time is always time

last night was the global celebration of our friend laura's life.  all 6 of the inhabited continents were represented, with people on each one, remembering her, honoring her life, and being thankful that we were part of it.  it's pretty amazing - to be loved across the world.  it reflected her love of travel - and her ability to connection with different people.

in the afternoon i was trying to prepare for this as best i could, which was hard because i was interrupted a billion times, and i left my box of bits from my past in the attic of my parents house. i left my box of notes that had been passed, letters saved, rose petals gathered (seriously), yearbooks, and other collected items that bring me back to places and times that are special.  but i did bring a bag of pictures- a literal plastic ziplock bag of pictures.

this is typical of me.  i aspire to be a maker of scrapbooks, or at least picture albums.  i keep meaning to settle down and sort- to organize and write captions and record the place and time and date.  but. i don't.  instead i have bags and boxes filled with random pictures- and the thing is- i like it. 

yesterday, i fumbled through my life- in its disorder.  i went from zoe in san francisco at preschool- to me taking my first steps- to me and mike when we started dating - to my visit to rift valley academy in kenya when i was 17.  there were pictures of zoe nursing, then me going to the prom, then my best friend in peru at 14, then my grandmother. snippets of my time.

somehow, jumping around the years like this, felt more special- like i was finding little treasures- because each photo was a surprise.  life seemed full and rich.

i'm savoring the book 'gift from the sea' by anne morrow lindbergh. today i was reading about love and memory.  about the deep desire we have to freeze our love relationships in the first stages.  how we want to keep the initial passion, the first intense connection- and we don't accept the natural changes that happen as our relationship grows and matures.  we fear the loss of our beginnings, sometimes at the cost of missing the beauty in our depth.

looking through that bag of pictures- it's pretty obvious that change happens.  i have aged.  people have died. hair has grown and been cut; or fallen out for some. people have married, others divorced.  homes have been sold or moved from, trees have grown. babies have been born. jobs started. places have been visited.  the world has been traveled. change is constant- it's dependable- it's guaranteed.

there is so much beauty in the transience. each of those pictures, each holds a memory of a true and valid moment, as real as the moment of me sitting now on this porch, writing these words. there is nothing lost in the fact that it has past, that time has moved us, that change has happened.  maybe it's even become richer as it's antiqued.  maybe the value has deepened because it was and no longer is as it was.   her book reminds us of t.s. eliots words from his ash wednesday poem:

because i know that time is always time
and place is always and only place and
what is actual is actual only for one time and
only for one place, 
i rejoice in that things are as they are.

and really, that is what we are left with.
rejoicing in that things are as they are. now.  here. in this day before us.
that we make it real and vibrant and life giving- and worthy of remembering.
that we hold those we love who are gone, close; and those who we love, who have changed as we have, closer still.

turning the corner

i think i've turned the corner. 
i'm sure it's one of many corners, one of many turns that i will make, as we wiggle around getting adjusted, and getting comfortable here.  but yesterday i woke up and felt better.  i also felt like it was time to own up- to embrace- to make this experience real.  it was time to get over the getting over it, to be done with the transition state, to jump in.  so i got excited again and about everything. 

i decided that if we were going to be with out electricity this much than i need to embrace it and buy some beautiful candles and candle sticks.  that it's time to get good at playing cards and boardgames and scrabble.  that it's time to pull out 'the joy of cooking' and learn how to do it. 
so today i made pineapple rice and chicken legs and i made it early because i could see when i cut things up and measured.

i also decided that we need to maintain and recreate our routines.  and that means date night, which we hadn't had until last night when a lovely girl volunteered to watch the kids.  it was fantastic.  we drove into the city and sat on this veranda overlooking a grassy yard and ate crocodile and wildebeest tandoori style.  and it didn't matter that we spent 2 of the 4 hours driving on unlit streets with headlight-less cars,  it was still delicious.  all of it.  the food, the night out together, uninterrupted grown-up time.  and we talked about this first month and we talked about sustainability and arranging our lives to keep it that way.  and we talked about forgiving our selves for needing things- like a night out- and for getting frustrated with the inconveniences of our life here- because sometimes you need to say it out loud- to acknowledge- before you can move on. 

and then, you can turn that first corner.

zoe means life in greek

yesterday mike and i went to the movies and saw  'the tree of life'.
it is intense.  it's a beautifully done, artistic movie about human nature vs. grace, about God's presence in the creation and in the suffering in the world- it is this seen through the eyes of different family members as they process their life with each other and their place in the world- as they question the why's of life- as they find their peace.  mike loved it.  i want to say i loved it too, but it messed with my head.  it some how pushed my buttons- made me feel like i'd just had a really rough therapy session- and needed another one but wasn't going to get one.  it made me acutely aware of how complex- how complicated each person is- how we have no control over other peoples interpretations or perspectives on  life- on how they interpret our lives- or our lives together.  and i think all that scared me- especially as a parent.

i haven't been writing much about zoe lately- about living and loving and learning with her.  i've been writing more about me. about my process. about our lives through my perspective.  that movie reminded me that my children are each as much a person as i am, they've just been around for fewer years. and it made me wonder- what life looks like for each of them.   about their perspective.  how they see and hear things - what words are weighted more heavily - about what visions they hold on to- no two people see a scene the same way- or hear exactly what the other said in a conversation.    i wonder especially how zoe sees it- how her life is right now.  what is her perspective on what i've been writing about - and living in- this change, this move.

*
'things are changing.  i don't think i like it.  first my toys- my stuffed animals- my dolls- then my dog.  don't they know those are my friends? don't they know what those things mean?  they make sense to me.  they are reliable- people aren't.  they have the same face- they have faces that don't change- i know them- i can trust them- i feel safe with them- i'm not confused- i'm not left behind.  my dog knows me- she gets it- she doesn't care if i flap my hands when i'm excited- or if i laugh my crazy loud laugh.  she is there when things don't make sense and when i need a friend.  she never tells me to be quiet.  but she's going to someone else and i'm left with my self- with my brothers who have each other- with my parents who have each other.

what will it feel like in uganda?  it will be so different.  it will be so far away.  what if i need my ama?  she gets me too- she loves me even if i'm silly and sticky- she doesn't get mad at me because things are scratchy and because the clock ticks too loudly.  and what about my friends?  what if i can't make new friends there?  what about my old friends here? it's already different.  it's already changing- my dresser is gone- my old books- and the porch looks different and i'm supposed to stuff things into one pink bag.  why are they doing this anyway?  why can't we just stay here?  what is wrong with here?  why can't it just be the way it is- why do we have to move?  i don't understand.  life is confusing enough the way it is now.'
*

is that what it looks like from her eyes?  is the light different? and the sounds of the world? and the feel of it all on her skin?

today we went to the doctor.  the kids had their yearly physical- everyone needed shots.  "be careful! i'm extra sensitive.  my skin feels things more."  and it does.

today we made cards for ama (my mom) because it's her birthday.  zoe drew a garden- flowers, trees, butterflies, the sky, the sun and the ground.  the tree was very complete- leaves and trunk and roots- but the roots floated up above the ground- like fingers reaching down to find the earth.  all the parts there- but not connected with each other.  her world looks different- it feels different from mine.

but doesn't it for everyone?  don't we all see it differently?

the sky is brilliant right now- glowing orange from the west- reaching through the trees.   it's pink and blue and purple on the top.  the tree frogs tonight are not their usual constant hum- they are alternating between loud and eager with brief silence- like they have a story to tell.  what sounds and colors am i missing?  what things would zoe hear?

i love what her name means- life.

ζωη(zoe) n. - greek "life". Life in the absolute sense, life as God has it.

zoe- in the absolute- zoe- as God has it.

who am i?  i am just one.

going through stuff

today i chewed my last piece of ethiopian gum.
well- it was just trident peppermint- but it was from ethiopia- from our hotel gift shop- 40 birr.  and it brought me back.  i found it going through an armoire that held many old bags- and inside the canvas purse with the red and blue seahorses on it- was the gum, and my ethiopian room key, and my lip balm and the address of the guy on the plane who gave me my first money for our uganda move - making it seem real- way back last october.

today, i had to divide things into three piles- bring it to uganda, give away/sell, save in limited storage with parents.  zoe was tasked with being a "dj" and going through our cd's so we could choose what to keep in that department.  i was looking at my marc jacobs black leather bag that i use all the time, and this sassy red patent leather hand bag, and a cole hahn one i bought last summer and i'm thinking- am i going to use these in uganda?  and if not- should i hold onto them?  what will they look like in 5 years? and i'm realizing how much i have and how much i don't need and how much i won't use- really.

so i'm sitting on the floor of the hall, listening to norah jones with zoe, and i find judes asian silk diaper bag.  that thing was with me through all of those early doctors appointments, all those MRIs, all those tests, all that waiting.  that scent of the bag and a lavender sachet i'd put in it so long ago.  and i'm sitting on the floor holding it, the smell bringing me right back, surrounded by my piles, with zoe beside me and i just got teary.

"this is hard zo." i said, "letting go of this stuff."
"i know mommy- do you understand how i feel now? having to get rid of my things?"
"yes."

yesterday, i was home with my boys- zoe out with my mom.  it was a nice break, but i missed her.  yesterday i went for a run- early enough that it wasn't hot and early enough that i ran out of thanks, not frustration. and yesterday, my boys got to meet their new friend from africa- an american living in uganda, back here for summer break.  he will be their neighbor- their commute partner to school each day and jude's classmate.  and i had some time with his mom, my friend, abby.  i had time to ask about logistics - like whether or not i need rain boots or fleeces or plastic baggies.  and i had some time to just sit with someone i'll spend a lot of time sitting with over the next few years.  we got to talk about books and mothering and how we spend our time and about our identities and what will be surprisingly hard and what might not be in this move.  and it was a complete gift- almost like a dream- when you are visited by a vision of your future that answers your questions- that gives guidance- that brings a piece of comfort- and that is what yesterday was.  a respite.  a break from the 'todo list', a moment of the meaningful 'stuff'.

the day before i had brought my clothes into a consignment store- and this was kind of funny and kind of humbling.  it is a high end consignment store- designer- high end cool- not business attire- funky high end.  so it was funny to get so many things rejected.
"sorry, we don't take 'old navy'"
"now... how old is this piece?"
me, "umm, i dunno, ummm (oh yeah i bought that before i had jude) i guess 6 years?"
her, "yeah, we don't take stuff older than 5 years."
"this is missing a button and this purse isn't in the best condition."

what was funny was after all my hemming and hawing about parting with these items, they were now rejected!

meanwhile i had zoe with me.  and she was having a hay day with the other woman who'd arrived to sell her jewelry wears.  this woman was young and beautiful and had tried on a mermaid-esque gown which she was planning on purchasing and zoe was talking her ear off.  i was hearing snippets like,
"so i was born with non-verbal-learning-disorder. it's kind of like aspergers or autism- do you know what those are?"   blah blah blah.  and then "i have really good hearing." blah blah.  "do you want to know how i remember things?"  and this woman had her undivided attention.

so i'd finished with my part- left 18 worthy pieces for sale, and was about to leave with my 30 consignment failures, when my phone rings and it was work.  i finished my call and returned to zoe who was now decked out in this woman's jewelry - yes the stuff she was selling.  two necklaces and a ring- all really nice.

"come on zo- lets put that stuff back and go."

"no!" says the beautiful mermaid lady-"zoe has made my day! she is so interesting- she reminds me of me when i was eleven!  i want her to keep those pieces of jewelry."

really?  again? what is it with her? she must have some magic spell that she casts on people.  but what was so great was that the interaction totally regulated zoe.  she went from mildly irritable and agitated to happy and calm and using language like.,  "oh no worries mom!  it's fine!  we're friends!"

a story of zoe in her glory again.  i've got to remember this- find her interested, patient adult and all will be well!  meanwhile i promptly wore one of those beautiful necklaces- looks like we all scored a goal.

so today i put two of my leather bags in the 'needs more time to decide' pile that i'd desperately created, and put the red patent leather bag and jude's old baby bag into the 'goodwill' pile.  but i took one small piece of that asian silk fabric from the inside of the bag and i took the lavender sachet-  because i don't need the stuff, but i do need the memories.

nonsense and a mantra to frame it

today, i'm coming here quietly.  a thousand thoughts have sprouted, a thousand conversations started, bits- strung together- no pattern- no sense. nonsense. 

yesterday was a friday of goodbyes- to patients i've come to love as people.  people i will miss caring for.  people who are so different from me- who have shown me another slice of this pie we live in. people who ride harleys and build additions onto their houses with their own hands, when their 2nd wife's kids and grandkids  need to come home to live.  salt of the earth people.

today i was feeling the heat of what we're doing.  the push and pull of the oceans, the magnitude of this move- of how differently we do things- how differently we process things- after 20 years together- how kindness is so important- and gentleness- but how the tides can send those out to sea and we are left with salt on our skin, clinging to driftwood.

today i woke up and realized that i need a mantra.  other than 'help' which is more of a desperate plea.

mantra - a sound, words capable of creating transformation

that is what i need.

transformation.

awareness of the beauty in it all. because sometimes i forget.

a mantra would help in those times when i'm cleaning madly and the thoughts are flying and crashing into each other.  a mantra might bring calm- might bring me back to the center.  sometimes i can get a piece of a song in my head- a few words that will hold me still.  but maybe there needs to be more purpose to it.

i think it should be a piece of the old testament that i stumbled upon a years ago.  a piece of the book of lamentations:


'because of the Lord's unfailing love- we are not consumed.'

unfailing- without error or fault; reliable, consistent
not consumed- not done away with completely, not used up, not squandered, not devoured.

a reminder.  a promise. a gift.  a giant piece of driftwood.
for days when i feel slightly swallowed.  to say those words of peace.
 
the night is here now- cool and glowing and humming.
because of the love.  not consumed.
and the sweetness of the man i love- despite our differences in managing anxiety and change, there is no one i'd rather cross that ocean with.
because of the love.

shut the door

i keep dreaming about scary dangerous things.  a giant african pond fish eating zoe.  a broken railroad bridge high up on a mountain that i'm traversing.  all of them have a foreign flavor- and the feeling (which is i think what they tell you to pay attention to in a dream) is a complete mix of fear, anxiety over how to handle the situation and a curiosity- like i'm watching it from afar waiting to see what will happen.  i guess it's kind of obvious why i'm having these dreams- we sort things in our sleep.

today has been scrumptious- well, except for the absolute mental block that my children have about shutting the door- when it's 96 degrees outside and i'm air-conditioning the house.

the front yard was shady, there was a breeze and my boys set up a lemonade/watermelon stand.  they sat out there trying- one of them eating the watermelon- the other one holding up the sign- we get very little foot traffic- and it was a monday morning.  "A" for effort.

on the front porch if i look up, the wooden ceiling is painted a very light blue and there is a white ceiling fan and it gives me the feeling of being at a new england beach house.  i love being able to mentally step out of one place and into another- i will miss things like this- the blue chipped painted ceiling.

two ladies in electric wheelchairs scooted by and happened to have a craving for watermelon- and they gave a 50% tip.

jude and bryn were joined by zoe, then lily and luke.

kids just hanging around on a summer morning.  it's so good to just let them be- with out agenda or plan- with out the jam-packed extracurricular schedule.

before they got the idea for the lemonade stand- jude was planning on selling himself singing a justin bieber song for the bargain of $600- i suggested he reconsider the fee,  he lowered the price to $5.95, but i think the lemonade for a dollar was the right choice. 

we had a lunch picnic on the front lawn.

and in between all that i must have screamed "SHUT THE *(&JI(&*(#) DOOR!!!!"  9 million times.  i mean i just don't get it.  how hard is it? you opened it, so why can't you shut it?  and it's not just the door- it's the toilet seat.  again- you opened it, why can't you shut it?  fo' reals'?

then we went to the pool.

today i got to play in the pool- like i did when i was a kid.  i did hand-stands in the shallow end- and forwards and backwards somersaults and just floated on my back- listening to the hum of the pool and the splashing and kicking all around.  it was fun- like kid-fun.  then i went to the deep end- i went off the diving board- front dives and back dives and again- so much fun.  it had been way too long since i've gone off a diving board and it made me think- what is wrong with me?  why have i been just hanging around the shallow end with a child on my arm- or talking on the phone or chit-chatting with someone and not playing, not doing those things i love?

has life really become just sunscreen applying, snack fetching and screaming about toilet seats and front doors being left open?

no.

but then i remembered why.

the past few years at the pool- i've had my hands completely full.  i had two little boys who didn't swim and a zoe who did, but was derailed by most things.  my anxiety meter was on high alert- my need to focus on their needs was 150%.  i was lucky if i remembered to breath. 

so today, as i played and floated and actually considered doing a flip (but in a different swimsuit) i realized how much better this summer has been.  how much better zoe is doing- coping- handling her days.   and the fact that the most annoying thing in my day is shouting "SHUT THE DOOR!"   is really a praise God moment- because believe me- i know- i remember- it could be so, so much worse!

salt and sweet and time

this morning it was windy and white outside and i sat on the porch of the inn where mike and i spent our first night ever as married people and i looked out over that gray atlantic ocean and all that granity rock and missed it.  i had spent the night alone in that inn having come up to celebrate the retirement of my 'godfather'.  i call him that, or 'uncle', but he is the man, of that generation, i'm closest to after my own father.  this morning, i looked in the mirror and tried to remember what i looked like 18 years ago-  but i just saw me looking back- with some more lines and freckles and thankfully, some maturity.

it's been a while since i've been back to new england and maybe forever since i've been back and alone.  it's beautiful and incredibly familiar and in it's rocky cragginess and shrubbery and peeling paint and un-manicured lawns, it seems realer than most other places.  like 'life' is happening- so things on the outside don't get tended to.  like in the battle with the weather and the seasons, nature wins - so you find your place in it and let things be.  and the people and their voices feel this way too.  softer in their weatheredness.  like sea glass and driftwood.  it makes me miss this place and it's deep history.

i ate breakfast quickly and walked out onto the rocks to feel that wind and smell the tide pools and seaweed and salt.  it has always given me a lonely feeling, standing on the eastern coast, because the wind comes from behind, off the land, like it's pushing you out to sea- like you're standing there alone with the world you know behind you- and you need to pay attention to what's ahead- you need to forge on.  it's a very different feeling than the west coast which seems to say- 'you're at the end, turn around and enjoy it'.

the celebration started with a lovely luncheon and then moved on to a time of music and reflection and more celebration of this man and his wife and their lives and their influence. the second part was at an amazing concert hall- small venue- newly renovated, seated on the coast line, and spectacular.  the seats all looked onto the stage, but behind the stage was a plate glass wall over looking the ocean.  so we sat looking out at the new england coast and listening to beautiful music and hearing about the impact that two people can have on a community.  i kept envisioning how cool it would be to watch a storm come in from this concert hall, with a moving piano piece being played on that steinway and a few candles- how powerful that would be.

but most of the time i sat in my seat with my eyes leaking.  that's how it felt.  they were leaking.  i wasn't anywhere near the ugly cry, i was just silently leaking tears.  i was full up and it had to come out. 

the hour was a celebration of a job well done, of a marriage well grown, of a commitment to vision, integrity, humility, following God, and influencing wherever you are. so i cried because i felt blessed to have been part of it, of them.  and i cried because of time and life's movement and its seasons. and how this community of people, these peers of my parents,  have suddenly become my grandparents age, and some people who were couples are now widows, and there are hearing aids and canes and cancer.  and now i'm getting close to the age that my parents were when i got married- in this community- with these people.  and i couldn't help thinking about what will happen in the next 18 years- or even 8 years.  who's lives will we celebrate because they're over, not just retired?  and whose celebrations will we miss living so far away?  and will there be regrets? 

but that ocean stood back there behind it all- that old, old ocean that's been there forever and as the music ranged from spirituals to jazz, my soul grasped the poignancy of sadness sitting beside joy and thanks, again.  like how the flavors of sweet are brought out and so much better with the salty.  and then we stood to sing, and i did with my voice cracking,
'this cornerstone, this solid ground,
firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
what heights of love, what depths of peace,
when fears are stilled, when striving cease
my comforter, my all in all-
here in the love of Christ i stand.'

so cracking and leaking and listening and looking i found some answers to those questions. 
go where you feel you should go.
influence where you are- wherever that is.
grow your marriage and your relationships.
be committed to your vision, to integrity, to humility.
live in the heights of love and the depths of peace.
trust the firmness of the solid ground.
be stilled in the comfort.

and like that salty craggily new england coast, this community will be here, in some form, as it was 18 years ago, as it is now. we are made of salt and sweet and mineral- and life flavors all of us. and our stories, our words, our music will live on and influence others.  but it is who we allow ourselves to be in this world that makes the biggest impact, wherever we are.

happy valentines

happy valentines day! 
mine started with strawberry red vomit all over me, my light colored couch and my rug.  it was followed by zoe not doing her work, hiding, then not responding to me calling her multiple times- and me, finding her, snatching her stuffed hello kitty valentines gift out of her hands and bonking her on the head with it.  not good. it's been this way because everything bryn sips he throws up- and i woke up and still had my cold-foggy head, demi moore voice and all, and  a 'vestibular migraine' which means my balance is off and the room is spiny (and the neurologist said not to take the migraine medicine if that happens because i might have a stroke- that's really what he told me). and because i need to work on my talk for tomorrow- my talk for work- my talk about homelessness and palliative care. 

"so today we're going to talk about the intersection of homelessness and palliative care.  and this is really fun for me- because it's the intersection of two of my passions.  when i was a research fellow- i published a paper on housing instability and homelessness, and access to health care......."

back in the days of san francisco- the days when i was a doctor and quite possibly going to be a research oriented academic doctor- back when i was just pregnant with jude- before the knowledge of good and evil- before my life with zoe fell to bits.........back in the days with out a diagnosis, back when she was not-reactionary over everything- when she was flexible- when she wasn't ever mean (really)- when i had my own life- when she was in childcare from 7:30-5:30- in her life- back in the days before we needed medications, before we needed special schools, before we were kicked out of the special school, before i lost myself in her life- in her world- before mine began to fade away.

"and now i do palliative care- end of life care- care for people who's illness doesn't have a cure."

is that what i do? it is - day in and day out.  not just on fridays- because this stuff we deal with at home- this stuff she deals with everyday- it doesn't have a cure (even off gluten and dairy- better, not cured).  it's living with a life threatening disease- depending on how you define 'life'- depending on how you define 'disease' or  'dis- ease'.

"so lets think about what these things are separately- what is homelessness?  who are the homeless?  and what do people need and want at the end of life?  how do we do palliative care?  and then lets think about their interaction- about what might be unique and challenging about delivering palliative care to the homeless- what barriers must we address- what things do we need to think about differently?"

lets think about my life even 6 years ago, five or four years ago- other lifetimes ago it can seem- in those times when i studied people with out homes.  there was still struggle, yes-  there was unknown- but it wasn't like these years. it wasn't foot stomping, tantrum throwing, wailing- because you can't go to your friends house.  and you can't go because your poor little brother is vomiting his guts out- and your mom (who should have been writing her talk) can't leave his little side. those were the days when even if you couldn't empathize with him- you didn't get angry and explosive.

what do people want at the end of a life? how do we provide palliative care?  how do people live with life altering- life damaging- career wrecking change? the end of a life.  a life style. an expectation.  life as we knew it.  to palliate means to cloak- to cover, to protect.  is that what we're doing here? what i'm doing? not today.

it's 2:30- someone is snoring beside me after having the dry-heaves- and someone else is upstairs having lost hello kitty, and all her american girl dolls because of her absurd over reaction to not being able to go to her friends house today. because of her unwillingness to at least try to be sensitive to her  sick brother.  because of her storming upstairs yelling, "i just can't take change!"
oh really??

really?

tough.  because life is what happens when your busy making other plans.  because life is change.  because if you want to talk about having to adapt to change zoe- lets talk.


so he slept and she came down stairs and we talked about change- about the naturalness of it- the constancy of it, whether we like it or not.  we talked about trees and seasons- about what happens to the leaves in fall and winter and spring and summer- about the loss in the change and what you gain in the change- how you can't have one without the other. that plans changing can be disappointing- but there is always another opportunity. when a door is closed- somewhere a window opens.  and then i started listening to what i was saying, and i started believing it, and i stopped feeling so sorry for myself.

she said it was hard.  that she didn't know how to adapt to change.  i told her it's about making a choice- it's about how you look at it- what you focus on.  do you choose the sadness of the lost leaves or anticipate the buds of spring? do you choose to stay in that angry place of not getting to see your friend or do you make new plans for the afternoon?  do you twirl and twirl over what you thought you'd get and didn't or do you embrace the gifts that surround you now- different as they are, changed though they may be?



i'll choose to embrace.
happy valentines day!