Growth, Change, Happiness, Acceptance

I'm looking forward to tonight.

Tonight, like every night for the past month, I look forward to collapsing on the Adirondack chairs out in the pasture to watch the sunset.

Yes, we actually dragged my favorite chairs out to the pasture.  After the first snuffles and rounds of pawing over  'what are these new things in our yard?' the mini horses pretty much leave them alone.  Jay and I sit on our chairs with a bug candle flickering between us, with the newspaper or a book, a cup of tea, and read or watch the sky as Burren happily bounds about.  The  whole neighborhood can drive by and see us sitting there in all our flat-lander hillbilly glory, while our hound dog races buggies and bicycles to the corner of the fence.

Sounds lovely and it is.  But, sometimes I'd rather be kayaking or hiking or sitting on the beach or exploring the Grand Canyon or visiting Maine.

Growing up in a large family, I knew work.  Weeding, gardening, endless preserving of fruits and veggies, babysitting siblings.  My sanity came from breaks to the shore or the cabin.  We did both routinely; even in the winter we went to the cabin.  My hubby also knew work early on.  He grew up on a farm. Work was farming; farming was life. He loved the farm enough to stay.  Forever.  Always. Day after day.  He doesn't need breaks if you catch my drift.

It makes me a little insane.   

If I want to do anything, I often have to go myself.  Or bribe someone to go with me.  Since I strongly dislike driving, this turns into more of a problem than it needs to be.  I have stretched in my willingness to drive away by myself about as much as he has stretched in his willingness to go on vacations.  So we're stuck with each other's issues.

At times I'm grouchy about our lack of adventure, but I'm leaning into making the best of it.  Not everyone has a partner who likes sitting side by side, not saying or doing much, just watching the stars come out.  Not everyone has a cool hound dog.  Not everyone has a farm.  Not everyone has grandchildren who think it's the cat's meow to run around after a dog running around in a pasture while Nana and Pawpaw watch and grin.  Not everyone has such privileges.  I can choose to be content.

Last night, the stars were taking extra long to come out.  So I sneaked a peek on Facebook in between chapters of my kindle book. I found a link to an article about  'glamping'  in New York City.  Glamor + camping = glamping.  For $1000 a night you can sleep outside and watch the stars come out in the middle of the city, on a roof top or secluded balcony with a luxuriously made bed, a soft chair or two, a fire pit to roast marshmallows, and room service.

I laughed out loud.  Literally.  I can have all of that for free here!  Minus the luxury bed and servers, of course.   (oh my...sounds exactly like something the farmer would say)

Anyway, Burren, our cool part hound dog, is anticipating going out to the pasture tonight too.  She's hovering near the door.  She demands a walk first.  It's our agreement: she will walk nicely on leash if she gets to RUN out in the pasture.

Burren seems to be adjusting well without "Jeff" to her "Mutt".  Since Massey's gone Burren doesn't even bark when she chases buggies and cars to the corner of the fence; most don't even notice her as she races silently through the tall grass.  What I thought would be horrible is actually rather nice. There is a level of crazy that has dissipated from our place.  I miss Massey every day, but I do not miss his hyper-bad-energy vibes.  I'm utterly grateful that Jude is healing well, and has no dog trauma.  And, Burren is much gentler, much more attentive to us than she was with Massey around.  

She howled only once at being alone, and that was after I left her for 8 hrs and then took too long to take her for a walk. So, we're all adjusting. There are perks to having only one dog.  Cheaper.  Less training.  Less filling of the water bowl.  Less canine sibling squabbles.

I may really like having one dog. 

I may really like not spending money on vacations. 

I may really like how life unfolds.

Reminds me of a note from God I got in the mail one day. It said:

"Growth comes from change.
Happiness comes from acceptance.
Merrily, you're built to do both, at once."

2 Point Oh, baby -
      God

PS:  Good thing you have fast reflexes!   

Joyfully,
Sharon


(Note from the God is and adaption from Notes From the Universe - the wit and inspiration of Mike Hooley)

And so life goes on...

 

 

Thank you, ALL, for your kind thoughts, your prayers, your lighted candles for us during these difficult days. I'm so grateful.

 

I will share my journal entry on saying saying goodbye to Massey.... 
 

...but first, I want to share something funny and something sweet.  These precious moments got me through the worse of waiting for Massey's quarantine to be over.  Jude mimics our other dog, Burren.  He sneezes when Burren does, shakes his head when Burren shakes her fur, and pants whenever she does. He tries to bark but can't do that sound at all.  On Thursday, he and Burren watched the goats together.  They stood side by side, his tiny arm draped across her back.  I had no camera, but I held my hands up to my eyes, made a frame with my fingers, and clicked to seal the memory in my mind and heart.  This will be the "photo" I mentally return to when grief dredges up other images.   

 

Here's my journal from yesterday: 
 

Jude woke up really crying this morning. Nothing calmed him ...not even going out to see the horses... so his daddy brought Jude over to us.  We found nothing evident of causing pain, so maybe he had a nightmare.  Of course we thought it might have been about what he's been through. After a belly rub with Peace and Calming essential oil while swinging on the front porch swing and a tractor ride around barn with Papaw, he settled down. The possible nightmare helped rather than hurt us; it underlined our decision about Massey.

Massey had a great morning, ate a bowlful of raw beef for breakfast. Jay took him on a long walk since his quarantine was over. Then later, while Massey was resting, I told him he has to go easily, and not bite anyone in the process. I rubbed his fur with Peace and Calming oil and told him it's best if he doesn't go out with a fight. Then Jay took him to the barn to scare away some rats. Jay wanted to be alone with the vet, so  Burren and I went to the park when they went out to the barn. 
 

Burren and I walked/hiked until it got too hot.  Then we cooled off in the car driving to East Petersburg Park, got out and walked some more because I couldn't sit still. At 12:20 the East Pete fire sirens went off and I instantly knew Massey had passed. The five loud wails made me cry... and laugh.  I like to think the little squirt was telling me he obeyed my instructions but he just had to kick up some sparks on the way.

 

Jay texted me at 12:27 - "come home; it's peacefully over" just as the second set of 5 siren wails started. The whole time Burren watched me cry, and sat by my side calmly listening to the sirens, without howling - a first. Massey got a 10 siren salute - quite fitting.

~~~

 

Burren is doing fine.  Jay and I slept well last night, relieved that we can now finally move on.  Jude is healing very well, and is currently spending some time with his other grandparents. From the photos they are sharing, he is a happy camper.

Again, thank you readers, for your support and kindness.

 

Much love,
Sharon

Honoring All the Colors of Life

Ah, childhood....and carefree days!  Yet, even children experience the ups and downs that is life.

This was the start of a blog post I never finished:  "Move over Oscar the Grouch – Grouchina wants to move into your can!   She covets your ability to shut the lid on the world."  

 Since May, I’ve gently, compassionately nicknamed myself Grouchina. There are myriads of creative urges beating a rhythm behind my eyes, pulsing in my chest, but I need to be present to other demands. I’m a quiet, contemplative type, who needs solitude and down time to recharge spiritually and emotionally. External pressure or demands usually stops my creative juices from flowing.  I feel drained (even grouchy!) when snowed under an avalanche of adrenaline, emotion and over stimulation.  

I had planned a summer of attending to my writing and art projects.  Instead, June was full of farm work and family events, July began with distress over a dear friend’s eviction and the rush to help clean out, pack up, the fear of homelessness.  July ended with a traumatic injury to our darling grandson…our dog Massey attacked him, unprovoked…traumatic for all the adults who witnessed it, hopefully not for the precious child who is already remarkably recovering. The surgeon did an excellent job, and the stitching barely shows anymore. Thank God, toddler bodies are made to heal. Our little sweetheart is eating, laughing and running about normally showing absolutely no fear of dogs.    (I added this photo because I love the back of his head, with all the curls)

 Amid the tragedies, I look for joy and miracles. 
 
Though I’ve joked and talked about our difficulties with Massey, a hyperactive, hair-trigger reacting, challenging, smart little dog, I always hoped his behavior problems were trainable and he was containable.  Massey’s unprovoked attack shocked and deeply troubled us.  Out of dread and trauma, we considered rehoming him where there are no children, but with his history, his escalating behavior problems, we knew the most responsible thing to do is transition him from this world. So, August begins with saying goodbye to Massey. I find peace knowing he will never hurt another person, and he will leave us surrounded with love, eating roasted pork, in the comfort and familiarity of home. 

 I’m remembering my Facebook status of June 25^th:    “I am incredibly content. No reason, just am. Even if many things in my life are not so great at the moment.”   Oh my, how I failed at remaining content in July!  I did succeed in witnessing my failure with compassion.  Life is full of contradictions.

 Of course grouchiness, mean-temperedness is not what I’m describing and I really don’t want a grouch can with a lid.  Though a personal and isolated retreat/art/writing cottage tucked in the woods and surrounded by a lovely garden would be sublime.  I’m describing real difficulties.  Being a deep thinking, sensitive, empathetic ‘quiet’ person, I get overwhelmed when life continually demands something extra from me, or turns turbulent. 

 In times of trouble I get confused over how to stay present; instinct makes me want to escape the difficulties, or repress my thoughts or emotions if I can’t escape.  Temperament requires I withdrawal for sanity, but since the world seems more oriented toward less quiet temperaments and since I grew up in an era of religious expectations, I mistake being present for not taking a break and being ‘on call’ or up for any interior or spiritual growth.’  Which is interiorly exhausting and leads to the human temptation of dwelling in all the mental stories and commentaries the mind wants to fixate on – the whys and shoulds, the if only’s, the replaying of the scene or emotions over and over trying to somehow make it okay or anxiously wanting it to be different or fix it, agonizing over the questions of am I responsible, did I somehow attract this, or what lessons am I being forced to learn? – and so on.  Sometimes, the best way for me to stay present is to surf the waves of experience rather than diving deep immediately.  Diving, reflecting, deep thinking comes later when the waters clear, the turmoil and mud have settled. Time and distance bring greater clarity and wisdom. 

 Surfing doesn’t mean repressing or ignoring emotions, unless I must attend to an emergency and deal with them later. Healthy processing doesn’t mean fanning or judging thoughts or emotions or over-talking about events.  Sometimes the best I can do is stop thinking, journaling, or talking to and go beat a drum, dance, take a walk, do yoga, or curl up and moan…let emotions arise, and let them be.

While I believe everything in life can teach me, I don’t believe Life conspires and purposely makes something happen to force me to learn a lesson.  The first statement is open, inviting and kind; the second is violent.  The difference is subtle, nuanced, but very important in my journey toward wholeness. Love does not use force. The God I know is loving, gentle, playful, artful, always inviting me toward greater love, self-understanding, compassion and wisdom.  

 When I have no power to change events, when the only thing left is to accept and live through, even as I desire tranquility in my soul no matter what comes, I realize again it’s not the events of life that I welcome, it is my natural emotional responses to the events that need my welcoming acceptance. Emotions are not positive or negative, good or bad; they just are. When I am present to my emotions, welcoming them, feeling them, releasing them, and cycling back through when needed, I experience the Presence of God. 

 In July, a friend shared this Mark Nepo quote as her Facebook status.  “I’m beginning to see that tranquility is the depth of being that holds what we think and feel, not the still point after we’ve silenced what we think and feel. Serenity is the depth of being that holds difficulty, not the resting point after we’ve ended difficulty.  And peace is the depth of being that holds suffering and doubt, not the raft we climb on to avoid suffering and doubt.  This leads to joy, which is much deeper and larger than any one feeling. Happiness, fear, anxiety, contentment, doubt, regret, unworthiness, anger, despair - all these and more are the waves that rise and fall in the sea of being.”

 So beautifully written, and so attractive to my soul!  I am far from living this as my constant. I have sweet glimpses, moments of exquisite serenity in the midst of stormy events.  And other times, like this July, my soul compassionately holds the bookmark to this place, while my body, emotions and mind tumbled, tossed, wailed and flailed around in the water.  Perhaps this is what Nepo’s quote means, I don’t know.  This will be an ongoing life mystery and discovery. 

 I do hope life settles; I could use some calmer waters. I still dream of a cabin in the woods.  I can have hopes and dreams but they don’t have all of me.  I soften into trust; I will get my alone time for recharging, for doing my creative work. I’m grateful to feel settled enough to actually write this blog, even as I know today marks the end of the 10 day mandatory state quarantine of any dog that attacks, and tomorrow the vet is coming to our house with her beautiful soul, her kind heart, her gentle tools and meds to ease Massey’s transition from this world to the next. I write through the mixed emotions, through the questions, the doubts, the sorrow, and with utter gratitude that our grandson is healing well, with happy memories of the tricks Massey learned, knowing both the joy and drama of a shared two and a half years with this enthusiastic, chaotic little dog. 

I write to honor your life, Massey.  I'm sorry your brain malfunctioned and you became a dangerous dog.  I see beyond your issues to the happy little dog you wanted to be. I write also to emphasis your mental state is not the norm for Jack Russel Terriers.  I know many wonderful, healthy, mentally stable, totally delightful JRT's.

 

 RIP, 
Sharon
 

“When you cry out loud you don’t get as much of a headache.”   (quote from a good friend)