My Year of Books, part 2, THE LISTS!

Turns out that you can "like" a book for different reasons - some books on my list were notable for the impact they had on me, even though I wouldn't necessarily call all of these my favorites from the list.

Favorites are still the ones I want to own, have on my shelf and read again someday, or at least think I would read again. There are plenty of books I really enjoyed, had great impact, or just plain enjoyed for the ideas/worlds presented, but I wouldn't want to read again.

None of these lists is more important than the other, in my heart, they are just different.

Here are my lists** ... finally ...

Favorites - as in I would read *again*
Nimona - Noelle Stevenson (keeping it til it's due to listen to AGAIN and AGAIN)
The Rules of Magic -Alice Hoffman
The Cutting Season - Attica Locke (already read it twice)
With the Fire on High - Elizabeth Acevedo
Tattoos on the Heart - Fr. Greg Boyle [to be reread everytime I need inspiration/perspective]
Speak - Laurie Halse Anderson [WOW]
The Poet X - Elizabeth Acevedo
The Astonishing Color of After - Emily X. R. Pan
The Museum of Extraordinary Things - Alice Hoffman

Most impactful - as in I am glad I read, probably won't read again
The Muralist - B. A. Shapiro
Where the Crawdads Sing - Delia Owens
Barking to the Choir - Fr. Greg Boyle
Homegoing - Yaa Gyasi
The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
The Line Becomes a River - Francisco Cantu
The Lightkeepers - Abby Geni

Glad I tried, I really enjoyed, but not *favorites*
Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk - Kathleen Rooney
Jojo Moyes - Me Before You (series of three books)
Gennifer Choldenko - Al Capone/Alcatraz (series of four books)
The Bastard of Istanbul - Elif Shafak
The Wildlands - Abby Geni
The Beekeepers' Lament - Hannah Nordhaus
The Story Sisters - Alice Hoffman

New to Me Authors - will keep reading everything they write!
Abbi Geni
Attica Locke
Anne Hillerman [I LOVE her take on the Chee/Leaphorn/Manuelito mysteries]
Elizabeth Acevedo
Alice Hoffman (I am working through her list of books, some I love, some I didn't, but she is GREAT!)
Laura Lippman (worked through all the audio available, ready for next book Ms. Lippman!)
Elif Shafak - please more books on audio!

2018 reads I should I have written about
There There - Tommy Orange
Leaving Atlanta - Tayari Jones
An American Marriage - Tayari Jones
The Mars Room - Rachel Kushner
The Untelling - Tayari Jones

In Other Words - Jhumpa Lahiri

You Don't Have to Say You Love Me - Sherman Alexie

The House of Broken Angels - Luis Alberto Urrea

Hunger - Roxane Gay

Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi

**These lists are probably more in timeframe order, going backwards from the most recent I read, not in how much I liked them! :)

My Year of 144+ books.... part 1

I was writing this really long intro to my favorite books of the year, and then I realized I was doing that thing I hate ... making someone read to the end to get to what was promised.

So, instead, I am dividing up the post. I SWEAR this is not a dangling parts post. I really already wrote and POSTED part 2!

...

I set myself a seemingly impossible goal of 12 books per month as my goal for 2019. April was nearly my undoing as I got behind by 8 books. But I used May, June and July to get back in the game. I started choosing "lighter" books, in part, because my book clubs were killing me with long, involved family trauma books. I needed a vacation from my heavy books. But, I also needed lighter fare that I could just get through more quickly to catch up.

I learned a few things. I relax by reading serial killer books. I don't know if others have this as their beach read style. I tried romance novels. But I spent more time gagging and being horrified by the inner monologue of all the female leads than listening to the books.

Sometimes you just have to give up on a book. You don't have to slog through every last word of a book that you hate. Goodreads was not my friend on this. If I said I was "currently reading" something, which was my standard habit: start a book, mark it on Goodreads. It seemed like the easiest way to do it. Then I felt guilty about abandoning the book when I hated it.

Here's how I solved that problem: 1) I created a shelf called "tried-and-hated", and 2) try books for the first forty pages before marking it "currently reading".

I didn't want to lose credit for a book who I had read passed its usefulness, but had already wasted significant hours trying to get into it. And then I wouldn't have to leave a book in the currently reading limbo forever.

Trying books was a hard concept for me because I needed to get through so many books in a month, but necessary, and, in the end, useful. I would go through a library's online available list and download three or four. Then I would try one. And if I didn't immediately love it, go on to the next one. At first, I would send it back to the library if it wasn't love at first listen. Then I realized the issue.

After just finishing a book I had come to love in the listening, any book I tried was never good enough. But I didn't have the luxury of time to savor the book before starting a new one. So, sampling was great. I would listen to a chapter on one, then another and another until the one that would ultimately be my next book was clear. That didn't mean that I abandoned all the others. Since I had already listened to the first chapter, I would go back and give each another try. Sometimes in the second listen, a book would hit. Others never hit, and I sent them back to the library for others to peruse.

If you need to get through a lot books really quickly, trying new things and giving up on them if they are not your cup of tea is the ticket. At the end of the year, you also have a really diverse set of books.

I am trying to figure out which books I liked the best. As I look through my list, I am pleased by the diverse sample of books. It also makes me want to set my sights on new challenges for myself.

This year, I tried to read more Black women writing mysteries. Since I am listening, it turns out to be harder than you think because so many books I want are not available in audio, or not available through the library on audio.

I like some romance books, but there are also lots of romance novels that are not for me.

I really, really like serial killer books. I still don't know what about them makes me feel unencumbered and relaxed. That introspection is for another post.

Lists tomorrow...

Poetry Thursday

All of Us
 ~Erika L. Sánchez

Every day I am born like this—
No chingues. Nothing happens
for the first time. Not the neon
sign that says vacant, not the men
nor the jackals who resemble them.
I take my bones inscribed by those
who came before, and learn
to court myself under a violence
of stars. I prefer to become demon,
what their eyes cannot. Half of me
is beautiful, half of me is a promise
filled with the quietest places.
Every day I pray like a dog
in the mirror and relish the crux
of my hurt. We know Lilith ate
the bones of her enemies. We know
a bitch learns to love her own ghost.

Rumi ...um, Poetry Thursday

And don’t think 
the garden loses 
its ecstasy 
in winter. 
It’s quiet, 
but 
the roots 
are down there 
riotous. 
~Rumi

Poetry Thursday, careful reminder

If you care 
about what others 
think of you, 
then you will 
always be their 
slave.
~ L. Tzu

I got things to say...

...and do, but it is all still percolating.

I am going to just leave this here for you all:


I finally got around to listening to the whole episode that included this awesome song.

This song on repeat got me through the last thirty miles of my nearly 300 miles drive today.

There was a lot of weeping so I needed this strong song to remind me that we are made of resilience.

Come at me bro...

ladybugs, lessons and life

I try to hold what the ladybugs showed me as close to my heart as possible.

I breathe, and I bite my tongue, and I breathe again.

And then, I offer suggestions, and counsel, and sometimes nothing when my loved ones need, yearn for someone, anyone to take care of whatever it is ... big, little, insignificant, important.

Sometimes, I have had to do some serious soul searching to decide, to help or save, to say nothing, to watch and wait until I know for sure that he/she/they cannot manage on their own without my help, without my saving.

I had to suspend the fear of over reaching a bit with my niece, but it was only after sincere thought about it. 

When I was headed to college, I got very little guidance and very little help.  And I survived.
I struggled, stumbled, figured it out.  It was challenging.  Sometimes, I thought, especially in retrospect, it was an unnecessary struggle to get to the answer.

So, I helped ... I let her stumble some, to struggle a bit. I explained the situation more in depth.  I let her try to find the way on her own.  But, I also tried to put myself back in those shoes.  If someone could have helped me over the rough spots that we could anticipate, would I not have truly appreciated one hurdle I didn't have to clear on my own?  So, I did my best not to be over-bearing (not so easy) and offer sound advice.

I wonder, sometimes, if that experience of self sufficiency (and all the other lessons in "take care of yourself") are the reason it is so hard for me to accept help from others.

There is not any bit of this that is easy for me. 

My desire to save is so deeply ingrained.

I look around, and it helps me to understand (and appreciate) my pops all the more.

It is hard, especially when he is acting his old man crazy, to see that his desire to save is so deep that it takes all kinds of out of control turns:  82 years old and rushing out to the farm to work all day (for free).  Only my dad would do that ... and it feels great to him.

If I derived the same kind of pleasure, it might be worth it to me, too.

But I have equal parts pops and moms; and her side doesn't do anything without getting something in return.

So, yes, little ladybugs, there are plenty of folks who don't need "saving," and there are some who would happily accept some advice or help.

I am working at being more conscious of my reactions and decisions -- determined to learn to be the helper, determined to no longer be the savior.  I am hanging up my cape... and this cuts much deeper than all of this (this that has consumed me for the past two years, at least).

But that is another post for another day.

A lesson in lady bugs

I have been meaning to post this all week -- but I just never got around to editing it. So, unedited, here it is...

A while ago, I was walking on the beach and the ladybugs helped me to understand boundaries. Here's what happened.

I noted often when I walked along the beach that bees were washed up with the tide.
I kept track of them, so that I wouldn't step on a stinger.  I wondered what caused them to be there, but I didn't worry about them. Perhaps I think of bees as so strong and capable that they are above worry (though this surely is not the case given our issues with pesticide).  Maybe once I saw one that was water-logged but still struggling to stay alive. I can't remember giving it a second thought.

One day, however, it was not bees strewn along the coast, it was ladybugs. It seemed as though there were so many of them, everywhere.  This time, I noted just how many were still alive and truly struggling to either right themselves or get away from the rising tide.

I fell into that trap so beautifully mocked when the animated ladybug begins to talk and it is a man's voice in A Bug’s Life.  I saw those ladybugs as helpless without intervention, and that their death would somehow diminish the world that I needed to step in. I was truly concerned.  The poor little helpless ladybug, I needed to step in.

I started by trying to turn over the ones whose little legs were furiously agitating trying to get right side up.  I stopped and turned over quite a few, and then I realized my folly. Sometimes in turning them, I had gotten sand on them -- wet sand. Even those I managed to right without soiling were still struggling in the wet sand. There was no way they would reach the dry sand before the threatening tide would sweep them right back into the ocean.

I never stopped to consider that these little guys had already survived [ON THEIR OWN] this far ... or that their loss might just be a natural part of the life cycle.

As I continued to walk and see more and more of them struggling, I devised a more elaborate plan. I would pick them up, place them on my shirt and let them dry out as I continued to walk. Once back near my car, and far from the waves, I could release them onto some plants. Surely this way, I would SAVE many little precious ladybug lives so that they could happily eat the mean, nasty bugs on the pretty plants.

Feeling I had bested fate, I assiduously picked up ladybugs and then watched them as they either snuggled to my shirt or walked around.  One in particular disappeared into my hair.  Many of them did a lot of walking and when a breeze caught the area near my shirt in just the right way, they opened the red spotted wings to dry out the black flying wings underneath.

At first I was still concerned, convinced the wind would carry those little bugs back to the wet sand and certain death.  As I watched them, unable to reason or cajole them into doing what I thought was best, I realized just how self-sufficient they were.  With careful, reasoned effort, they made the best of the situation despite the giant's interference.

I watched in amazement all the way back to the car, sure that I had not only done the right thing but had worked in partnership with these little guys to give them another day - another chance at eating malicious bugs.

As I approached my car, I talked to the bugs, letting them know my plan to deposit them safely on plants.  I chose some lovely flowers and tried to coax them onto the flowers and leaves.  One or two refused and fell onto the sidewalk.  I drove home content in the belief I had done my best to help these defenseless waterlogged creatures.

At dinner, I was telling my parents all about the ladybugs.  I looked over at my mom and noticed a ladybug in her hair.  I thought that must be the one that hung out in my hair and had somehow flew over to my mom.

It wasn't that night, but perhaps discussing it with my parents that made a light bulb begin to glow.  Slowly because these kinds of revelations take time, I guess, I understood the ladybugs had been trying to teach me a lesson in boundaries.

They never eschewed my help, but they didn't take it openly either.  Those that could not turn on their own gladly gripped my skin, but I had to chase the ones that were already right side up on rocks. Once on my shirt, they no longer *needed* me - they made their own plans for survival - happy to take the ride but free to leave whenever they felt the need.

That one decided to take the ride all the way home was proof that they were in charge of their own destinies -- and my help was either an unnecessary situation they could exploit or another nuisance for which they needed to devise a new strategy.

It turns out that I neither have the responsibility or the right to decide who is helpless, needs my help or should take my help.  It it is important for giants and people in general to know this ... but it is very, very hard for me.

How I have been trying to use this lesson is languishing in another draft ... to be continued.
[Warning .... I have not started this draft, so it could be awhile given my writing habits these days.]

Do You Know Me? part 2

This post might well have also been titled: WALLS. 

The therapist asked me about the walls ... if I could identify when they were erected.  She frequently poses questions that I am just supposed to go think about ... we don't always get back to them in session.  These were my musings about that question.

I don't know if I was aware that I was living behind those walls at that time.  But I remember feeling an overwhelming feeling of recognition. Someone had seen me!

That adult had only just met me at a leadership conference and in less than a week had put his finger on secret of my existence.  I don't know if he meant it as a criticism but I vaguely recall an admonition following that I should allow people in.

He was a teacher (though not mine), so one of his skills, probably honed over many years in the classroom was reading children.  It is a treasured skill I also polished while spending time with children both in school and in other contexts.

I imagine now that beyond the walls, he also sensed my pain.

In two years from that meeting, I would hit the bottom of the well – though maybe I just scratched the bottom with my feet because I called out for help.  Another teacher (perhaps this explains the primacy of teachers in my life), also not mine, who knew me from our after school chats was there to pull the bucket up and save my life.

I owe those two teachers my life in some way.  As teachers we never know how significant our interactions may be - and sometimes the simplest act of just seeing the children and youth can mean the difference between life and death, pain and joy. 

Despite their help, though, the walls never tumbled.

There might have been a hole dug though or a parapet crumbled here and there allowing some farther in than others, but these walls were soundly built over years.

When people tell you to tear down the walls, they never tell how you how to still feel safe without walls.

For those of us living behind the lines, safety matters more than anything else.  We might not appear fearful -- we don't need to show any fear because we are protected.  If only you could be vulnerable and still feel safe, how many people would chance it?

It is only in lonely moments that I contemplate what life would be like without the walls.  And those moments are not frequent for me.  Outside the wall is chaos. I stand strong in my safety.  My strength calls people -- especially needy people.  They see me and don't even think about what might be going on behind my strength.

I am all too happy to be alone behind the walls - it is quiet and there are no people grasping for some piece of me.  Happy is a strong word.  Happy is not something that I have ever felt easily.  Safe … that is even a strong word if I am completely honest.

While others see me as strong, sarcastic, and secure in my opinions, underneath I am just like everyone else.  Human. That is what I told my therapist when she asked me about it the other day.

[more drafts I have been hording since November, not sure what it means that I am feeling like sharing now...]

[all photos are from my walks]

Do You Know Me? (part 1)

Do you know me?

Or do you just think you do?

How often have you heard anger when I was crying out in pain?

[I know I have erected walls behind which I feel safe-ish.]

Did you ever climb over the wall to see what was on the other side?

I am right here.

I think all my insides are hanging out, visible through my eyes.

Aren’t they the windows of the soul?

[Or do mine just project black, empty space?]

Maybe that smoke I see through is not visible to you.

But I am here, behind my walls, desperately waiting to be rescued (from my own fortress).

[drafted in November, released now...] 

ugly truth

I was sitting with the mom of one of the boys in mijo's grief group last week.

I had just come out of the therapy session where I had *promised* to do one thing to take care of myself this week.  [No, I haven't done that yet, by the way.]

dad's orchids

She looked over at me and said she had the same problem.

I suggested that I don't have time to think about myself because I am taking care of everyone else.

She followed with her issue was that she did not feel worthy.

Wow.

She said it so matter-of-factly that it didn't even feel like a challenge to speak the truth. 

I suspect that years of therapy have made revelations such as that one easier to hold and share. 

They [who are they?] say [and why are they always saying things?] that recognizing/acknowledging our issues is the first step.

I say, "First step to what? HELL?"

I already know this... do I forget?  Do I have to be reminded so painfully?

And what am I supposed to do with this knowledge?

seaweed and surf, favorite beach

I just finished journaling about some other ugly things that I have been feeling.  I am not sure that it makes me feel *better* but it does make me feel the tiniest bit lighter.

Every week, I bring the mijo to his group, and I see his shoulders drop in relief.  I am not sure what makes him feel so safe there -- that he is not different, alone in his condition or grief?  And at the end of the hour and a half, he is elated... he always comes out of group bouncing with happiness. 

I do not feel this way after group ... or journaling or truth telling or even crying.  But I do feel the tiniest bit lighter.

More DailyOm Inspiration...

The therapist asked me to look up the word martyr after I reacted strongly to her asking me to consider whether or not I was behaving like a martyr.  She assured me that she did not mean to be judgmental but I could only hear that I was a bad person for complaining ... 

Here is what the dictionary told me:  

mar·tyr [mahr-ter]

noun

1.  a person who willingly suffers death rather than renounce his or her religion.

2.  a person who is put to death or endures great suffering on behalf of any belief, principle, or cause: a martyr to the cause of social justice.

3.  a person who undergoes severe or constant suffering: a martyr to severe headaches.

4.  a person who seeks sympathy or attention by feigning or exaggerating pain, deprivation, etc.

verb (used with object)

5.  to make a martyr of, especially by putting to death.

6.  to torment or torture.

 So, as far as I can see, she was referring to meaning number 2, and I could only conceptualize meaning number 4.  We were both justified in holding different views of this simply little six letter word.  As with many communication issues, we cannot leave to much to interpretation.  It is too easy for competing definitions to talk past each other.

When I found this DailyOm, I recognized myself immediately ... it's a good step, not really the first time I have thought about this.  But looking it in the face, following up with that processing of patterns, just might lead me to some different behaviors ... or at least some awareness.  It might be that only awareness can lead to dealing with it more skillfully...

June 11, 2014
Acknowledging Our Pain
Rescuing the Rescuer
by Madisyn Taylor


Sometimes the motivation to help others may be 

an extension of a deep desire to heal 

a wounded part of our self.

Some people seem called to help others, often from very early on in their childhoods, responding to the needs of family members, strangers, or animals with a selflessness that is impressive. Often, these people appear to have very few needs of their own, and the focus of their lives is on rescuing, helping, and healing others. While there are a few people who are truly able to sustain this completely giving lifestyle, the vast majority has needs that lie beneath the surface, unmet and often unseen. In these cases, their motivation to help others may be an extension of a deep desire to heal a wounded part of themselves that is starving for the kind of love and attention they dole out to those around them on a daily basis. For any number of reasons, they are unable to give themselves the love they need and so they give it to others. This does not mean that they are not meant to be helping others, but it does mean that they would do well to turn some of that helping energy within.

One problem with the rescuer model is that the individual can get stuck in the role, always living in crisis mode at the expense of inner peace and personal growth. Until the person resolves their own inner dramas, they play them out in their relationships with others, drawn to those who need them and often unable to acknowledge their own needs or get them met. In the worst-case scenario, they enable the other person’s dilemma by not knowing when to stop playing the rescuer and allow the person to figure it out on their own. However, if the rescuer finds the strength to turn within and face the needy aspects of their own psyche, he or she can become a model of empowerment and a true source of healing in the world.

Some signs that you or someone you love may need to rescue the rescuer within are inner burnout from over-giving; underlying resentment; an inability to admit to having needs of one’s own; and an unwillingness to be vulnerable. Help comes when we allow ourselves to admit we need it, acknowledging our humanity and our wholeness by acknowledging our pain. The understanding we gain in the process will naturally inform and inspire our ability to help those in need to do the same.

For more information visit dailyom.com
This article is printed from DailyOM - Inspirational thoughts for a happy, healthy and fulfilling day.
Register for free at www.dailyom.com

Patterns ...

My grief therapist has asked me to think about the patterns in my life -- to look at them with critical yet compassionate eyes... I am more than a little afraid to open those boxes, but I guess I don't really have a choice.

As I gear up for that intense work, and try to get through my papers (or hide from them, as the case may be...), I found these DailyOm missives to help me along.

Thought I would share with anyone that is not subscribed to DailyOm (I highly recommend it, by the way).  More to come in the next few days ... gotta keep the blog updated, it's part of my 1000 word challenge.

July 29, 2014
Repeating Patterns of Meaning
Numbers
by Madisyn Taylor


Seeing number patterns repeating in your life is a signal to take pause and pay attention to it's meaning.

Glancing at the clock may cause us to look again sometimes, especially when we notice that we’ve caught it at the same time over and over again. Maybe we see the same number pattern echoed everywhere we look—whether on license plates or appliances—over a period of hours or even days. When we accept that there are no coincidences, we know there is a message in the numbers for us, and we know to pay attention to the repeating patterns and search for their true meaning.

Numerology has its basis in the ancient world and tells us that each number carries its own vibration and symbolic significance. It can mark the stages of our soul’s evolution as we move from one frequency to the next. Repeating number patterns in our lives may call us to focus on certain aspects of our lives and rise to approach them from the best within us. Once we’ve recognized that there is something we must look more deeply into, we also must trust that we will be guided to the people and places that hold the right answers for us.

Numbers, as symbols, can carry personal meanings as well. We may have our own lucky number that has served us well throughout our lives and another that reminds us of certain events of significance. If these are the numbers that are appearing, it may be the right time to delve into the past for clues about how to handle a present situation. Many people are seeing 11:11 right now, which can be interpreted as an energetic gateway that has opened for you and is ready to manifest your thoughts into reality. Whatever explanations you receive about the numbers that are appearing everywhere you look, the important thing is to trust your own guidance as to what they are telling you. Each culture attaches different meaning to the numbers, so a Chinese interpretation may be different than an interpretation from Kabalah. It is up to us to use our intuition to see which is the best fit for us. If someone has an explanation that doesn’t feel right, then this is not the answer for you but may be just a clue to keep you moving on the path. By paying attention to the numbers around us, we use them as tools to improve our connection to the universe and our awareness of our choices in life.

For more information visit dailyom.com
This article is printed from DailyOM - Inspirational thoughts for a happy, healthy and fulfilling day.
Register for free at www.dailyom.com

Beach Days

After too many days locked inside the house or at the hospital, I decided I needed a beach day. After all, what was I doing here in beautiful Southern California without visiting the beach? So, I announced to my brother and niece that we should have a beach day on Tuesday (this was several weeks ago already)... and I got a call first thing in the morning.

We went to my favorite beach in Oxnard which has grass and a playground and then you cross the dunes to the beach. It is the only handicap accessible beach that I know of ... with a ramp that goes far into the sand through a slot in the dunes. [there is a lovely map here to show the set up of the beach, it's copyrighted, so I am only going to point at it.]  There are several benches and tables there so that folks who are in wheelchairs but want to get sand in their food are welcome to do just that. Personally, what I love about the beach is that you can have your food in the grass and or at a table, if you must, and not worry about sand. But to each his/her own ...

After some time swinging and eating her pb&j, my niece was ready for the beach. As you can see, we are dutiful adults who indulge her every whim (ALMOST!), complying when she says "PUSH!" or wants to stop swinging. I helped her collect sticks and feathers for the dino trap she was creating for her rather large plastic triceratops. Then Barbie's dogs (sans Barbie - she must be recovering from skin cancer or something) decided they wanted to be buried in sand.

I discovered that my niece does not like the ocean. She loves the beach. She is that child who loves sand and is afraid of the ocean. I detest sand -- but I love the ocean. I love the sound of the waves, I like to see the tide come in and go out. I like to dip my toes in the ice cold water -- as I have explained to many people who balk at the ocean temp in SoCal, the trick is to keep your feet in until they go numb and then you can't feel the cold! I swear it works every time.

After a while, I left my niece and brother to the dino trap and Gypsies (all of the dogs are named Gypsy, don't ask, I have no idea why).  I started to scan the horizon for whales or other wildlife.  It is what I do at the beach besides look for treasures (we found some) and watch the waves.  I noticed the pelicans (love them) heading toward one particular site, and that there were lots of white birds bobbing in the ocean there.  Pretty soon, my scanning paid off - there were dolphins, fishing in that same area.
 
This is how I discovered my niece does not like the ocean -- she refused to even look at the ocean to see the dolphins. At one point, I held her, she wrapped around me like a koala bear, head buried in my shoulder as I described what I saw.

I pointed them out to my brother and we began to watch them in earnest.  My brother said, I sure wish I could see them surfing.  There were human surfers in the area -- and one set of dolphins had seemed to swim around them at one point.  I reminisced with my brother about our trip to Alaska, when my sister had said, Anna get the whale to come out so I can get a picture.  I waved at the ocean and a giant whale's tail came out of the water - seemingly answering my wave, and my sister snapped the picture.

And, so, a few minutes later, as we continued to watch the water, two dolphins came right at us, surfing the waves.   It really made my brother's day ... and we felt the hand of our guardian angels.
 
These are not my photos, I *borrowed* them from the internet, but they are supposedly in California. And much like the first photo, there was a surfer about to take the wave when he saw the dolphins.  He sat on this board, and at the end pumped his fist in the air obviously as taken with the experience as we had been.

Before we left, we noted about 20 dolphins going back in forth where the birds were feeding.  And at one point, there were three dolphins jumping straight out of the ocean -- it seemed like they were actually playing -- my brother thought it was a mom showing a kid tricks. 

It felt like a great big welcome home -- the one I had been waiting for. 

Today

I have been frantically looking for everything today ... nothing is where I expected it to be ... wanted it to be.

All the while, I am seething about a perceived *slight* even though I know that it is rarely about *me* when others are rude or disrespectful.  Certainly, I know that these actions and reactions come from their own hurts and insecurities.

I know that what is called for is compassion.

But, I also know that compassion has to start with me ... or else there really isn't any chance to truly show compassion to others.

As, I continued to frantically look for things, my eyes fell on My Loving Reminders deck that showed up as part of an unsolicited gift.

I realized what I needed right now was one of those slow down moments we talked about in the Mindfulness-based Stress Reduction class yesterday (more on that, someday).  So, I held the deck gently, fanned it out and mindfully chose a place to cut.

This card appeared:

When you find

your self

judging someone,

look for what 

in your self

you are not yet

willing 

to accept ...

hold that part 

of you

more gently!

Robyn Posin

It brought me back to me ... and the frantic searching. I could hear the voice in my head during that searching, berating myself for not knowing where something *important* is, for not being farther along on *everything* and for, in general, not being on top of everything.  [I heard a little of the voice of the therapist and the group in there, too.]

But, I know what to do ... yes, I will take the things with me that I might decide to read today... I will run some errands, and I will get the car's alignment done, and I will get some work done.  And, I will go to happy hour to celebrate. 

And, whatever I get done will be *enough* because I am *enough* every day in every way. 

Alaska, 2007

Sending loving reminders your way to be gentle with yourself.

Therapy, part 165

My therapist asked me, "Do you cry every day?"

My instinct answered, "No."

I don't even know what that means.

Do I cry every day? 

No ... because I don't count the tears I catch with my eyelashes.

I don't count the one tear that makes it out and meanders down my cheek.

I don't count the wetness on my chin that I try to avoid while furiously blinking.

Crying... when I remember crying, I am falling to the floor, clutching at the ground, clawing my way to safety, somewhere beneath the floorboards.

Why does the ground feel like the right place to cry?

Crying... my head on my dead brother's chest, tears wetting the cloth covering his body; me, begging him to wake up.

Crying... my hand gripping my sister's hand, grasping it so hard it feels like she is squeezing it back.  My head on her arm, the tears coursing down my cheeks, into the thin sheet covering her body.  I begged her to come back.  I told her I wasn't ready to be the oldest.

Why didn't anyone hear our prayers?

No, I don't cry every day.

I breathe in and out.

I put one foot in front of the other.

I live. 

Sometimes my eyes leak, but I go on living.

Alaska, 2007, Whale in the water...