Monday, 29 October 2007
Went to a great Halloween party last weekend. The moon was appropriately ghostly. There was the usual assortment of psychos, ninjas, and cereal killers (and, no, that is not misspelled), and I got a great time-lapsed shot of a ninja that is positively spooky.
This time of year always brings back ghosts of Halloweens past, dragging home large grocery bags of treats and going out for more, up to the time when the half-naked sweaty dude at the door said he was out of treats, then invited us in. That was the moment I swore off trick-or-treating. Too scary. Then there were the keggers we had as "adults." Truly frightening times.
Flash forward a few decades. There is a hat full of Mexican candy in my office that no one will eat, very salty and spicy and sickeningly sweet, sometimes all in the same morsel. We never get trick or treaters, so I can't push the stuff off on them. What to do? Maybe I'll force-feed them to the clown that insisted we bring this home with us.
I am definitely overworked and underpaid, the teacher's lament. To pay for the debauchery of the past several weekends, I will spend Halloween grading papers. That's enough to make anyone's hair stand on end.
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Friday, 26 October 2007
I've had a headache for about 48 hours now, one that's dogged me for nearly 3 weeks on again, off again, intense when it's here, and difficult to shake. I'm allergic to aspirin and aspirin-related products, so Tylenol is it for me, and Tylenol hasn't made a dent in the pain the past two days. I go to bed with it, wake up with it. Ugh.
All this pain has led me to contemplate that perhaps my head is simply crammed too full. My brain has an average capacity, and I've been trying to super-size it. At any given moment, there must be 20 or 30 things competing to move up from the subconscious regions to the conscious area of my brain, and they've jammed the portals. I have to find my way to a new address in an hour, and I'm not sure there are enough unoccupied brain cells to get me there; last Friday I tried to do the same, albeit at a different address, and failed.
At least I know I'm picking him up at the Delta gate at 10 tonight. That one is burned in my brain. Does any of the rest really matter?
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Wednesday, 24 October 2007
We are sleepwalkers through life, but every now and then an alarm goes off. We had two of those this year, one for him, and one for me. His was finally diagnosed and treated, mine was a false alarm. Sometimes you'll sleep through an alarm; other times you can't go back to sleep and grumpily slog through the day. This year, like a kid at Christmas, I don't ever want to fall asleep again because I might miss something wonderful.
Even the most ordinary day holds wonderful moments. I woke up this morning hearing the familiar sound of his shoes hitting the floor; it took me a few moments to realize that what I actually heard was thunder and that he's still in Atlanta. The feeling of his presence was so strong, I had to call him to hear his voice.
The last two weekends have been among the most memorable in my life, perfectly happy times of playing together as we once did, before kids, but even better because this time around we have enough money to do the things we talked about then, and we have a sense of gratitude that we are still able to get out there and try new things.
We flew over the Grand Canyon. I spent an hour of that flight jotting down impressions of what I saw, but words fail. It was the first time for me. Lots of firsts, for we rode ATVs into a canyon on a cool, crisp morning and then washed the dust out of our systems with the coldest beer in town. We were carried to my cousin's place in a horse-drawn wagon for the best reunion ever, with Mexican food and margaritas and even more ATVs to play with.
Last weekend, we hiked the Tallulah Gorge, where the leaves are just beginning to turn. My knee is now so much better that I was able to do the entire trail this time. We ate at an out-of-the-way family restaurant, inside an actual coach. The next day we spent at the High museum, lost in the Louvre and Impressionist exhibits. Then we went to the Shakespeare Tavern for a good rendition of Macbeth accompanied by cornish pasty and Guinness.
None of these activities would be the same without my partner in crime. When we were young, he was uninterested in art and Shakespeare, and you'd never have gotten me to ride an ATV into a canyon, for we were much too bound up in our own self-definitions, and I was much too afraid of taking chances.
Now we are free, free to explore, to try new things, secure in who we are and armed with an understanding that each day is a gift. Like two kids, we can't wait for daylight so that we can jump out of bed, rush downstairs, and rip open the packages. Being present does that for you.
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Wednesday, 24 October 2007
Why, look for more to do, of course! This evening exhaustion took over. I should have given up and gone to bed hours ago, but that driving need to wring every last drop of life out of life still has me in a, well, death grip.
It begins as such a harmless act. I've missed Motime, so I read a few blogs, which made me read more, and I followed links to even more websites, and totally considered either doing NaNoBloMo or, even more ambitiously, NaNoWriMo, and then I belatedly came to my senses. Who am I kidding? Write? Daily?? Commit to daily writing (beyond my journal???) for 30 days? No WAY.
First, there's the fact that I'll never catch up on my workload until the term is over. Nothing new there. Second, I've taken on extra responsibilities that also will never be caught up. So adding anything M-F is clearly out of the question.
Then there's the weekends. I haven't been near a computer for the last three weekends, and I have to say that my life was much improved for it. In fact, I'm thinking of making this a permanent habit. Ditto for the cell phone. The main problem with modern communication and connectivity is that it is relentless until you remember that each device has an "off" switch.
So I've just invented a new activity for November, called National Go Outside and Play Month, or NaGoPlaMo. Every day I will go outside and play, even if the feels-like temperature is 100 degrees and the humidity raises the water tables, even when deadlines and workloads careen out of control like runaway trains, when responsibilities hover like buzzards over fresh roadkill.
It's a commitment, and people keep saying I should be committed. So here goes. If you want to join the NaGoPlaMo movement, just sign your name in blood in my comment section and then do it. No whining. This ain't for sissies.
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Wednesday, 10 October 2007
I may have mentioned that I'm leader of a team for the American Heart Walk this fall. I chose to do this for two reasons: first, my son, and second, I'm trying to lose weight and lower my cholesterol, and it helps to have a goal.
So far, so good. Recently, I saw a number on the scale that I'd almost given up on ever seeing again. We'll see about the cholesterol. I still love fine foods too much, and my best friend loaned me French Women Don't Get Fat a couple of years ago, and the book made me very argumentative with American doctors.
Anyway, last weekend I had an unexpected trip to the hospital. I had symptoms that could have been anything from a heart attack to a stroke to MS. After a couple of days and lots of lying still in tunnels, getting stuck so many times I'm certain I'm a couple of quarts low, exposing myself to total strangers, awakened at all hours of the night, and hooked up to all kinds of wires with those tabs that leave a gooey mess, I'd had it and checked myself out of the hospital.
Don't scold. They ran all the tests. Today in the doctor's office, I got the results of the last test, and they have no diagnosis. But the symptoms, while still there, have abated, and, although my mother is convinced I did indeed have a stroke, I think my neurologist knows better. He'd better, I've paid out so much money due to the lousy state of health insurance in this country that we are not taking that international trip this year.
We didn't want to go anyway.
But here's the point (you knew I'd arrive there eventually, right?). I'm blogging again because I've got something to say. I am blessed! Once again, I dodged a bullet. All of my family, with all their various health concerns, are still alive and kicking. I have a renewed appreciation for the gift of health.
And, even though I'm behind at work, and even though I just dropped a small fortune, we are going to ride ATVs in a canyon this weekend, play tourist, and eat, drink, and be merry with people we love.
Every day is a treasure. Savor it!
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Tuesday, 09 October 2007
It occurs to me this morning, once again, that life is lived in moments and that I get to choose my own perspective each moment that I live. That perspective is neither right nor wrong; it is my own at that given point in time, and it is born of my essence and experience. Whether you agree with my perspective or not, approve or not, is your right, but I neither seek nor need your approval or agreement, for I have been on a long journey, and it has brought me here, to this moment, which rapidly passes into the next moment.
So it is this moment and its gifts and its lessons that I will savor and share. The things that happen to me affect me, but they do not define me. In learning how to listen, I have come to hear a strangely beautiful music. In learning how to dance, my stride has taken on a new lightness and grace that transcend my physical being, which so often slows me down.
I am alive. Today I get to get in my car and drive to work, and I get to teach the lessons that seem most important to me. Each student will receive that which he or she chooses to receive. I will not give more than I can afford, but I will give my best that I have to give in that moment to each person I encounter. Then I will leave that moment behind and move into the next moment.
This moment, the one I am in, is beautiful. I watch the morning colors unfold, savor the delicious, rich aroma and bittersweet taste of coffee in my mug, hear the muted chatter of morning birds, and feel the pain and numbness in my arm without answers to my questions. I accept that this is the place where I am today, and it is beautiful.
Tomorrow will take care of itself.
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