What if all the people who you have conflict with are just an opportunity to learn a lesson, and that in itself, is the purpose for your paths crossing?
When the lesson is learned, the conflict and power becomes inert and neutral. They are bringing you a gift.
Monday 25 July 2011
Thursday 21 July 2011
Lines of the Past
This past weekend we made the trek to my hometown, three hours North East of where we live. There is a festival of Japanese origin that takes place every summer within the Japanese-Canadian community there, Obon.
Wikipedia states:
In our town, rather than a three to seven day event which it traditionally is in Japan, it is held on one Sunday usually mid-July. With Obon usually falling on the weekend of my daughter's birthday (just turned three years old), we put off her birthday party to the week following and myself, my husband and M make the trip to my hometown to take part in the Obon. With most of her cousins and her hometown cousins also gathering, it is our once a year chance to all meet up and I do believe that my daughters biggest happiness is being within her tribe.
Around noon, we head to... the cemetery. Each family visits the gravestones of their ancestors, cleaning the headstones, bringing fresh flowers from their own gardens and then lighting and bestowing incense at the foot of the grave. Incense is used as a symbol to purify the surroundings. For me, because I only ever smell it at these ceremonies, the gentle spiced fragrance of woody anise scent always brings my heart and spirit home to family, to anchor me to the moment of tradition, ceremony, honour, respect for this lineage. Our visit there is a mix of wonderful flashbacks to when I was a child, and an overflowing happiness seeing my daughter and her cousins learning this tradition the same way we all did.
I will forever remember my paternal grandmother knelt so neatly, ceremoniously cleaning the grave of her husband, my grandfather who I never had the chance to know. She now lays to rest beside him and it is my aunts, father and uncle and cousins who uphold the resting place of their parents and grand-parents with love and remembrance. Brilliant stories of our combined past dance around with her memory and she is there, they are all there with us. It is quite powerful.
This year, nineteen of us, of three generations, gather for my grandmother and grandfather and the rest of our ancestors. Myself and my cousins, all grown up with children of our own. Where once we would chase in between the gravestones, now second-cousins run from us as we holler whatever we can to scare the bejessus out of them from stepping on faces of the graves.
The ceremony is a bit odd from the perspective of North Americans. The likeness of a day dedicated to the deceased, to spirits gone and revisiting the living, is of course, Halloween - spooky, creepy, dark graveyards etc. But for us and this occassion, it is the opposite. We call upon our ancestors to visit us, to connect again with their love and to honour them. "This is not a time for sadness as such, but a time to reflect on our own lives and respect those who have gone. It is a reminder to be a part of the community and not be selfish with our wants and needs." (Tokyotopia). We go to the graveyard and children run laughing, just being children, bringing light and hope to the sadness of death, that life continues and never ends because we carry things forward.
After tending to the grave-sites, all families gather at one place. Reverend Yasuhiro Miyakawa and his assistants set up an alter and he begins his service. A guest minister from Los Angeles attends as well, a gentle smile resonates within him. Reverend Miyakawa speaks about each of us living one life, no dress-rehearsals. We live each moment fully and remember where we come from. Our history, our lineage. He spoke about Buddha and how he was just a man who's family, friends, disciples carried forward the stories of his life. Now, 2500 years later, the stories remain. We are meant to carry forward the stories of our ancestors to honour them to make our own lives better. I like his service. It sticks with me, especially looking to the future of what I hope M will carry on with her.
Reverend Miyakawa chimes a beautiful, clear bell, and he and the guest reverend commence the Buddhist chants. It is hypnotic, ethereal, grounding. It opens something in a person's heart. M asks, "Why are they so loud Momma?" I take her aside and explain what the ceremony is about. When they are done the chanting, Reverend Miyakawa and each person after follows - bowing to the shrine, taking a pinch of ...something (ha ha!)... and putting it in another little pot, then stepping back again and bowing. Some use the Buddhist beads wrapped around their hands.
It is our turn now. I take my daughter's hand and we step up together with my husband. She puts her little hands together and tilts her forehead down. We step forward and she solemnly pinches the grainy sand in her fingers and places it in the bowl to the left. Incense wafts over the three of us. We step back and forgetting this is a Buddhist ceremony, she gives her greatest ballet diva bow taking a deep breath, standing up tall, then folding down her little upper body, rolling from her hips to her head which snaps like a little whip, then holds for a second with her tummy folded over her left hand... good grief! I'm so in love. Very dramatic. Her ancestors would be snickering and proud (there was that streak in our family).
So that is that part of the day. Next up the elders go to the Buddhist church for another service. I have never gone to one of these. Maybe one day when M is older, I will take her for both of us to learn more about this religion.
Later that day, around seven o'clock, we pull out some traditional wardrobe. Men and boys get out their Hapi coats (short kimono-style coats *the man in this photo is not wearing one). Women and little girls put on their yukata (summer kimonos), the ones that intend to dance anyways (I haven't worn one in years!).
M chooses her pink yukata. It is huge, and because there is no way I could get her latched in to her carseat with it on, I decide to dress her in the parking lot of the church hall where the odori is to be held.
Back in the day, we would head down to the parking lot of a car dealership where they would empty out the cars and string up paper lanterns and build a tower for the huge taiko drum. As the sun would set in the hot, dry summers, we would dance to the same old songs we still dance too now - scratchy recordings of very traditional Japanese music. Fourteen cousins munching on our Mr. Freezie treats, following after our Grand-mother like little ducklings. The deep and resonating guttural boom of the drums, high-pitched flutes, men, women and little children singing. Obon odori - the dancing portion of the festival is comprised of a selection of songs that, in Japan, are usually specific to the geographic region and represent various stories - coal mining, cherry blossoms, fishing etc. But here in Canada, there are songs from all over Japan that are represented. I think I first started learning them when I was younger than eight or nine, I believe. They are always a series of simple, deliberate but delicate moves that represent actions or stories that are repeated. The dancers travel in a circle, which is fantastic because you just follow whomever in front of you knows the steps! The steps always come back, at least by the end of the song anyways.
I can only compare me dressing my daughter in the back seat of the car, to hog-tying a thirty five pound munchkin. We wrestled, we argued. But when she got out, she was the cutest thing with her hair pinned in an up-do. We hopped inside the hall and M found her grandpa in the dancing circle. My little M followed her grandpa in the circle, my heart melted like a puddle on the floor... How do the generations, lifetimes pass so quickly? There is an art to tying even the more simple yukatas. I don't have it down in the best of circumstances, I'm sad to say. Her dress began to unwind and an elder woman stepped out grabbing her and wrestled around with her dress to shorten it up. That is community and I love it.
As quickly as her little yukata again began to fall apart, so did my little girl. It was time to go. She darn near clawed her way back in to the dance circle as we tore her out of there but we had a three hour drive to make. It was time.
North America. Even though I am three and four generations a Canadian, I sometimes feel... on the outside, especially being a visible minority. When I go to Japan, I certainly do not fit in as I can't speak the language, I am not dainty to the refinement of femininity there. I actually look people in the eye - gasp! But this one day is plain and simple, a part of who I am, a tradition that I would like for my daughter to make a part of who she is.
This festival is an opportunity to honour my grandmother and grandfather, alongside all those who came before us, my great-grandmother who passed away over a decade ago at the age of one hundred and four. She has a very special place in my heart. Her husband, my great-grandfather, I also never had the chance to know. But through stories, I have come to know him as a very wise, refined man who many came to for advice. All those who came before me, who faced life boldly and made our lives better for it - making sacrifices to leave what they knew, their homeland and loved ones, losing their livelihoods and all possessions all over again in their new home, and building entire lives back from scratch - all for opportunity that myself and my daughter now have the potential to sow.
We have much to learn from, to appreciate and to share. Community is necessary in life - wherever you go, especially when younger generations are to be minded.
Who are you from? :)
* Growing up as a Japanese-Canadian, I was raised in a household where my maternal grandmother was a devout Christian. My paternal grandmother was a devout Buddhist. For a portion of time went with my grandmother to church and Sunday school. We celebrated New Years with Japanese/Buddhist family traditions and in the summer took part in the Obon. My parents had a deep respect for their parents beliefs, but also encouraged us, their children, to find our own beliefs in the world through raising us to be open-minded and respectful of all religions and diversities.
It was my maternal grandfather who best articulated my beliefs: He used the analogy of all climbing one mountain. We all strive for the top in our lifetimes. Sometimes we take a more established and populated path with others (religious paths). Sometimes we make our own paths (independent spirituality), but we are all striving for the same summit. Whatever our path , we help each other up when we have hard times or struggle. We are all going to the same place - right or wrong, in my eyes, it is an enlightenment, a shared freedom of all things living, an unbound energy that is Life, everything in its purest most potent form. The more we help each other and bring each other up, rather than trying to disprove ways of doing things, the more we progress as a whole and as an individual. The more we learn about the struggles and successes of others, the more we can move forward as well - not having to reinvent the wheel as some might say.
**Photos purchased from iStock & Dreamstime Photo stock
Wikipedia states:
"Obon (お盆) or just Bon (盆) is a Japanese Buddhist custom to honor the departed (deceased) spirits of one's ancestors. This Buddhist custom has evolved into a family reunion holiday during which people return to ancestral family places and visit and clean their ancestors' graves, and when the spirits of ancestors are supposed to revisit the household altars. It has been celebrated in Japan for more than 500 years and traditionally includes a dance, known as Bon-Odori."
In our town, rather than a three to seven day event which it traditionally is in Japan, it is held on one Sunday usually mid-July. With Obon usually falling on the weekend of my daughter's birthday (just turned three years old), we put off her birthday party to the week following and myself, my husband and M make the trip to my hometown to take part in the Obon. With most of her cousins and her hometown cousins also gathering, it is our once a year chance to all meet up and I do believe that my daughters biggest happiness is being within her tribe.
Around noon, we head to... the cemetery. Each family visits the gravestones of their ancestors, cleaning the headstones, bringing fresh flowers from their own gardens and then lighting and bestowing incense at the foot of the grave. Incense is used as a symbol to purify the surroundings. For me, because I only ever smell it at these ceremonies, the gentle spiced fragrance of woody anise scent always brings my heart and spirit home to family, to anchor me to the moment of tradition, ceremony, honour, respect for this lineage. Our visit there is a mix of wonderful flashbacks to when I was a child, and an overflowing happiness seeing my daughter and her cousins learning this tradition the same way we all did.I will forever remember my paternal grandmother knelt so neatly, ceremoniously cleaning the grave of her husband, my grandfather who I never had the chance to know. She now lays to rest beside him and it is my aunts, father and uncle and cousins who uphold the resting place of their parents and grand-parents with love and remembrance. Brilliant stories of our combined past dance around with her memory and she is there, they are all there with us. It is quite powerful.
This year, nineteen of us, of three generations, gather for my grandmother and grandfather and the rest of our ancestors. Myself and my cousins, all grown up with children of our own. Where once we would chase in between the gravestones, now second-cousins run from us as we holler whatever we can to scare the bejessus out of them from stepping on faces of the graves.
The ceremony is a bit odd from the perspective of North Americans. The likeness of a day dedicated to the deceased, to spirits gone and revisiting the living, is of course, Halloween - spooky, creepy, dark graveyards etc. But for us and this occassion, it is the opposite. We call upon our ancestors to visit us, to connect again with their love and to honour them. "This is not a time for sadness as such, but a time to reflect on our own lives and respect those who have gone. It is a reminder to be a part of the community and not be selfish with our wants and needs." (Tokyotopia). We go to the graveyard and children run laughing, just being children, bringing light and hope to the sadness of death, that life continues and never ends because we carry things forward.
After tending to the grave-sites, all families gather at one place. Reverend Yasuhiro Miyakawa and his assistants set up an alter and he begins his service. A guest minister from Los Angeles attends as well, a gentle smile resonates within him. Reverend Miyakawa speaks about each of us living one life, no dress-rehearsals. We live each moment fully and remember where we come from. Our history, our lineage. He spoke about Buddha and how he was just a man who's family, friends, disciples carried forward the stories of his life. Now, 2500 years later, the stories remain. We are meant to carry forward the stories of our ancestors to honour them to make our own lives better. I like his service. It sticks with me, especially looking to the future of what I hope M will carry on with her.
Reverend Miyakawa chimes a beautiful, clear bell, and he and the guest reverend commence the Buddhist chants. It is hypnotic, ethereal, grounding. It opens something in a person's heart. M asks, "Why are they so loud Momma?" I take her aside and explain what the ceremony is about. When they are done the chanting, Reverend Miyakawa and each person after follows - bowing to the shrine, taking a pinch of ...something (ha ha!)... and putting it in another little pot, then stepping back again and bowing. Some use the Buddhist beads wrapped around their hands.
It is our turn now. I take my daughter's hand and we step up together with my husband. She puts her little hands together and tilts her forehead down. We step forward and she solemnly pinches the grainy sand in her fingers and places it in the bowl to the left. Incense wafts over the three of us. We step back and forgetting this is a Buddhist ceremony, she gives her greatest ballet diva bow taking a deep breath, standing up tall, then folding down her little upper body, rolling from her hips to her head which snaps like a little whip, then holds for a second with her tummy folded over her left hand... good grief! I'm so in love. Very dramatic. Her ancestors would be snickering and proud (there was that streak in our family).
So that is that part of the day. Next up the elders go to the Buddhist church for another service. I have never gone to one of these. Maybe one day when M is older, I will take her for both of us to learn more about this religion.
Later that day, around seven o'clock, we pull out some traditional wardrobe. Men and boys get out their Hapi coats (short kimono-style coats *the man in this photo is not wearing one). Women and little girls put on their yukata (summer kimonos), the ones that intend to dance anyways (I haven't worn one in years!). M chooses her pink yukata. It is huge, and because there is no way I could get her latched in to her carseat with it on, I decide to dress her in the parking lot of the church hall where the odori is to be held.
Back in the day, we would head down to the parking lot of a car dealership where they would empty out the cars and string up paper lanterns and build a tower for the huge taiko drum. As the sun would set in the hot, dry summers, we would dance to the same old songs we still dance too now - scratchy recordings of very traditional Japanese music. Fourteen cousins munching on our Mr. Freezie treats, following after our Grand-mother like little ducklings. The deep and resonating guttural boom of the drums, high-pitched flutes, men, women and little children singing. Obon odori - the dancing portion of the festival is comprised of a selection of songs that, in Japan, are usually specific to the geographic region and represent various stories - coal mining, cherry blossoms, fishing etc. But here in Canada, there are songs from all over Japan that are represented. I think I first started learning them when I was younger than eight or nine, I believe. They are always a series of simple, deliberate but delicate moves that represent actions or stories that are repeated. The dancers travel in a circle, which is fantastic because you just follow whomever in front of you knows the steps! The steps always come back, at least by the end of the song anyways.
I can only compare me dressing my daughter in the back seat of the car, to hog-tying a thirty five pound munchkin. We wrestled, we argued. But when she got out, she was the cutest thing with her hair pinned in an up-do. We hopped inside the hall and M found her grandpa in the dancing circle. My little M followed her grandpa in the circle, my heart melted like a puddle on the floor... How do the generations, lifetimes pass so quickly? There is an art to tying even the more simple yukatas. I don't have it down in the best of circumstances, I'm sad to say. Her dress began to unwind and an elder woman stepped out grabbing her and wrestled around with her dress to shorten it up. That is community and I love it.
As quickly as her little yukata again began to fall apart, so did my little girl. It was time to go. She darn near clawed her way back in to the dance circle as we tore her out of there but we had a three hour drive to make. It was time.
North America. Even though I am three and four generations a Canadian, I sometimes feel... on the outside, especially being a visible minority. When I go to Japan, I certainly do not fit in as I can't speak the language, I am not dainty to the refinement of femininity there. I actually look people in the eye - gasp! But this one day is plain and simple, a part of who I am, a tradition that I would like for my daughter to make a part of who she is.
This festival is an opportunity to honour my grandmother and grandfather, alongside all those who came before us, my great-grandmother who passed away over a decade ago at the age of one hundred and four. She has a very special place in my heart. Her husband, my great-grandfather, I also never had the chance to know. But through stories, I have come to know him as a very wise, refined man who many came to for advice. All those who came before me, who faced life boldly and made our lives better for it - making sacrifices to leave what they knew, their homeland and loved ones, losing their livelihoods and all possessions all over again in their new home, and building entire lives back from scratch - all for opportunity that myself and my daughter now have the potential to sow.
We have much to learn from, to appreciate and to share. Community is necessary in life - wherever you go, especially when younger generations are to be minded.
Who are you from? :)
* Growing up as a Japanese-Canadian, I was raised in a household where my maternal grandmother was a devout Christian. My paternal grandmother was a devout Buddhist. For a portion of time went with my grandmother to church and Sunday school. We celebrated New Years with Japanese/Buddhist family traditions and in the summer took part in the Obon. My parents had a deep respect for their parents beliefs, but also encouraged us, their children, to find our own beliefs in the world through raising us to be open-minded and respectful of all religions and diversities.
It was my maternal grandfather who best articulated my beliefs: He used the analogy of all climbing one mountain. We all strive for the top in our lifetimes. Sometimes we take a more established and populated path with others (religious paths). Sometimes we make our own paths (independent spirituality), but we are all striving for the same summit. Whatever our path , we help each other up when we have hard times or struggle. We are all going to the same place - right or wrong, in my eyes, it is an enlightenment, a shared freedom of all things living, an unbound energy that is Life, everything in its purest most potent form. The more we help each other and bring each other up, rather than trying to disprove ways of doing things, the more we progress as a whole and as an individual. The more we learn about the struggles and successes of others, the more we can move forward as well - not having to reinvent the wheel as some might say.
**Photos purchased from iStock & Dreamstime Photo stock
Monday 4 July 2011
Overflowing
Thursday evening:
"He is just so handy" I remarked to my mom who had arrived from out of town just an hour before. We stood observing my husband through the kitchen window - watching him measure out the angle of the slope for the playground foundation we are building for our daughter's birthday. "He can do anything", my mom responded.
I wanted to show my mom a little area in the house I had been working on, so we went around the corner to the hallway: "one of these things does not belong"... tile: check. stairway: check. doors: check. waterfall - ..."oh SHIT."
A sheet of water was coming from the ceiling in the middle of my hallway (no, we do not have a water-feature). I was pouring a bath on the second floor for the kids, while I was trying to help get dinner on and visit... and had forgotten about it.
"No! No! Noooo...." I sobbed, racing up the stairs to the bathroom - soaked. Fumbled around sopping up what I could, then went back to the main-floor. The bathroom had water streaming down the clay walls - both walls, behind the cabinet. The closet had water running down it, as with the hallway. Went to the basement. The mechanical room was flooded.
Less than one week before my in-laws were to move in and I had just drowned the middle two floors of our home. I couldn't breath. I went out on to the patio, shoving what breath I could muster with all my might out of my lungs to yell to my husband outside. "HUN!... I need your help. I made a huge mistake" Oh, he knew something big had happened. I've done some stupid things in my life. But this was definitely up there. I was GUTTED. The water soaked through things faster than I could process how widespread the damage was and what it all meant.
My husband came in and began taking it all in. My heart wanted to pull his in, aching at the shock I had caused him. That felt the worst. Then he went in to his office... the whole wall was water damaged. The clay plaster walls oozing down on to the memorabilia he had collected over the past twenty-five plus years of his career. My heart turned inside out. I felt ill. I fumbled to get the photos out of their frames to dry off. I wanted to cry, but I needed to make it better even more.
He was choked, but went in to action right away - tearing out the ceiling under the bath, punching holes in the walls, yanking out insulation. He rigged up the industrial vac with a hair dryer in the intake and shot the nozzle in to the ceiling and the various holes in the other walls. He exposed the mechanical room damage and set another fan in to that wall.
In the midst of it all, I recall somehow setting off my car alarm, and not being able to find the key fob - that was fun. And then the dog peed on the porch in front of the entrance. That pretty much iced my cake. My mom wrangled the kids and dog, taking them back home, saving them from potential shrapnel from the time-bomb that was me.
I raced from area to area, trying to clean up whatever I could and then my hubby came in to the bathroom where I was. He just stopped and looked at me with gentle eyes. At that point, my own flood of watery tears overflowed on to my face below. The words, "I'm so sorry", stumbled out of my mouth and off my lips. He held me saying, "everything will be fine - it was just an accident". I've always loved the smell of the crook of his neck - my favourite smell... "ok, it will be ok..."
As the fans wailed through the quiet evening, I wondered, "what can I take from this? Think. Think. Think." ...Too much thinking. My head hurt. My heart hurt. I was tired. My mind was in a million places. Wrapping my head and heart around an upcoming shift for my family of three with hubby taking on a new six month job. Trying to get the playground done before hubby would be unavailable. Prepping for family moving in. Managing issues with other loved ones. Wanting to plan a lovely birthday for my daughter (I'm so not crafty). Trying to not kill the two horses that, earlier in the afternoon, broke in to my garden, punched huge hoof holes through the raised beds, disheveling and eating my hard-earned tiny veggies... That last one alone nearly had me reconsidering retiring from gardening and taking up crafts - sewing nice brown, short-haired hand bags, and creating a line of organic glue. ...etc. etc. etc.
All these issues that I took hold of over the past months, that I ran around and around in my head, like a pack of horses on lunge lines; becoming tangled and busy, tugging my grey-matter limbs this way and that. I had worn myself down and turned an otherwise normal day of having visitors out to the farm to be... not so normal. The littlest issues - running a bath, helping to make dinner and visiting, just overflowed in to everything else... and I made a mistake. It was my fault - I allowed my own perceptions of things take up too much head-space and this was the breaking-point.
I have had warnings about my lack of management skills: I have had three cigarettes in the past couple months - I am not a smoker (used to be years ago), the on-going tightness in my stomach, lower tolerance to things. But I didn't get the message until now. It is not the horses/issues that take up energy. It is me holding on to them and driving them that does.
Sometimes things get hectic, or we must think outside of our comfort zones. These things require extra energy, which is normal. There are things that just 'are' and they are just going to happen whenever they will unfold. But I ran them over and over, trying to plan things, focusing on contingency plans so it'd be fine "even if...", or dealing with issues when maybe they weren't mine to deal with, or the right time to deal with them because they weren't a real priority. Those things take on a lot of space and a lot of energy; using up energy I could have banked.
This has nothing to do with what is going on around my life nor other people, and everything to do with how I am managing my own perceptions, how I define situations. I need to be mindful of where I spend my brain-fuel or I'll end up idling away in a useless manner and then running on fumes when I really need to the fuel to 'go' or plug in to those I love, or even give to myself.
"I GET IT!!! thank you."
Making adjustments: "See life with more positivity and maybe even magic". "Have faith". "Don't take 'x, y or z' on right now". "Say 'yes' when people offer help". "ask for help". "Know my boundaries". "Say, No." "Let go".
I had some wonderful friends offer their experience and support with regards to the flood etc - thank you Jenn and Susan. My sister for coming and helping me to work on the playground. My other sister for just being there to listen. My sister-in-law for offering to help. It undoes knots. Having people around oneself just makes all the difference to bring a person back to their centre. Thank you very much.
My husband was the second lesson in this. At Christmas, we had an incident where the fire truck came out. It was not as destructive as my waterfall incident, but he made a mistake. I thought back to that after this happened. I don't think I was a 'cow' about it - we laughed, gave the firemen cookies, video'd it and pointed out to my daughter that she got to see a firetruck. But in my head, I wondered why he chose to do what he'd done. On a level, I would say I was agitated. With my mistake, he just leaped in to action. He was the one who came to me as I scrambled to clean. He just looked at me as though he were coming to check in with me. He knew how I felt already and just loved me from the inside out. He is my sweetie and teaches me every day to be more loving. Thank you sweet man - and yes, you are incredibly handy. "I get it, thank you, My Love".
We now have a big hole in our bathroom ceiling and in our walls - the fans running when possible. I will not get my daughters playground done for when we hoped to. I don't know how things will go for the next while but I have done the best I can. I will now have a staggered harvest in my garden, and feel that the lawn in there has been successfully aerated. My daughter deserves a little "special" everyday with a momma who is whole - that's all she wants... and a birthday cake of her choice, so today I am taking her to the berry farm. I have been thoughtful and honest with those I value - I have been open and said my piece. Me, my husband and my daughter will make our shift together as a family in a loving way and we will help each other as a team. I've let my horses off their lunge lines, but a couple that require some tending to and even then, I will tie one up while I work with the other; one at a time.
A relatively small wake-up call... lessons received. Balance being restored. Much appreciated.
*Photo/illustration references (horse on lunge line - http://www.bpknaus.com/docs/superstars.aspx)
"He is just so handy" I remarked to my mom who had arrived from out of town just an hour before. We stood observing my husband through the kitchen window - watching him measure out the angle of the slope for the playground foundation we are building for our daughter's birthday. "He can do anything", my mom responded.
I wanted to show my mom a little area in the house I had been working on, so we went around the corner to the hallway: "one of these things does not belong"... tile: check. stairway: check. doors: check. waterfall - ..."oh SHIT."
A sheet of water was coming from the ceiling in the middle of my hallway (no, we do not have a water-feature). I was pouring a bath on the second floor for the kids, while I was trying to help get dinner on and visit... and had forgotten about it.
"No! No! Noooo...." I sobbed, racing up the stairs to the bathroom - soaked. Fumbled around sopping up what I could, then went back to the main-floor. The bathroom had water streaming down the clay walls - both walls, behind the cabinet. The closet had water running down it, as with the hallway. Went to the basement. The mechanical room was flooded.
Less than one week before my in-laws were to move in and I had just drowned the middle two floors of our home. I couldn't breath. I went out on to the patio, shoving what breath I could muster with all my might out of my lungs to yell to my husband outside. "HUN!... I need your help. I made a huge mistake" Oh, he knew something big had happened. I've done some stupid things in my life. But this was definitely up there. I was GUTTED. The water soaked through things faster than I could process how widespread the damage was and what it all meant.
My husband came in and began taking it all in. My heart wanted to pull his in, aching at the shock I had caused him. That felt the worst. Then he went in to his office... the whole wall was water damaged. The clay plaster walls oozing down on to the memorabilia he had collected over the past twenty-five plus years of his career. My heart turned inside out. I felt ill. I fumbled to get the photos out of their frames to dry off. I wanted to cry, but I needed to make it better even more.
In the midst of it all, I recall somehow setting off my car alarm, and not being able to find the key fob - that was fun. And then the dog peed on the porch in front of the entrance. That pretty much iced my cake. My mom wrangled the kids and dog, taking them back home, saving them from potential shrapnel from the time-bomb that was me.
I raced from area to area, trying to clean up whatever I could and then my hubby came in to the bathroom where I was. He just stopped and looked at me with gentle eyes. At that point, my own flood of watery tears overflowed on to my face below. The words, "I'm so sorry", stumbled out of my mouth and off my lips. He held me saying, "everything will be fine - it was just an accident". I've always loved the smell of the crook of his neck - my favourite smell... "ok, it will be ok..."
As the fans wailed through the quiet evening, I wondered, "what can I take from this? Think. Think. Think." ...Too much thinking. My head hurt. My heart hurt. I was tired. My mind was in a million places. Wrapping my head and heart around an upcoming shift for my family of three with hubby taking on a new six month job. Trying to get the playground done before hubby would be unavailable. Prepping for family moving in. Managing issues with other loved ones. Wanting to plan a lovely birthday for my daughter (I'm so not crafty). Trying to not kill the two horses that, earlier in the afternoon, broke in to my garden, punched huge hoof holes through the raised beds, disheveling and eating my hard-earned tiny veggies... That last one alone nearly had me reconsidering retiring from gardening and taking up crafts - sewing nice brown, short-haired hand bags, and creating a line of organic glue. ...etc. etc. etc.
I have had warnings about my lack of management skills: I have had three cigarettes in the past couple months - I am not a smoker (used to be years ago), the on-going tightness in my stomach, lower tolerance to things. But I didn't get the message until now. It is not the horses/issues that take up energy. It is me holding on to them and driving them that does.
Sometimes things get hectic, or we must think outside of our comfort zones. These things require extra energy, which is normal. There are things that just 'are' and they are just going to happen whenever they will unfold. But I ran them over and over, trying to plan things, focusing on contingency plans so it'd be fine "even if...", or dealing with issues when maybe they weren't mine to deal with, or the right time to deal with them because they weren't a real priority. Those things take on a lot of space and a lot of energy; using up energy I could have banked.
This has nothing to do with what is going on around my life nor other people, and everything to do with how I am managing my own perceptions, how I define situations. I need to be mindful of where I spend my brain-fuel or I'll end up idling away in a useless manner and then running on fumes when I really need to the fuel to 'go' or plug in to those I love, or even give to myself.
"I GET IT!!! thank you."
Making adjustments: "See life with more positivity and maybe even magic". "Have faith". "Don't take 'x, y or z' on right now". "Say 'yes' when people offer help". "ask for help". "Know my boundaries". "Say, No." "Let go".
I had some wonderful friends offer their experience and support with regards to the flood etc - thank you Jenn and Susan. My sister for coming and helping me to work on the playground. My other sister for just being there to listen. My sister-in-law for offering to help. It undoes knots. Having people around oneself just makes all the difference to bring a person back to their centre. Thank you very much.
My husband was the second lesson in this. At Christmas, we had an incident where the fire truck came out. It was not as destructive as my waterfall incident, but he made a mistake. I thought back to that after this happened. I don't think I was a 'cow' about it - we laughed, gave the firemen cookies, video'd it and pointed out to my daughter that she got to see a firetruck. But in my head, I wondered why he chose to do what he'd done. On a level, I would say I was agitated. With my mistake, he just leaped in to action. He was the one who came to me as I scrambled to clean. He just looked at me as though he were coming to check in with me. He knew how I felt already and just loved me from the inside out. He is my sweetie and teaches me every day to be more loving. Thank you sweet man - and yes, you are incredibly handy. "I get it, thank you, My Love".
We now have a big hole in our bathroom ceiling and in our walls - the fans running when possible. I will not get my daughters playground done for when we hoped to. I don't know how things will go for the next while but I have done the best I can. I will now have a staggered harvest in my garden, and feel that the lawn in there has been successfully aerated. My daughter deserves a little "special" everyday with a momma who is whole - that's all she wants... and a birthday cake of her choice, so today I am taking her to the berry farm. I have been thoughtful and honest with those I value - I have been open and said my piece. Me, my husband and my daughter will make our shift together as a family in a loving way and we will help each other as a team. I've let my horses off their lunge lines, but a couple that require some tending to and even then, I will tie one up while I work with the other; one at a time.
A relatively small wake-up call... lessons received. Balance being restored. Much appreciated.
*Photo/illustration references (horse on lunge line - http://www.bpknaus.com/docs/superstars.aspx)
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