Soul Thumping

On Being Approachable

I stopped by the grocery store tonight, the store I frequent at least twice each week.  John (yup, that it his real name), the cashier in the self-checkout section was there.  Without meaning to armchair diagnose, I'm going to assume John is somewhere on that beautifully colored autism spectrum.  He has been working at my grocery store for at least 5 years.  Only during the last 2 or 3 years has he "recognized" me as a frequent customer.  Tonight he said something to me that made me cry when I was safely tucked away in my car in the parking lot.  He asked me how I was doing and I told him I was doing great, ready to start the new year.  I inquired about his biking (he bought a bike earlier this year and has done a great deal of riding), and he told me he has taken advantage of the warm weather.  He always has some amazing facts to talk about, from the economy in Japan to migrating birds.  Before I left, he said, "I enjoy talking to you.  You are very approachable."  I wished him a great 2016 and headed out with my purchase, and when I got outside, I started to run to the car, not because of the rain, but because I started to cry.

 

This is important to me because approximately 3 years ago, I decided to start smiling.  I started smiling because I noticed no one else was smiling.  I was simply disgusted with passing mean, unsmiling people.  Everyone became ugly and unapproachable and my stomach was upset with so much ugliness.  Seriously.  I found the foul look on the face of the general public repugnant and disturbing, regardless of gender, race, single/married, with someone, alone, with kids, without, with friends/family, without.  I vowed to no longer contribute to that shit.  I began smiling at every stranger I passed.  I felt better.  It's no secret I battle chronic depression.  It's also no secret that these battles have been reduced to minor "struggles" and they are few and far between now.  I feel great, and 9 times out of 10, those I smile at, smile back, even if they have a frown at the time we make eye contact.  My The world is a better place.

How do I know it's working?  I feel better and I think I've made a difference just by learning to smile.  Don't get me wrong, I trust my gut and I have boundaries, but I'm learning to be approachable by flashing a bit of acceptance before I even know a person.

A coworker, a woman I admire and respect, told me that in the past she has received negative performance reviews because coworkers found her "unapproachable and intimidating."  I myself felt that way around her in the beginning, before I knew her.  I know after 4 years that if I need anything she is there and she is an amazing mom, woman, coworker, human, etc.  It took me nearly 4 years to realize this.  I don't want to be that person.  I want people to know right away that I can be approached.

At the beginning of this year, I was in the same grocery store.  I saw a little girl (4 or 5, I'm guessing) walking around the produce section by herself.  We made eye contact and she came running up to me.  She asked me if I could help her find her mom.  I parked my cart to the side and she took my hand.  This little girl, she didn't know me and I didn't know her.  I told her I would of course help her find her mom.  I asked her where she last saw her, what her mom looked like, etc.  We found Mom, who was just as frantic as the little girl.  The mom thanked me, and I told her I was happy to help.  I couldn't help but think, this little girl must have seen something in me that made her want to approach me.  I was so glad she could see whatever it was that she saw.  I would be sad if I thought someone in distress needed help but couldn't find an approachable human.  Travesty.

"You make my heart a little happier when I see you coming in the store."  This kind compliment was given to me two years ago by the owner of the dry cleaner near my home.  I see her only a handful of times each year, but she knows my name and she always jumps to wait on me.  I also cried in the safety of my car the day she first told me that.

I usually don't make resolutions, but if you do, I urge you to consider being more approachable in 2016, because it has improved my life greatly, and I'm willing to bet it will improve the lives of strangers who come into contact with you.  Serendipity is powerful.

Happy 2016 everyone.

 

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Swimming Upstream Doesn't Have to be so Dramatic

Life has been crazy, beautiful this year, and I realized just this morning how close we are to nearing the end of it.  Contrary to what my title suggests, this year has seen little of what I would call drama, but has had its share of challenges, mixed with new experiences, and I am heading out of it with a a greater appreciation of self and life than I had when I came into 2015.

Death sucks.  If you have time to prepare yourself for the death of a loved-one, then please take advantage of the opportunity.  Poseidon and his mother lost a dear family friend early this year without much warning.  She went to the hospital for a toe that wouldn't heal and died a few short weeks later, never having left the hospital.  The sore toe led to a below-the-knee amputation, and after the amputation, blood work revealed terminal ovarian cancer, and she left us less than 2 weeks later.

We then had to say goodbye to our fur girl, Kat.  One of the hardest things I've had to go through.  Poseidon and I traveled to Austin, TX in May for a music festival, expecting to kick-off a super summer, and a week after our return, we had to let her go.  Quickly.  Without warning.  Without time to prepare.

Last month, my sweet, kind Aunt Judy left suddenly, and far too young, stunning us all.  We are still grieving the loss.  She just turned 60 in March.  She was my dad's baby sister.  October 20 will be what would have been my dad's 70th birthday.

So, we've experienced huge losses in such a short time, but we are stronger for it and have also experienced beauty, and have managed to stay above water (salmon pun intended here, for sure).

My inspiration for this post came from a picture I took earlier this month in Iceland at Faxi waterfall on the Tungufljót river.  This salmon ladder was near the falls.  I was looking through some of my pictures from that trip and this one inspired me.

Many salmon species migrate during the autumn months, September through November, and most of us know about the epic journey salmon take upstream, only to die after spawning.

This is my cheesy ending, but something I've learned this year after experiencing a great deal of death in my circle, but a great deal of beauty in my travels:  though the end is dramatic, the journey need not be because it is a true account of the circle of life.

 

By the Way, How is my Heart?

"I want to be honest with you, this isn't going to end well.  Once they reach this age, and we see fluid in the lungs, they have maybe a month, tops, to live."

This is what the vet told me on Friday morning.  May 29, 2015.

My routine is now different.  It hasn't been interrupted exactly, just different, in a numb, going-through-the-motions kinda sorta way.  We washed her food dish, but we placed it back on the floor, in her spot and as of today, it is still there.  I see it staying there for the foreseeable future.  I kiss my finger and touch it to the dish every morning and every evening when I feed Kwinn.  He misses his sister.  We all miss her.

Unconditional love.  Humans and pets.  Kat has been with me each time my life took a new turn.  She was a constant.  Philadelphia to Nashville.  Nashville to Raleigh.  Relationships.  Break ups.  My marriage to Poseidon.  She was there, offering unconditional purrs.  She was a rock.  My rock.  When we let a pet into our lives, we know it isn't going to be permanent.  We know we will most likely outlive our furry companions.  We know this, but we form that bond anyway.  The animal-human bond is strong.  Sometimes stronger than the human-human bond.

Katarina (Kat for short) was a beautiful presence.  Her end was swift.  It came out of nowhere.  I took her to the vet because she hadn't eaten in 48 hours and her breathing seemed labored.  Fast forward to the first sentence of this blog.  Dr. Hunt (our compassionate, wonderful vet) drew the fluid out of Kat's lungs, and that seemed to make her feel better and she was able to breathe a bit easier.  They wanted to keep an eye on her for a couple of hours, but the future was written.  Poseidon and I might have a month with her before we had to say goodbye.  I was preparing my head and heart to do just that.  I waited the 2 hours for Dr. Hunt to tell me she was stable and OK to bring home and begin our goodbyes.  The call came, but it wasn't what I had expected.  Dr. Hunt told me that Kat's lungs had not expanded as she had hoped and that she was in distress.  I asked her if it would be possible for me to bring her home for the night so that Poseidon and I could say a proper goodbye.  She told me that Kat would not last the night.  I cried into the phone.  Dr. Hunt was truly sympathetic.  I told her I was on my way.  I called Poseidon to let him know.  He wouldn't have time to meet me at the vet's office.  He would not be able to say goodbye and hold her one last time.

Fortunately, I was.  They led me to a dimly lit room, and they brought Kat in to me, swaddled in a soft blanket/bed type thing.  As soon as they handed her to me, she began to purr.  I licked her head (yes, I did.  I was her momma for 14 years.  I was her mother).  She purred louder.  She seemed OK and content.  I spent 30 or so minutes holding her and telling her how much I loved her and what a joy she has been.  I was happy she was purring and looking at me with those beautiful yellow-green eyes.  I asked Dr. Hunt how it will happen, to make sure Kat would feel nothing.  She explained to me that Kat will feel a little shot in her bottom, but it won't hurt.  That shot will make her go to sleep, then they will administer another shot that will shut down her vital organs.  Dr. Hunt asked if I wanted to be present, and I adamantly said, "No."  I don't want her going to sleep at the hospital to be my last memory.  We discussed her remains.  Cremation.  Yes, we would like her ashes.  Dr. Hunt said they would take a clay print of her paw for us.  Yes, that would be nice.

I handed our beautiful little girl to Dr. Hunt, knowing that she would make her last few minutes peaceful.

The staff handed me Kat's carrier and her collar (we always called it her 'pretty necklace').  I have it on my arm as I type.  They led me out the back door so I wouldn't have to see other pets in the waiting room.  That helped.  My drive home?  I don't remember it.  I was in shock.  The sun was shining but my world was dark.

Poseidon and I have been grieving, but we are doing well.  We were very close to Kat.  She was a child to us.  The title of my post, "By the Way, How is my Heart?" is a line from John Gorka's song, "I Saw a Stranger With Your Hair."  I know many probably want to vomit at his lyrics, but I've always found them soul-lifting.  This is the song I had in my head on that short (yet long) drive from the vet's office to our home.  I've been singing it ever since.  Showers.  Washing dishes.  Eating lunch.  Breathing.

"And by the way how is my heart?  I haven't seen it since you left.  I'm almost sure it followed you.  Could you sometimes send it back?  I'll buy the ticket." - John Gorka 

 

 

That Feeling, When You Check Things Off Your List?

I had that today.  Seven months after my last eye exam, I finally chose frames and ordered my new glasses.  Oh, and it's been several months since my last blog entry.  Almost sounds like a confession, except it's not!

Busy Q1 of 2015.

The most amazing boots ever...late Christmas gift from Poseidon (NYE 2014):

 

Zola Jesus, my girl crush (January 2015):

 

Kim Gordon's book release and signing (February 2015):

 

Early spring at our house (March 2015):

 

March madness ending with a Duke win in April (April 2015)!

 

Boring blog, but we are now up-to-freaking-date!

 

It's Just Yarn, After All

"Good God, you freak, it's just yarn.  Yarn cannot kill you.  That ball of purple isn't going to wrap itself around your throat.  It cannot bite or pinch you.  Hell, it doesn't have hands.  It doesn't have teeth.  Yarn can't even criticize this thing you are trying to knit.  For the love of sanity, take a deep breath!"

This is the sales pitch I repeated to myself over and over Wednesday evening, while trying to use my circular knitting needles for the very first time, and it actually worked.

As you can see (or hear), anxiety rears its ugly little beak when I try something new.  My knitting has been limited to straight knits and purls and frankly, I'm over scarves and washcloths.  Time to move on and try

Photo source: anniescatalog.com

something new:  A hat...using circular needles.  Poseidon gifted me with a set last year for Christmas, so time to bust them out before Christmas this year.

I found a simple hat pattern on Ravlery (of course), dropped by the yarn store in my neighborhood for some yarn, and asked for a quick demonstration on knitting in the round.  The knitting guru in the shop was more than happy to show me and she told me to stop by with my hat project if I needed any help.

After casting on, I was ready to start the first round, in the round, but I couldn't get it, cue the stress monster.  I watched and re-watched a YouTube video on knitting in the round, but I found the videos less than helpful.  I was searching my hands for hives because I fully expected to be breaking out in a stress rash.  None.  I repeated the opening sentence of this blog over and over until I decided I was safe.  The yarn I bought wasn't cheap, but it wasn't going to eat me.

I switched to a cheap ball of yarn from my knitting bag and I took charge.  I practiced until I got it, realizing I would not be dying at the hands of my yarn.  Undoing and restarting 8 times isn't going to hurt anyone, EVER.  Cheap yarn, it turns out, is quite submissive...and forgiving.

Friday - Obligatory Cuteness

Happy Friday!

 

Baby skunks

 

Box o' baby sloths

A kitten in the hand is worth EVERYTHING!

 

Baby Dalmation. I'm not a huge Dalmation fan because I was attacked by one for no reason, but this little guy is begging for a hug!

Charmin?

Awwww

OK, last one...

I promise, I won't do it again.

#TBT - Throw Back Thursday - NYC - Rent!

Throw back Thursday picture I found a few weeks ago that my friend snapped in 1996 while we were waiting for two other friends.  On our way to see RENT at the Nederlander in NYC.  What a great time and even greater memories.

Finding the picture made me want to rummage through some stuff to find the playbill and ticket stub (I always keep those things), and I did!  I want to mention the coat I'm wearing in the photo.  I bought that coat for $1 in 1987 at a thrift store.  I still have that coat and wear it on occasion (it is too large for me and the lining looks like a spiderweb, but I wear it anyway).  I just pulled it out of the closet, and it's serving as the backdrop in the playbill/ticket stub photo.

Beautiful memories:  Wonderful play, good friends, cheap coat.

 

The Anxious Runner Report - The Disastrous Run

I made a last minute decision to run a 10K on Saturday (ashamedly, I was waiting to see what Mother Nature was going throw down on us).  I've been working on my pace for the last few weeks, thinking it might be possible to beat my time from last year for this same 10K.  I could not have been more wrong.

Apparently, running a good race requires sleep, and I counted 0 sheep the night before.  Not 1 tiny little lamb (I wasn't even near the pasture).  Bedtime is my nemesis.  My adult years have been plagued with erratic sleep patterns and poor habits.  I've had a particularly annoying two weeks in the sleep department and not functioning at 100% (60% is generous).  I proved to myself just how low-functioning I am on Saturday by running my worst race ever.  Not only did I not beat my time from last year, I added 6 minutes to my total.  An entire minute to each mile.

I started out much too fast and I knew it before I got to mile 3.  I was toast.  Day old toast.  I considered throwing myself to the side of the road and wait for Poseidon to report me missing.  I don't know how, but I pulled it together, opting not to look for the nearest ditch.  I was dragging.  My effort was pitiful, but I managed to run the entire 6.27 miles, though the last quarter of a mile was more like a determined-not-to-trip-over-my-own-feet jog.  I've said it before, I'm not fast and my form is never pretty, but oh my, this run takes the cake!

I felt terrible for thinking I could just show up and do this thing, and I thought about literally kicking myself, but I didn't have the energy.  So, now what?

1.  Running a race does require sleep.  OK.  Got it.

2.  I ran 6.27 miles without stopping, knowing my time would be terrible.  How about instead of kicking myself, I give myself a little pat on the back?  Done!  Feeling better.

3.  Shake it off!  I was online this morning searching for my next race.  Anxiety and that nagging fear of failing again is strong, but so am I.  Gordon Pirie (British runner in the 1950s) said, "Any runner who denies having fears, nerves or some kind of disposition is a bad athlete, or a liar."

Post-run. Red, puffy face, but smiling : )

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Time to Hit the Reset Button, and Hard!

I've been cranky and downright mean lately (throw in harsh, for grins) and it's disturbing.  I was overly frustrated with a friend, and I was monstrous to her, and she really needed my support.  I don't have an explanation for it, and I don't want to start a conversation of substance with myself because it will only bring me down, so today, on this beautiful Friday, I'm simply pressing the reset button.

There.  Done.

  (photo source:  http://www.joystiq.com)

Our Bikes are in Love

We were flying low yesterday (aka biking).  The weather was perfect and the trails weren't super busy; however, there was a murder.  My bike tire was the weapon.

I accidentally killed a copperhead snake.  He was sunning himself on the bike trail.  I didn't see him and he didn't see me, until it was too late.

These things bother me.  I know copperheads are venomous (though their bite is usually not fatal), but I don't want to be responsible for one's death.  I won't even kill roaches.  I let Poseidon do that.

The further and faster we rode, the better I began to feel, but still bummed at having taken the poor snake's life.

On our return trip home, we stopped off at our usual watering hole for late lunch/early dinner, beer, and football.  Poseidon pushed our bikes together to lock them to the pole, and he said, "Look, our bikes are in love."

He was right!  The bikes appeared to be hugging.  This cheered me right up and made me say, "Awwwwww."  Poseidon has a way of cheering me up and he usually doesn't even know he has.

I snapped a picture of the two-wheeled lovers so I can remember the day.

 

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