Nuggets of Wisdom

My acupuncturist is an amazing healer, a fiery Colombian American and self-avowed recovering Catholic. Each time I visit her sky blue office I feel soothed and supported while at the same time challenged and uplifted. Her belief in the divine is supported by her knowledge of quantum physics (right up my alley) and she discusses frequencies with fervor.

A few treasured observations from my visit yesterday:

- "Monkeys don't like monks." This witty assessment of how Gregorian chants can be an antidote for stress and the so-called 'monkey-mind,' even for recovering Catholics (although she asked permission to play that particular arrangement, acknowledging that some raised Catholics could be anti-monk, or at least averse to chanting).

- "The Spanish word for faith is fe, which = force and energy."   I love this, as my faith has taken a beating since 2016, when I felt that Christianity was co-opted by people who act the least like Jesus of anyone I've ever met. Deyba talked about how Jesus' positive energy, his high frequency, was so powerful that he could walk into any group of people and change their existing energy field. She explains how we can raise our own frequencies with positivity and optimism, how we can also use our force and energy for good and positively alter the energy of a person or even a room of people that we encounter. This takes a lot of work, a great deal of self-care, and healthy boundaries.

I'm working on the healthy boundaries. As an oldest daughter, a woman raised in 1980's "Ronald and Nancy Reagan" America, I am certainly a people-pleaser. Deyba has been teaching me to do what I need to do for my health and my peace of mind, making choices for better sleep, fewer conflicts, positive outlook (manta - 'everything is always working out for me') and healthy eating, reading, listening.  

If we could all hum our way to higher frequencies, how much better could we be? (Apparently humming is another wonderful way to soothe and uplift). I'm prepared to wield humming, good health and Gregorian chants as we enter 2025.

PS - Thinking of everyone in CA affected by the fires and praying for quick resolution and no further loss of life.

 

Resolute in 2025

I stopped making specific new year's resolutions a few years ago, probably around the time I turned 50 and realized that the years march on regardless of my more-healthy diet or my vow to spend less time on my phone. Ideas for self-improvement float into my head year-round, and the restlessness has previously fed my need to stay busy, to do meaningful things, to deny myself rest. While these personality traits are difficult to shake, wisdom won through trying experiences has made me want to be resolute in the face of whatever comes, and not to make resolutions to make myself better for mysterious times ahead.

My friend Hana sent me this lovely poem by Donna Ashworth that expresses such sentiments better than I can, and I want to share it with you.

"On the stroke of midnight tonight,
You can resolve to be better, if you like...
To be fitter, to eat cleaner, to work harder.

On the stroke of midnight tonight,
You can resolve to become a 
Whole new you, if you so choose.

Or, you can take a moment to acknowledge
All you already are,
Because it's a lot. You're a lot.

And you deserve to be commended.

On the stroke of midnight tonight,
Perhaps you could congratulate yourself
For coping, for breaking again,
And for rebuilding again.

For catching the stones 
Life has thrown at you and using them
To build your castle that
Little bit stronger.

You have endured, my friend.

And I don't see the need to resolve 
To become a whole new you,
When you are already so very much indeed.
Happy new year. You made it.

Now let us face another 365-day turn, 
Arms wide, accepting and embracing
And 'seeing' each other
For all we are."

Happy New Year xxoo!

A Christmas Wish

It has been a difficult six weeks in our house. The November election was closely followed by my broken finger and Rob's five-week virus. Our various cars were in the shop four times, construction times doubled on our refinished stairs, and work challenges flared intermittently. Friends of ours had crazy vet bills, surgeries, more car trouble, etc. to the extent that all I want for Christmas is rest. In a world of trouble these are but minor irritations, een champagne problems, but they wear on me, sapping a measure of my vitality and optimism.

I'm oddly nostalgic for Christmas during the pandemic year, which was full of neighborhood lights, Christmas cards out my ears, long walks, drives (to see more lights), and family Zooms. Christmas 2024 feels like our whole country has hit the fast forward button again, with shocking headlines (daily), neighbors struggling to get lights on despite our warm weather, low Christmas card inventory, and adult kids coming home to an empty fridge. I don't wish for the return of the pandemic, but just an iota of the time and space it bought us.

I have a head cold and William was sick all night with either food poisoning or a stomach bug, but after work today we can have at least two days to ourselves, sleeping in, attending to cherished family rituals, baking and reading next to the tree.  We wish everyone a few days of rest and peace, time to count the blessings that intermix with our list of challenges, and some long walks with space to breathe. Thank you to all those who work on the holiday - I hope you also get time and space to rest and may good health and moments of joy lead the way into 2025 for us all. 

The Holiday Whoop-de-doo

It's that time of year again, when the Costco lot overflows and I park so far away that my watch asks me if we are taking an outdoor walk before I get to the sliding front doors. That time when the New York Times offers op ed pieces entitled "How to Navigate Awkward Holiday Parties" and my compulsion to decorate the house takes precedence over work-related to do's.

At Thanksgiving we had the best possible large-family holiday meal. Fifty of us were comfortable seated in Rob's cousin's beautiful remodeled barn, and the long wall was lined with crockpots on table after table, all conveniently plugged into a row of power strips. (It may have been a Guiness-record number of crock pots!) The food was delicious, and my mother-in-law, Connie, went above and beyond to ensure that we celiac troublemakers had enough menu options. We even had our own mini-crock filled with GF stuffing, and a well-labeled (non-celiacs stay back!) GF, DF apple pie.

Having enjoyed the hustle and bustle of connecting and catching up with a myriad of uncles, cousins, aunts and youngsters, our small party of five now looks forward to a simple Christmas in front of the fire, with Aden's favorite GF/DF sweet potatoes (with marshmallows), our traditional candy apples, and cats on laps during a blissful day of doing nothing.

We've reached the age where only a few presents collect under the tree. (If one present is a phone, the other two will be socks and a Starbucks gift card!) The chatter of multiple conversations will be replaced by hymns and carols on Spotify, and instead of leftovers we will eat our usual Christmas dinner of potstickers and egg rolls.  

Traditions morph and children grow into adults and yet the joy of the season can continue unvarnished - especially if one ignores all news and sets up healthy boundaries on early departure times from aforementioned holiday parties. Cards may be sent into the New Year, friends may visit an unclean house, and the 100-day cough may still linger, but by golly this could be the best holiday ever!

Universal Two by Four

I've been literally and metaphorically off-balance since the election. Half-asleep and fighting depression for the first half of that period and falling all over myself in the second half.  Early last week I fell in the pool while coaching - it was 40 degrees and I was fully clothed for outdoor practice in waterproof shoes and parka when I went in. To their credit, the athletes did not laugh at me - they were horrified. As if I would drown in 3 feet of water ... but the weight of my winter clothes could have been dangerous in the deep end.

Three days after that unique incident, I slipped and fell outside the same outdoor pool and landed solely on the middle finger of my right hand, fracturing the tip and nearly detaching the tendon.  It's my first verified break and it's now splinted for four to six weeks. My acupuncturist said that this middle-finger fracture was hugely symbolic, to which I replied "Do you think??" I am literally walking around giving a red-taped middle finger to the world.

"Accidents are not accidents," she calmly countered. "The universe is trying to tell you something and you were not listening, so it whacked you with a 2 x 4."

 I'm officially now all ears for whatever the universe wants to say . . .  probably "slow down, take care of yourself, try to block out the raging ridiculousness of the current political scandals in Washington."  I'm not entirely sure, and it's difficult to type with this blasted middle finger.

To add to the craziness, Rob is home sick with either Covid, bronchitis or pneumonia. He tested negative for Covid but I don't believe it.  Apparently he wasn't taking care of himself, either, and got hit by his own universal 2 x 4. Lesson to readers: work on self-care and don't ignore the obvious signals - you want to avoid the big universal whacks on the head!