window.
At long last, Bijou has earned her freedom. Within certain limits...
She goes out only when I'm home, and comes in for the night. No exceptions.
She went in and out about 200 times this morning. She came to the front window and said hello, then scampered off. Came back, and the minute I rose to go greet her, she ran towards the front door. "Can it be...?" I wondered. I went up the stairs and sure enough, she had come to the door to be let in! I nearly cried for sheer joy. My little baby is SO SMART!!!
Well, morning passed, and about two in the afternoon whatever she was doing, plus the lack of naps, finally caught up with her. She had a small meal, flopped into the rocking chair, where not a whisker stirred for a good four hours!
After dinner, it was much colder and damper outside, since the sun was hidden by thick grey clouds and the wind had come up a bit. So her post-suppertime romp was cut short. About a minute and a half, actually. This cat likes the sun, no doubt about it!
"My goodness," I exclaimed, rubbing her long silky limbs and tickling her under her chin. "Whatever did you DO today that plum wore you out so?"
She gazed up at me, green eyes shrouded in mystery, and yet strangely content.
"I'm entitled to SOME privacy," she replied lazily, turning to wash a paw. "Ask me no questions - I'll tell you no lies!" She winked one lovely eye at me and rolled over to begin the next stage of her nap, stretching sensually as she did so.
Okay, baby, I thought. You've waited a long time for this day. Your secrets are safe with me!
I'll only report this: not one, but TWO young toms came to the front window about an hour later and mewed softly. She thinks I didn't see her lift her head and wink at them...
At long last, Bijou has earned her freedom. Within certain limits...
She goes out only when I'm home, and comes in for the night. No exceptions.
She went in and out about 200 times this morning. She came to the front window and said hello, then scampered off. Came back, and the minute I rose to go greet her, she ran towards the front door. "Can it be...?" I wondered. I went up the stairs and sure enough, she had come to the door to be let in! I nearly cried for sheer joy. My little baby is SO SMART!!!
Well, morning passed, and about two in the afternoon whatever she was doing, plus the lack of naps, finally caught up with her. She had a small meal, flopped into the rocking chair, where not a whisker stirred for a good four hours!
After dinner, it was much colder and damper outside, since the sun was hidden by thick grey clouds and the wind had come up a bit. So her post-suppertime romp was cut short. About a minute and a half, actually. This cat likes the sun, no doubt about it!
"My goodness," I exclaimed, rubbing her long silky limbs and tickling her under her chin. "Whatever did you DO today that plum wore you out so?"
She gazed up at me, green eyes shrouded in mystery, and yet strangely content.
"I'm entitled to SOME privacy," she replied lazily, turning to wash a paw. "Ask me no questions - I'll tell you no lies!" She winked one lovely eye at me and rolled over to begin the next stage of her nap, stretching sensually as she did so.
Okay, baby, I thought. You've waited a long time for this day. Your secrets are safe with me!
I'll only report this: not one, but TWO young toms came to the front window about an hour later and mewed softly. She thinks I didn't see her lift her head and wink at them...
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Yet Another Tumble...
For the second time in as many weeks, I fell off my bike today.
Every time I fall, it's when I am stopped. If I keep my derriere on that seat, I'm gonna go down. The pedals can't go any lower to the ground, my seat is the correct height for the length of my legs from the seat to the pedals, but the sum adds up to about two inches too high for me, and when I'm stopped, I fall over in perfect Arte Johnson style. Only I ain't laughing.
But I think that I've got the hint this time. I'm going out to buy a helmet, wrist supports and knee pads. I don't have any evidence of osteoporosis, the doc tells me. But I do have fibromyalgia, and the sore joints that come with it. I don't need further injury.
A girlfriend of mine, not too long ago, was riding with me.
"You're not wearing a helmet," she observed.
"Don't have one," I replied.
"Well, I not going to unplug you," was her comment. It took me a while. Unplug me?
"From the life-support machine," she finally filled in. "After you have the accident that splits your head in two. I'll come see you and watch you get eaten by bedsores, but I won't unplug you. You'll deserve your fate, if you're stupid enough to ride around without a helmet!"
Now, some might find this comment a little harsh, but it did finally get me to realize that I'm not in Kansas anymore. Or, to be more accurate, I'm not in Greenfield Park any more. I'm living in the CITY now. There are a lot more cars and trucks, and cyclists, and pedestrians here. And potholes. And I need to protect myself properly.
After all, I wear a seatbelt when I'm driving!
Ok, so I'll go get myself some gear come payday. But I wonder, is that all I should be looking at? Perhaps, on a larger-frame bike, the seat wouldn't have to be that high. Perhaps I should be considering a recumbent bicycle. At least, in one of those, I'd be closer to the ground and it wouldn't hurt so much when I fall out/off of it!
Perhaps I should accept my limitations and buy myself a large tricycle. One with gears, and maybe an engine to help me get up hills. A big basket in the back for all my groceries. Maybe even a little trailer, for the cat! OMG - I can just hear the comments from the people I'd be passing...
"Lookee there, Mavis! There goes that crazy cat lady on her tricycle agin! Land sakes - what's she got in that ole basket today? Why, she got a fifty pound box o kitty litter, she got her some gallon bottles of water, and if I'm not mistaken, that there's a two-four of Coors Light! Wow, she sure do know how to party! Uh-oh, Mavis, she's stuck tryin' to git up that hill. Guess I'll go give her a push agin, like I done last week..."
Hardly the "look" I'd be wanting to create. "Lovely single female, active, loves pets and cycling..." In stark contrast to the "Madwoman of Chariot", swearing at the gears on her tricycle, frazzled hair flying every which way, sweat pouring down her face as she pedals herself into a conniption fit. At least there wouldn't be cigarettes hanging from my lips and ash blowing in the wind, since I don't smoke... Just for fun, stick me in one of those orange, white and red tent dresses the big black women wear for festivals...
Hmm. Maybe not.
Am I going to have to take taxis to do my groceries? It goads me to think of forking out good money just to get from point A to point B, when I already have a bus pass, but can't carry heavy bags! And having to give the g-d driver a TIP, just for turning up! Half of them don't even get out of their cars, they just pop the trunk for you, then want a big tip for doing nothing that an ordinary Gentleman would have done for free.
OMG - I used the "G"-word! That dates me, for SURE!
I'm too young to have groceries delivered - they charge $5 to deliver, AND you have to give the guy a tip. When you're a SENIOR, you only have to pay $2, and I'm already old enough to be insulted by that. Why in tarnation can't stores simply offer the service - for FREE? Good god, having a grocery store is practically a license to print money!
All complaints aside, this fall "shook me up" in a different way than the last one. I've still got a few years of bicycling ahead of me, so it's time smarten up and wear protective gear.
But I promise faithfully to never, EVER, wear spandex shorts! I mean, some things are simply indecent.
Every time I fall, it's when I am stopped. If I keep my derriere on that seat, I'm gonna go down. The pedals can't go any lower to the ground, my seat is the correct height for the length of my legs from the seat to the pedals, but the sum adds up to about two inches too high for me, and when I'm stopped, I fall over in perfect Arte Johnson style. Only I ain't laughing.
But I think that I've got the hint this time. I'm going out to buy a helmet, wrist supports and knee pads. I don't have any evidence of osteoporosis, the doc tells me. But I do have fibromyalgia, and the sore joints that come with it. I don't need further injury.
A girlfriend of mine, not too long ago, was riding with me.
"You're not wearing a helmet," she observed.
"Don't have one," I replied.
"Well, I not going to unplug you," was her comment. It took me a while. Unplug me?
"From the life-support machine," she finally filled in. "After you have the accident that splits your head in two. I'll come see you and watch you get eaten by bedsores, but I won't unplug you. You'll deserve your fate, if you're stupid enough to ride around without a helmet!"
Now, some might find this comment a little harsh, but it did finally get me to realize that I'm not in Kansas anymore. Or, to be more accurate, I'm not in Greenfield Park any more. I'm living in the CITY now. There are a lot more cars and trucks, and cyclists, and pedestrians here. And potholes. And I need to protect myself properly.
After all, I wear a seatbelt when I'm driving!
Ok, so I'll go get myself some gear come payday. But I wonder, is that all I should be looking at? Perhaps, on a larger-frame bike, the seat wouldn't have to be that high. Perhaps I should be considering a recumbent bicycle. At least, in one of those, I'd be closer to the ground and it wouldn't hurt so much when I fall out/off of it!
Perhaps I should accept my limitations and buy myself a large tricycle. One with gears, and maybe an engine to help me get up hills. A big basket in the back for all my groceries. Maybe even a little trailer, for the cat! OMG - I can just hear the comments from the people I'd be passing...
"Lookee there, Mavis! There goes that crazy cat lady on her tricycle agin! Land sakes - what's she got in that ole basket today? Why, she got a fifty pound box o kitty litter, she got her some gallon bottles of water, and if I'm not mistaken, that there's a two-four of Coors Light! Wow, she sure do know how to party! Uh-oh, Mavis, she's stuck tryin' to git up that hill. Guess I'll go give her a push agin, like I done last week..."
Hardly the "look" I'd be wanting to create. "Lovely single female, active, loves pets and cycling..." In stark contrast to the "Madwoman of Chariot", swearing at the gears on her tricycle, frazzled hair flying every which way, sweat pouring down her face as she pedals herself into a conniption fit. At least there wouldn't be cigarettes hanging from my lips and ash blowing in the wind, since I don't smoke... Just for fun, stick me in one of those orange, white and red tent dresses the big black women wear for festivals...
Hmm. Maybe not.
Am I going to have to take taxis to do my groceries? It goads me to think of forking out good money just to get from point A to point B, when I already have a bus pass, but can't carry heavy bags! And having to give the g-d driver a TIP, just for turning up! Half of them don't even get out of their cars, they just pop the trunk for you, then want a big tip for doing nothing that an ordinary Gentleman would have done for free.
OMG - I used the "G"-word! That dates me, for SURE!
I'm too young to have groceries delivered - they charge $5 to deliver, AND you have to give the guy a tip. When you're a SENIOR, you only have to pay $2, and I'm already old enough to be insulted by that. Why in tarnation can't stores simply offer the service - for FREE? Good god, having a grocery store is practically a license to print money!
All complaints aside, this fall "shook me up" in a different way than the last one. I've still got a few years of bicycling ahead of me, so it's time smarten up and wear protective gear.
But I promise faithfully to never, EVER, wear spandex shorts! I mean, some things are simply indecent.
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