A New Writing Experience

Surprise, Mary!  Mary is one of my most faithful readers (she even has an alert on her tablet to let her know when I've added something to this blog) and she hasn't been able to read a new post here for a very long time.  I have lots of excuses (bad) and some reasons (good) why it's been so long since I posted.

One of those reasons makes me very happy because it's added to my word count goal for the year.  I wrote a Christmas play for a teacher I know who was too overwhelmed with unexpected events to write one herself, as she often does.  A thinker I have great respect for came up with the idea for the play and I just developed it and fleshed it out.  I'd never written a play before and also never written for young people ranging in age from five or six to well into their teens.  What joy and relief I felt when not only did that teacher assure me that "it's perfect," but the students were also pleased with it.

And now, with any kind of weather luck in the middle of December, I'll get to travel to the one-room school house on a western Manitoba Hutterite colony to watch the production as staged by the children of that school.  I have certain pictures that were in my mind when I wrote (and revised compulsively) and it will be exciting to see how the teacher and her students interpret setting, costuming, pace, and music themes.

I pictured something a little like this, although certainly not as elaborate, as I wrote but took care not to describe the setting in too much detail or tie it to one particular era in history because I didn't want to restrict the teacher or her pupils in their interpretation.  And it was easy for me to picture anything I pleased because I didn't need to worry about actually creating those backdrops.  

Writing the play, titled Hush Little Baby, was a great learning experience for me and much more fun than I expected.  But I'm sure the greatest payoff will be seeing it produced and meeting the actors.

And God Chuckled

A Sunday or two ago, we had a replacement priest for the weekend Masses.  Our permanent pastor was away leading a pilgrimage and this retired priest was kind enough to help out by celebrating Mass with us.

He has a very loud voice and oh my!  He was just so enthusiastic about God.  He boomed out his sermon and the prayers of the Mass - no sound system needed.  It's two weeks later and I do believe my ears are still ringing!  It was a different way to worship, perhaps a little more distracting, since in our parish we're used to Father Gerry's more serene and reflective style.

But "Father Replacement" kept us alert and just waiting to see what would happen next.  For example, at the Prayer Intentions he jumped in ahead of the reader of the prayers and prayed a long list of his own, which more or less anticipated the prayers written for that Mass.  When the reader finally got her chance to speak the prayers, Father chuckled at each one, as he realized what he'd done.  Eventually, we were all laughing with him as the reader began each new prayer and barely able to give the response, "Lord, hear our prayer."

The best incident though was when Father began to chant a prayer and realized he'd forgotten to wait until the altar server had brought forward the Sacramentary with the words.  Without missing a beat, Father sang, "Oh God, Almighty Father..."sweetheart, could you bring me the book because I'm not sure what comes next."  The altar serving was grinning from ear to ear as she brought the Sacramentary forward and the rest of us were laughing out loud as Father grinned and sang the correct words to the prayer.  When he had intoned the ending and we had all chanted the appropriate, "Amen," Father grinned at us and continued chanting, "Thank you, sweetheart, I don't know what I would have done without you!"  And now the poor altar server was giggling out loud as she returned the book to its place on the altar.

And I suspect that God was chuckling with us and pleased that we were enjoying Mass in a different way.  Laughter can be prayer.  If all of life is to be prayer, then laughter and weeping and anxiety and surprise and gladness have to be part of that.  Even anger (righteous anger, that is) and disappointment and sadness can be prayer.  We human beings with all our variable emotions are created in the image of God, as the bible tells us.  That makes me believe that God also has those emotions and is happy (another emotion) to share in them with us.  Even babies show emotion:

It's anybodies guess what Kara is feeling here but we know, because she's a human being, that she's feeling some kind of emotion.

Sometimes we're quite certain we know what emotion baby Kara is feeling.

I suspect that on the Sunday in question, Kara would have laughed out loud with us, had she been able to understand what was happening.  I'm willing to bet that "Father Replacement" had God in stitches, too!

In The Silence

Now there was a great wind ... but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.  When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. (1Kings 19:11-13)

It's been quiet here on my country mile for the last few days.  I've taken a little time off work and spent most of the time sitting in my gazebo with the dogs snoozing at my side.  My intention was to read and pray and write ... and I did some of that.  And I also spent a lot of time hearing, seeing, and feeling God in the silence of nature when it quietens itself for rest in the evening.

Be still and know that I am God. (Psalm 46:10)

That's what I've been doing these last few days and it has done my soul such good.  I hadn't realized how much I needed this time until I was able to let go of the world outside my country mile home and meet God where God was waiting for me.

A plaque on the wall of my home office reads:  

Make time for quiet moments

As God whispers

And the world is loud.

Twelve Things

Oh dear; I can't explain how it happened that it's been so much longer than I intended before posting again.  My only excuse is that it's been a much busier summer than I expected, in a very good way for the most part. 

One of my brothers had a very severe accident and that took a bite out of my time and energy (he's well on the way to recovery now after a pretty scary few days); the delightful Kara is a constant draw for this doting Oma; there's yard work without end this year; and all kinds of birthdays and other enjoyable family events mean hours spent with people I love ... and less time to write.

So, just for fun, here are twelve things you might not have known about me, unless you're one of my siblings. 

1. I am the oldest in my family of origin.

2. I have two sisters and three brothers.

3. My sisters and I are only thirteen months apart, which says something amazing about how well my mother coped with babies so close together.

4. I was ten years old before I knew my name.  That's a topic for another post but let me reassure you that it's not as bad as it sounds .

5. I spoke German only as a child and had to learn English on the fly, as it were, when I started school at six years old - no kindergarten in the town where we lived then.

6. I was a straight A student, until I encountered high school Math and Physics.

7. I've visited Germany and parts of Europe four times.

8. Beyond my parents, siblings and their families, and my own family, I have no relatives in Canada - no aunts, uncles, cousins - although some have come to Canada to visit from time to time.

9. I hold a preMasters degree in English literature and planned to become a high school English teacher.  But that changed and I still appreciate the degree because it inspired my love of writing.

10. I have raised four amazing children (with a little help from "the Squire," of course).

11. I'm the proud Oma of four wonderful grandchildren.

 12. My oldest grandchild is 13 years old and the youngest is now three months old.

Weather Doldrums

One of my most faithful readers reminded me today that it's been some time since I posted here.  A quick peek at the date of my last post confirmed that I haven't been active here for a few weeks. Many apologies to those of you who keep checking faithfully; hopefully I've got my writing "oomph" back and there won't be such a long gap again.

Part of the reason my "get up and go" seemed to have "got up and went" away is the weather here on my country mile.  We had a very long and cold winter, followed by a late, slow, cold, and wet spring.  You would think that after all that, we deserve to enjoy the most beautiful summer ever but, apart from a very few days scattered here and there, the summer so far has been record-breaking wet, windy, cool, and cloudy.  This has resulted in an overwhelming crop of mosquitoes ensuring that, should it actually not be pouring rain, you don't dare stick your nose outside anyway!

When the weather is gloomy and disappointing, so is my mood and so are all my creative impulses.  Right now I'm sitting in my writing room (a.k.a. the guest room or my study) with a quilted jacket over my long sleeve top and the electric blanket on my lap and wrapped around my legs.  That's my usual situation for writing in the wintertime; it's very depressing to need all this on the last day of June.  Outside it's cold, windy and rainy.  We've had about 70 millimeters in the last few days and the forecast for tomorrow is ... you guessed it, cloudy, windy, cool, and rain!

Of course, rain is pretty and can make my country mile look amazingly beautiful.  But my garden and yard are overrun with weeds because it's been raining on my days off for over a month now and I just can't do the yard work I need to.  Hence, the excess of rain we've had is not pretty and has made my yard look neglected and overgrown.

I don't usually mind feeling this occasionally,

as long as I can also get regular doses of this.

I've noticed that as I get older, my mental health is more and more linked to the state of the weather.  It makes good sense; we're natural creatures and are attuned to our environment.  As such, we need balance and harmony to be at our best.  This spring and summer there seems to be something distinctly unbalanced and unharmonious about our weather, not just here on my country mile, but across the whole province.  People from all over are feeling it, as I hear frequently in my work.
 
But some good has come out of these five consecutive days of nasty, stormy weather; I've done so much reading (the latest Diana Gabaldon novel) and so much reading about writing (the latest issues of my writing magazines) that I'm pumped to write.  First, this post and next, another chapter of my novel.

And more good news: the forecast is calling for sunshine on Wednesday ... just in time for me to go back to work!

Stroke One Off the List

I can't believe what I did today!  I'm in Banff, Alberta for a counsellors' conference.  "The squire" and I left our country mile on Wednesday morning and arrived here yesterday after a two day drive across the western prairies.

This morning we decided that, since the conference didn't begin until 7:00 this evening, we should take advantage of the chance to visit some of our favourite mountain scenery, as we haven't been here for several years.  An hour's drive along the beautiful Bow Valley Parkway took us to Johnson's Canyon.

It's been on my "bucket list" to walk at least up to the Lower falls of that canyon at least once more in my life.  To be honest though, I didn't really expect ever to do it because my feet and ankles have been deteriorating significantly and walking on level ground is more difficult than it was even a year ago.  So it didn't seem reasonable to want to climb a twisting and turning rocky, slippery path.

But when the squire said, "what do you think, should we try it?" I didn't even pause to think before I said, "I'd like to hike to the Lower Falls."  After I said it, I saw the sign that announced the Lower Falls were half a mile's worth of hiking.  And then, of course, there was the return hike to do after that...

 Halfway up I already began thinking that this wasn't going to work; my ankles were killing me and the slippery surfaces were dangerous in some places.  But my natural stubborness kicked in.  No way was I going to tell the squire how I was feeling!  I decided just to keep climbing and think about something other than how my feet felt. 

When I got to the top, I was so thrilled I even went through the cave-like tunnel to stand in the spray from the falls thundering by only a few feet away.  The squire had decided he didn't want to get wet, so I went in on my own.  I'm not sure I would have made it through and then back out again, had it not been for helpful strangers who sensed my hesitation at some points and gave me a hand for balance over the slipperiest spots.

And then somehow, with frequent stops to rest on some conveniently placed benches, I made it the half mile back down again, with more than a little encouragement from the squire.

 And now I'm every bit as sore as I figured I'd be and happy to pay that price.  I'm so pleased that I was able to do it.  I can definitely stroke this one off my bucket list.

I shared my pleasure with a new friend at the conference tonight and she reminded me that I should also add something new to my bucket list now, for as she pointed out, "You never want to get to the end of the list."

What the Easter Bunny Brought

I'm pleased and proud and tickled PINK to introduce the newest member of the family the "Squire" and I treasure so much.  Kara Rosa Josefa was born on Easter Sunday morning, weighing 8 pounds and two ounces and measuring twenty inches long.   It took exactly one minute for every member of our family to fall in love with her ... totally, completely, and head-over-heels in love.

Kara and her Mommy and Daddy are a beautiful little family and I can hardly wait for them to come visit on our country mile.

At two days old, Kara was already bright and alert when her parents brought her home from the hospital.  She loved the car ride.

Doesn't she look content snoozing in her Opa's arms at six days old?

Here's the response I got from her on the day of her newborn photo shoot at my daughter Jenn's photo studio when I sang Kara a German lullaby that I remember my mother singing to me and my siblings.  Jenn was hoping for lots of sleeping poses so when Kara got too wakeful, we'd feed her and then rock her back to sleep.  When it was my turn to rock her, I just instinctively began singing the lullaby and Kara opened her eyes wide and gazed fixedly at me.  She grew very still and seemed to be listening intently.  Of course, after a few minutes she dropped into a deep sleep.  I guess this Oma hasn't lost her touch, even though it's been ten years since we had a new baby in our family.

Kara's birth day feels extra special to us because twenty-eight years ago when our other daughter, Kate, was born, it was also on Easter Sunday morning.  That Easter fell on March 30 and we called "Katie" our little Easter bunny for months after she was born.  In some families, when very young children want to know how they came to be in the world, their parents or grandparents might say that "the stork brought you."  I guess in our family, we'd have to say that the Easter bunny brought Kara.

Happy Birthday

Happy Belated Birthday wishes to ... me!!

Since we returned from our vacation I haven't been feeling very well.  That's partly due to trying to adjust to a new medication, which is beginning to feel like it will make a difference to my pain levels, so it's been worth the trouble so far.  And part of it's due to my chronic insomnia.

Unfortunately, when I'm as tired as I've been this winter, my creative urges give up and long only for sleep.  So, I haven't posted here for far too long and I've neglected some important events that ordinarily I would have been very quick to write about ... like my 60th birthday.  Ordinarily, I don't fuss much about my birthdays but turning such a ripe old age is a big deal and should be celebrated.

My family certainly made a big deal out of it with a lovely surprise party at my daughter's house.  I had been invited to spend time with my children and grandchildren; was I ever surprised when my brothers and sisters, their spouses, and even some of our good friends drove into the yard!

(This is a selfie of me and the lovely daughter who hosted the whole group and made the day so special.)

(So many beautiful gifts and wonderful family and friends.  The beautiful lady in the tan jacket is my 80 year old mother - what a treat that she made the trip to share my day!)

(Enough food to feed an army!)

What occurs to me every time I remember what a special day it was, is that I was in a room full of people I love.  I looked around and thought that I must be the most blessed person in the world to love and be loved by so many.

I wasn't really too keen to step into this new decade of life; I loved being fifty-something.  I'm still working at getting used to thinking of myself as sixty; it just sounds old.  I'll have to remind myself frequently that I'm loved and have lots of special people in my life to thank for that.

Fog Burn?

I'm not sure there is such a thing but ... I suspect I'm fog burned.  "The squire" and I have been on holiday on the Texas Gulf coast and it seems that every time we go to a beach, the fog rolls in.

My arthritis doesn't like the dampness but it certainly is easier to to take some discomfort when it's 25 degrees Celsius ... as opposed to -25 degrees Celsius, as I hear they've been getting at home on my country mile.

Here's a "selfie" of us on the pier at Rockport beach, our favourite of the several beaches we've visited so far.  Although this next photo, taken on another beach on a day when we had a few hours of sunshine, shows a pretty nice experience also:
 
We decided that we like Rockport best because it's quieter and has much more bird life.  I did really enjoy the thunder and roar of the surf at some of the other beaches but after a while, I found the wind and the constant noise became less than relaxing.

Another activity we've really enjoyed this trip is checking out local brew house restaurants.  It's a chance to try a new beer or two and to have excellent, reasonably priced meals.  And, whenever he can, "the squire" buys himself a T-shirt or a hat from the place to commemorate the experience.

I've been relaxing by reading, my favourite activity that I never seem to get enough time for anymore.  We discovered the Half Price Bookstore in Corpus Christie where I found a whole series by one of my favourite authors.  So every minute I get, I'm reading ... and loving it.  This is my idea of a good holiday!

Today we were in Rockport again and, apart from a half an hour of sunshine, we had fog and cloud the whole time we were on the beach.  Tonight we're relaxing in our hotel room and a glance in the mirror confirmed that my skin not only feels red; it is a little red.  That's what I get for reading and forgetting to apply sunscreen: fog burn!

Professional Procrastinator

I've just recently earned the professional designation of certified counsellor.  But not for lack of procrastinating.  The professional association that I belong to as a psychotherapist has a program of continuing education, tracking client hours, and recording supervision time that would eventually have earned me the status of certified counsellor.  

I've been pretty sure for quite a while that, in my more than ten years working full time in the profession, I had amassed enough credits on all fronts to qualify.  But, oh my goodness, what a lot of paperwork, formulaic calculations, and soliciting of references was required to complete the process.  And so, being a procrastinator by nature, I did what I do best.  I kept going to workshops and supervisor meetings and continued working many hours each week and ...  putting off completing those steps to claim my certification status.

I would probably have played the avoidance game for years yet but suddenly the playing field changed.  Licensing of psychotherapists and related professionals is making its way into Canada and that means those of us who wish to keep practicing have to make sure that we'll be accepted when the time comes.  That time is coming closer but I was still hoping not to have to "jump through those hoops" if I could avoid them.

Perhaps the licensing won't be in place before I want to retire, I kept thinking hopefully.  Then I decided that if licensing becomes mandatory, I would retire.  Of course, I knew that to consider giving up a career that I love and seems perfectly suited to my talents just because I don't like paperwork and administrative tasks seemed ... well, immature.

And then, out of the blue, my professional association, recognizing that many of us were qualified but hadn't chosen to go through the red tape (at least I wasn't the only one), offered us an opportunity to put the whole package together in a way that seemed to take much less time and effort and looked much less complicated than the regular process.  I may be a procrastinator but I'm a smart one and I knew a good thing when it appeared.

Of course, it turned out to be a little more effort than it looked on paper but overall, it was relatively quick and painless.  In only three weeks I had the required references, organized the numbers, wrote the reflective career assessment paper required and mailed the whole thing away.  It was about ten days later that I received confirmation that I had been accepted, having more than the number of hours required in all areas of assessment and some very generous references from colleagues and my supervisor.

And so, I've learned a dubious lesson; procrastination sometimes pays off!

Cabin Fever

Oh, my, it's February 3 and winter feels like it's going to go on forever.  I always get cabin fever in February.  The days are a little longer; the daylight has a slant of spring to it ... and it's still -20 degrees Celsius outside with windchills taking us down closer to -34... and that's only the day time!

My whole being longs to go for walks with the dogs on my sandy country mile.  My mobility issues make it almost impossible to walk on ice and that's what we've had on our road since early November.  My eyes are aching for the sight of baby green leaves and those dappled shade spots that are created when the spring sun seeks its path through those new leaves.  But instead, all I see is this:

It's hard to believe there's sand and grass under all that snow.  There is such a thing as too much white!  Really, all I'm asking for is this:

When you're waiting for a day like the one we had in the photo above, it doesn't matter what the calendar tells us about the number of days in each month; February is the longest month of the year!

A Productive Day

The day is nearly over on my country mile and I'm feeling pleased with wrapping up an important stage of a huge project.  If all goes as planned, it will create a lot more work for me but should help solidify my status as a writer on mental health and related topics.

Today I sent out to Manitoba newspapers, via email, nine press packages that I and the publicity director of the Canadian Mental Health Association put together over the last couple of months. We're hoping to Spread the Word (that's what the project is called) about mental health, demystify the issues, and eradicate the many stigma that still exist about mental illness.   See my past posts under the mental health label on the sidebar.

What has allowed me to be so productive today is something that I often write about in my mental health columns.  I had a good night's sleep last night.  And, although I was a little sluggish in the morning (side effect of my arthritis meds), by mid-afternoon I was ready to tackle this major stage of my project.  I survived a few formatting problems without getting overly discouraged (encouraged by some major assistance from "the squire") and had no trouble executing each necessary step over and over patiently.

Did you know that while we're sleeping our brains rebuild their supply of serotonin, dopamine, and all the other neurotransmitters we need to regulate our emotional balance throughout the day?  No wonder we're crabby, easily discouraged, or even weepy when we're short on sleep.  

It's ironic that one of the main symptoms of many mental health problems is a significant change in sleep patterns.  The one leads to the other, which then leads back to the first.  I know that when I've had too many nights of little or no sleep, I become depressed or anxious, often both.  I find no energy or enthusiasm for anything but what's absolutely necessary; I get forgetful; I have less patience or have to work much more intentionally at being patient; and my chronic pain issues get worse.

But even one night of at least eight hours of restful sleep is all it takes for me to feel energetic, cheerful, hopeful, patient, and creative.  My pain is often reduced after catching up on my sleep and I'm actually in a mood to admit that this long, cold, and very snowy winter is pretty sometimes, especially here at the end of my country mile. 

Then I don't mind nearly as much that I have to stay inside and work on the many projects that I was feeling discouraged about when I was so short on sleep.  And I love the feeling of having achieved something on my long to-do list, just as I did today.

Paperwork: UGGHHH!!

My goodness!  Where does time go?  I had so many writing projects planned and got none of them accomplished in the week since I've posted last.  Of course, I did achieve several other things that came up at the last minute and were also important.  Some of these were related to professional accreditation; I chose to accept a one-time opportunity to fast-track that process but it still was a lot of paperwork.

So, although I had hoped to write my columns for the week and even work ahead a little, I did something else.  Perhaps tomorrow, I told myself; tomorrow I will write something that is just for fun after I've met my deadlines.

And then there were a couple of appointments that were planned at the last minute, but were definitely worth attending.  One was related to the thing I hate most of all - the paperwork connected to annual taxes - but ended up being worth it as errors on the part of our accountant last tax season led to a favourable conclusion for us.  It's not often that we actually enjoy the visit to the accountant, even though she is a good friend, but this meeting had a happy ending.

Then, yesterday we received a very fat envelope from the personal care home where "the squire's" Mom wants to live, so now there are pages and pages of even more paperwork to take up our time this weekend.  Of course, we don't want to delay the move for Mom any longer than necessary, so we feel the pressure to get it done for her right away.

The main question with all paperwork is how to get from the above harried feeling to to this happy feeling that comes at the end of the process

as soon as possible.  This week it felt like everything we accomplished promptly led to, or was replaced by, a new task involving ... what else but more paperwork!  And I've never cared for the paperwork aspects of any activity.  I see it at best as a necessary evil ( with the emphasis on "evil").

So, when I think it over, I've actually had a very productive week; many things were accomplished well.  The only problem is that my to-do list is just as long as it was at the beginning of the week!

The Gift of Insomnia

Yesterday, I meant to post some thoughts about living with insomnia ... but I was so tired, I couldn't remember what I had been thinking and any creativity I might have had sat like a lump of mud, plugging my creative channels.  After several nights of minimal sleep, followed by days of brain fog, headaches, and depressed mood,  just getting through work on Thursday and following my household chores routine on Friday and Saturday felt like plodding through a whole swamp of that heavy, black goo.

And then, oh joy! oh bliss! Last night I slept - over seven hours!  So, now is the time, when the creative gears are running more smoothly, to write about the gift insomnia has been in my life.  You might wonder how I can call the condition a gift when the description of those days after the sleepless nights sounds so grim.  I see clients regularly who echo my heartfelt desire, "I just want to sleep," and look to me for solutions.  Part of the work I do with them is to examine the ways insomnia might be considered a gift in their lives.

Now this is not a pie-in-the-sky or Pollyanna attempt to tolerate insomnia because there's no other choice.  Rather, it's about acceptance.  If we can accept that this is part of who we are, we will care for ourselves differently.  In my case,  I've already had to accept other limitations to what I can reasonably expect to achieve because I have a chronic pain condition that restricts many options.  Sometimes I call this condition a gift because it has taught me to manage the energy I do have and to appreciate the things I can achieve.

In the same way, insomnia can be a gift.  If I can accept that I'm a person who sleeps poorly at night, can I manage my life so that I'm more productive at the times I feel the most energy, often in the evening and the first part of the night?  Can I allow myself to sleep later in the morning, especially on weekends, and not criticize myself for "wasting" the best part of the day.  Perhaps early mornings, beautiful as they are, and much as I appreciate the few I experience, just aren't generally the best part of my day.

In addition to learning to respect myself and accommodate my unique health needs, insomnia has given me the gift of solitude.  I love the silent stillness of late evening, especially on a warm summer night when I sit in the gazebo and listen to Nature quieting herself.  Then I am most aware of God; then its easier to meditate on God and life; then its easier to just be silent and calm in God's presence.  This is the best part of the day for me ... and also the most creative part of my day.  Now I'm alone (the squire is, of course my exact opposite: early to bed and early to rise, which works well for us, most of the time) and there are fewer distractions to slow the ideas and connections as my mind processes the day and turns to God.

And that's something that perhaps I wouldn't experience in the same way, were it not for the gift of insomnia.