Willing To Wait, Sort Of

Let’s face it, I’m not a patient kind of girl. I’ve tried, oh how I’ve tried. And how many different ways I’ve worked on this, I cannot even begin to figure out any more. All I know is that patience is a virtue that I lack.

I’d like to blame society, I mean it’s all about immediacy these days anyway. That’s the joy of social media and the internet in general. You want it? You can find it. Now. Frankly I wonder how this has worked for people who are shopaholics. They can simply zip online, find what they seek and make the purchase and viola off to the next adventure.

But the truth is, as I try to get back on track, even before having access to all this immediacy I still struggled with this idea of waiting.

As a child, the wait up to Christmas was pure torture, same with my birthday. Okay okay twist my arm! There are still times when Christmas makes me impatient! But honestly it’s just to see the expression and glee upon another’s face as my present to him/her is opened. (See, I have matured some!)

I know good things come to those who wait, but I wonder if by the time they get what they were waiting for they even remember that once upon a time they wanted this.

These days my impatience shoes itself when I have a million things to do and one person is slowing things up. As in that person in the grocery store who can’t remember the pin for her/his card.

The real deep, dark impatience rears its ugly head when I’m waiting on results regarding publications or such. Oh then it’s hopping from one foot to the other as almost right after i make the submission. I’m pretty sure the floor has spots where I’ve bounced too many times!

I’ve wondered why I have this issue, and I think I’ve figured it out. It’s the fear of not knowing, the fear that what’s coming is going to be not what I hoped for. I suspect it’s a bit like deciding to just rip the Band-Aid off and getting it over and done with. If it’s bad news, I’d like to know sooner rather than later thanks all the same.

If it’s good news? Well here’s the curious thing about that. Good news makes me uneasy. I always doubt it, questioning it over and over again. I examine it from all aspects and even then I don’t trust it. Oh it isn’t that I don’t believe in good news, rather I just don’t believe it comes my way, as though I shouldn’t hear it in conjunction with my name.

So if it’s good news, I need to hear that sooner rather than later so that I have time to examine, dissect and finally believe it and then accept it with stumbling grace.

Silly Schedules

Glancing out the window I saw him wander into the garden, with a full watering can to surely water the flowers. In the pouring rain.

He came in soaked, not because it was a sudden cloudburst, for it had been raining before he decided to water the plants so he could have thrown on some rain gear if he so chose. As he dripped water onto the floor and toweled off his short hair he provided this explanation for what I perceived to be his folly. “The plants expect and need this routine. They know I am to water them at a certain time every day. If I missed just because of the rain they’d think I didn’t care about them.” I decided the raindrops had found and opening and leaked into his head. I’d have to wait for his brain to dry out before he’d make sense. But this was the same man who’d go to the zoo because the animals needed someone to look at, to be entertained so even a dry brain might not provide any more logic.

As small children we are placed on schedules, set in a routine so we know what to expect and when to expect it. It helps shape our behaviors and understanding of something called a schedule. Through our educational years we adhere to a schedule, thus knowing when a certain class will take place or when we absolutely must have the reading completed and the papers written. Work, in turn, still adheres to the idea of a schedule, different in some ways and yet the same in others.

To me scheduling seems rather rigid and unnatural. I enjoy the freedom of doing what I want when I want because that’s how it works best for me. I wanted to believe that schedules are unnatural, but as he pointed out with his logic, in the big picture nature also runs on a schedule. How else do the leaves know when to change color, the cold winds to start to blow? How do the flowers know when to bloom and the sun to shine longer?

Not that the idea of schedules really works with his idea of having to water in the pouring rain simply because the plants expect it! 🙂

Personal Decisions

He had gone to see her, although he wouldn’t admit it, he was excited. He hadn’t told me in advance he was seeing her, probably because he knew my reaction.

I found out when he came home, or should I say I came home a bit earlier than normal and was puzzled to not find him in the house. He came in shortly after and I could tell something had happened, something was different.

He was moving differently, slowly and more careful. It was as if he was brittle and any little bump would cause him to shatter into a million pieces.

When I commented on how he was loving, and the fact he had been out, he turned a slight shade of pink and said he’d gone for a Thai massage. To stretch out and help loosen tight muscles as well as increase flexibility.

I’m not opposed to Thai massages, nor am I wanting to keep track of him every second of every day. But I was pretty sure someone recovering from cancer wasn’t supposed to just jump into a massage. Wasn’t there a waiting period or something?

He assured me that the therapist had looked into all before she agreed to take him on as a client. He had called the oncologist who said as long as it wasn’t going to be hard or taxing he could try, but slow and gentle only.

And so he had gone. He hadn’t told me first because he said that as much as I’ve never had a child I have this habit of becoming everyone’s mother.

And now he was feeling, well, rather weak and needing to be careful. I bit back the “I told you so,” that threatened to spill from my lips. After all I hadn’t told him, because I hadn’t known.

It was the first time something like this had happened, nor was he the only one “guilty” of this. The fact is often in relationships we need to carve out our own space, just that little something for us. We need to stretch our songs and try a flight path different from our normal one and if it all goes well, we can perhaps than share that with our partner.

It isn’t that I was angry with him, I just was surprised that he was willing to risk it,that he was feeling so poorly still that he needed this, and yes a part of me was feeling hurt that he couldn’t have shard that with me before he went. But I did understand.

How could I not understand given my own health issues and how I go it alone so often. Yes I know there is that issue of a pot and a kettle and the fact they are both black in color. And there we were. One of us the pot and one of us the kettle and we ended up laughing, the way we always do. I’m not sure why, but both of us are stubborn, although if push comes to shove I tend to be far more stubborn than he is, and yet in the end we end up sharing a laugh over it all.

Naughty Mother Nature

She was moody, no two ways about it. You could tell by the way she did things, just slightly off what they normally were. Of course we didn’t heed these warnings, oh no not us. After all, what we were to do about it?

And then she started doing things backwards. Rain all day and the sun out in the early evening. Why? Because she’s Mother Nature that’s why! And I suspect she was a bit miffed with us humans.

In the times gone past we would have known what to do, how to appease her or make things right. But we lost that know ledge when we adopted more technology and disconnected with the natural things.

Oh I’m not talking about sacrificing things, although some of our ancients would have done that or things similar. And I’m not talking about food offerings or dancing. Why? I’m pretty sure my dancing would not be pleasing to her. And I’ve no idea what food to offer her or how to prepare it correctly.

I’m not a huge environmental tree-huger type person. But when the natural things seem to shift out of being natural it grabs my attention. And given my studies in various belief systems I am always wondering why the ancients did what they did and how it all worked.

But mostly it all caught my attention because I was laid up with a swollen leg and thus had time to notice how odd the weather was this time of year.

Sure weather shifts and changes, but not to this extent. The weather here is pretty much the same no matter what. There aren’t really four seasons and that’s okay. But oodles of rain, sun popping out just before going done for the night and high winds? I’m not thrilled with that day after day either. Surely some of these weather changes are because of the layered landscape, and other things introduced into places it doesn’t belong.

I guess we can just keep ignoring it, trying small little things and hoping they are a miracle the way so many face creams promise to erase lines and aging.

If she was a person I suspect we’d give her medication to balance her out. I don’t know what we do for her.

Bags and Ballons

A friend picked up my purse recently and commented on its weight. Granted my purse is rather large, but that’s so I can toss my iPad or some books into it as well as the usual stuff that goes in, money, id, keys, lip balm some meds and the ever-present bottle of water.

Unfortunately when Beloved is with me, my bag ends up holding his wallet, his iPad and maybe a book or so of his.

After I left my friend I decided to clean put the stuff in my bag. Loose change (part of my weight lifting routine I guess) was dumped, unnecessary scraps of paper (once so important that they had to be saved on my purse) were discarded. Some of Beloved’s keys to heavens knows what was extracted from the depends of the bag. Other bits and bobs were removed and the newly cleaned purse was lighter, more comfortable again.

I have no clue why I always wait so long before removing the additional weight, it makes no sense. I mean if I was using it for weight lifting, them sadly only one arm would get a work out and that’s not good. Besides I like this idea of comfort. A heavy purse is not comfortable.

Of course it isn’t just my purse that gets heavy. I tend to carry baggage, emotional baggage, in my life. I carry past hurts and grudges far too long. As these build up they begin to drag me down. I don’t want to be dragged down, but I’m loathe to set those bags down and so I lug them around until I’ve acquired far too many bags to carry anymore.

Once I have too much weight or too many bags, I start to set some of them aside and just leave them there, forgotten and ignored afterwards. That always feels better, more free and light. Still I end up collecting these wounds as if they ate part of a huge collection that will me day be worth a mint.

But past hurts, wrongs and anger never amount to anything other than a means of weighing down a person, limiting that person’s abilities etc. So from now on I shall work on tying my wrongs and hurts to bright shiny balloons so that I might set the free almost immediately. After all life carries enough weight to it as it is!

Ranting Rhetorically

Why is it on the one day you cannot sleep in, that’s the day your body decides it’s going to do exactly that?

On the day you just can’t afford for any little hiccups to happen, a year’s worth arrives almost all at once and then won’t leave?

Or how about the day you think you will fill up, but then change your mind and decide he car can wait until tomorrow, only to discover while you were sleeping sounding the price of fuel went up?

Okay so those are all rhetorical questions, the answer of course is Murphy and his darn law.

Murphy is one of those relatives who isn’t always in your life, he’s more like an uncle you’d rather not come around and yet the threat of his presence is always here. You hate that you feel this way, but you just know when good old Uncle Murphy shows up life is go into take a turn you’d rather not go around.

I’ve tried to fool good old Uncle Murphy, pretending like I didn’t have anything important to do, but he knows better. Uncle Murphy has his little spies and his magical ways of knowing what is really important and making sure he can put his own touch on things.

I suppose I should be honored to have at least someone that interested in my mundane life. Flattered even to have a stalker type person. But I’m not. Of course I’m now because Murphy isn’t exactly what I wanted.

So if anyone would like Uncle Murphy, just to add how touch into your life, please let me know. I will send him over, complete with snacks and his Pjs. Just in case. 🙂

Coffee, Crime and Changes

The smell of burnt coffee was in the air. An offering perhaps to the deity if coffee, Oh Great Bean Of Above! But it wasn’t my offering. Sure sure I worship in the house of coffee, regularly, almost constantly.

I dream of coffees flowing in place of water in rivers. Basically I have Willy Wonka type vision for coffee. Coffee rivers, mountains of coffee beans, little coffee streams, latte lakes and on and on it goes. Of course I realize this is just a dream, but hey, a girl needs a little something as a pick me up.

Ah but I digress the burnt coffee and the small matter of the man who had done the burning. Beloved has been up in the very wee hours of the morning, actually he was up as the sun was debating getting out of bed and filling the day with brilliant golden light, or taking a day just for himself. And because Beloved was up so early he had decided to make some coffee. All totally normal in my books.

While he waited in his nectar to brew he got down to work, editing papers to be exact and somehow he ended up dong the unthinkable. He. Forgot. About. The. Coffee. Who does that? (No sane person I know!)

I woke to the smell of burning coffee filling the house. I opened windows, I checked on the victim, but it was too late. Nothing could be done for the coffee so I gave it. Graceful departure, said a few words and vowed that it had not been brewed in vain. And then I went in search of the perpetrator.

I found, huddled up over some pages, red pen in hand and completely oblivious to the tragedy he had wrought. He was so lost in what he was doing he seemed to not even notice me, nor the smell, the evidence of the crime.

I gave him the benefit of a doubt, perhaps an offering to some being, I said. He looked at me sheepishly, red ink on his hands and on his cheek and said, “I forgot. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” I shrieked silently, mourning the beans. No big deal, as if he has spilt some water instead of the tragedy it really was. What I said though, after I could breathe again was “perhaps you ought not attempt coffee anymore. This is the third pot you’ve ruined. Tea is more your thing.” And with my head held high, I marched out of the room and returned to the crime scene.

As with any crime, eventually life must go on. The mess is cleaned up and tidied somewhat, but ultimately we carry on. Some people are better at this than others, perhaps because some crimes are for more horrible than others. We are changed by these events (well okay not in the case of the burnt coffee), but people are often changed by experiences or lack thereof.

Some people can mark their lives clearly with a Before said event and an After said event. Some people continue to live with the pain, hurt a nd suffering long after the moment itself is gone because often times the moments are fleeting, but the horror left behind last on and lingers through reminding us we have changed somehow.

There were changes that came out of this incident in my household too. When we are together only I may use the coffee maker because although some deities may enjoy the smell of a burnt offering, I’m pretty sure the coffee one does not. 🙂