“Peggy” by Virginia Carter Sproule
So very sorry for your loss………….
Tag: spirituality
My friend Karuna calls it “leela”*
I’m house-sitting for friends. I’m searching casually at first and then as the days pass, frantically, for the stupid garbage disposal button. I don’t have a garbage disposal at home but this is a fancy place so I know there has to be one. Where is it though?? Not on the wall, in the cabinets, in drawers, under the sink, by all the other switches?
It is NO WHERE!!
Hmm, maybe this place is fancier than I thought so next I try talking to the garbage disposal. Hey, it could work….
Uh hello, Siri? Are you there? Oops, maybe it’s Cortana? Alexa? Someone? Can anyone please just turn on the dang garbage disposal?
Nothing and now I feel really foolish. I call James, resentfully. He designs and builds these fancy places so maybe he knows where this stupid switch would be.
He, of course, tells me to check all the places I have already checked. Then he says “text me some pictures so I can see what you are looking at.” Well, now I am pissed….but I do it.
Here’s what I am looking at. I send many pictures…
He’s no help.
I give up. I go outside to sit by the fancy pool to contemplate my next move. Should I stick my hand down in there to dig out the garbage? ICK, but it is starting to smell now.
leela?
Later in the day, here is what I finally see!!!
Hey wait, where the hell was THAT little button before???
*”leela”–Hindu word for God’s Play…..
The “Chosen” Future for WPC
If these “impossible” connections can happen…..
between predator and prey………..
between newcomer and homey…..
between natural enemies…..
between famous and fan…..
Then maybe in the FUTURE my sisters and I can reunite!!!
Final Landscape for WPC 4/7/16
Half-Light 4-That one Sunrise in Fiji
I don’t have the photograph of the exact sunrise, just the picture in my mind. And no words describing it will suffice so I’ll have settle for telling you the surrounding story.
Imagine yourself on a once in a life time trip, sailing in Fiji-not to the tourist places, but the remote islands of the Southern Lau Group. You are with your six closest people whom you dearly love to spend time with…a rare occurrence, so having 32 days together for this adventure is amazing.
Even with these kinds of friendships though, many years of working, traveling and vacationing together, conflict can happen. Though we were on a 90 foot yacht with plenty of room for all to be separate or connected-your choice-the early mornings were the hardest to share as we would all want to be above deck in the open (no canopy) to see the sunrises and have our various morning beverages.
People do mornings very differently from each other.
Those of us who liked to wake up slowly, in silence, were getting up earlier and earlier to beat the coffee-fed, spring-into-the-day people. I’ve always liked solitude at sunrise above any other time so I found myself setting an alarm so I could be up first to have my alone time. SETTING an ALARM…on a YACHT…in FIJI for god’s sake!!!
We were all therapists. Our life’s work was to teach people how to take care of themselves, and that everyone’s needs are important…so of course, we came up with a great new rule.
On deck in the mornings, “no one speaks until the person up right before you speaks”.
So all seven of us could be up on deck, coffee or not, meditating or not, and it would be silent until the first person awake spoke. And then in order after that, so the transition from silence to party-time was slow.
One one morning I was the first on deck and it was still dark out….as dark as it gets under those South Pacific skies. Don’t even get me started about the starlight. People talk about a “blanket of stars”, well our nightly view was more like a down comforter of stars.
But Half-Light was slowly arriving, bringing with it the beginnings of this morning’s Sky Show. It looked to be a good one. The next 15 minutes were some of the most profound in my life thus far. As I said before, no words will adequately describe the beauty and miracle of this particular sunrise so I won’t even bother and it’s my process I am needing to share anyway.
For once, I am sitting there actually hoping for the next person to come up on deck. I’m waiting, wanting, willing someone to hurry up and get here so they can see this. I know I won’t be able to describe it. You’ve seen one sunrise, you’ve seen ’em all, right? (Makes me think of the bumper sticker so popular in Hawaii a few years back-“just another shitty day in paradise”.)
By now, the sky is exploding into colors we humans have no names for, and it seems to be getting more intense by the second. Most mornings I fight off the feeling of intrusion and today I would welcome someone, anyone, just to share this with, to confirm my experience, to validate my conclusion that this might be the most beautiful thing that has ever happened in the history of the world.
Where the hell is everyone?
I am seriously frantic for company by now but unable to pull myself away to rouse my fellow travelers or the crew because I don’t want to miss even a second of this. It changes dramatically every time I blink.
THEY NEED TO SEE THIS!!!
I am about to explode in frustration…I know, on the deck of a luxury yacht anchored off a deserted island in Fiji..about as dumb as setting an alarm clock… so I take a few deep grounding breaths to calm myself and that’s when it happens!
Wait, for context, I need to own the following. At this point in my life, I had lived solely and enthusiastically for the purpose of helping others better their lives. I had been like this since I was three or four years old. I had been told I needed to stop always putting others first, to be healthily selfish, to take care of myself, but I had staunchly refused because, after all, I was “called”. What’s also true is I didn’t want to give up the joy and reward I experienced because of my stance in life.
So here’s what happens.
Watching the most beautiful sunrise ever, I hear a voice, no shit, a real voice, tinged with just a touch of playful sarcasm…God? My Dad? My Therapist?…I don’t know but it’s a voice….maybe even my own.
It says, “Relax Silly. This one is yours…made just for YOU.”
My whole personality changed that day in the Half-Light.
Half-Light #3 for WPC-the Woody
So what’s a Woody station wagon got to do with half light?? Well, growing up in the town of Pacific Beach in San Diego, if you were a true, pre-popular craze surfer, you would be up each morning at Half-Light, to high tail it down to the beach for the best and least crowded waves of the day. A tourist to the area might look out a motel window and see weird dark shapes bobbing up and down way out beyond the shore break. They might even mistake them for a flock of strange sea birds out there. Nope. Those were the most dedicated wave-riding artists…waiting for their wave…however long it took.
“Surfing is one of the oldest practiced sports on the planet. The art of wave riding, is a blend of total athleticism and the comprehension of the beauty and power of nature. Surfing is also one of the few sports that creates its own culture and lifestyle.”
http://iml.jou.ufl.edu/projects/spring04/britton/history.htm
No idea who first used a Woody station wagon to drag surfboards to the beach but it became the vehicle associated with the surfing culture.
The following info from http://www.carponents.com/content/surfs-up-with-the-woodie-one-of-americas-most-iconic-cars-176
“In the early 60’s, Surfers, who spent their days riding those bodacious California waves all afternoon always seemed to be strapped-for-cash. In need of an inexpensive form of transportation, they found they could buy woodies cheap, and that they were perfect for lugging around the long 10-12 foot wooden surfboards of the day long.
While not really their goal, surfers prolonged the lives of countless Woodies. It was something of a California oddity but surfers didn’t actually restore their wagons, they couldn’t afford to. They simply kept them going. Groups like the Beach Boys in songs like ‘Surfing Safari’ began to mention and immortalize Woodies in their lyrics, about how they were loaded up with boards and friends and driven to the California Coast and they forever became ingrained as a beloved icon of the surfing community as more and more were adopted by the laid back, fun loving culture. The connection between surfing and Woodies became permanent. It’s also said that surfers were the ones who coined the term ‘woodie’. “
Now here’s the sort of personal part. For some reason, when I was a very small child, we had a Woody parked inside our fenced back yard. I honestly don’t remember why or where it came from. I don’t remember ever riding in it, although we did have another station wagon, a white mercury with red trim and red leather interior, that we rode in a lot. That Mercury was the transportation for many of the childhood adventures my Dad provided for his daughters. Most of those adventures involved deserted country roads with us riding on the opened tailgate, strapped in for safety with a make-shift rope “safety belt”. But we never rode in the Woody.
Maybe Dad had the foresight to know that old Woody was a good investment. I do remember it sitting out there until well into my adulthood. Sometimes, when I was visiting my father, a later version of a young surfer would ring Dad’s doorbell to ask about that old car in his yard. My sisters might know what happened to the old Woody. I don’t.
And here’s the really personal part. Many times as a child (according to family legend, as young as four and five years old) I would be discovered before first light, out in the back yard, with my pillow and blanket from my bed, sitting on the hood of that old Woody, all bundled up and leaning back against the perfectly slanted windshield…..doing WHAT, the adults could never figure out.
It’s no mystery to me. Though I don’t remember specifically thinking about this, I’m sure it started out as escape. Maybe if I woke up early enough, and “ran away” to the back yard, I wouldn’t have to start on all those chores no five, six or seven year old should be responsible for (changing diapers, cleaning up, making breakfast, etc.)
And to my lifelong delight, I imprinted on mother nature from those Half-Light escapes, on the absolute beauty and wonder of it all, even the most simple of its forms.
I still love the earliest morning, with its slow but dramatic light changes, the songs of awakening birds-in the spring full orchestras-and the emerging hints about weather for the day. These days, I rarely need it for “running away”, but nothing grounds me more solidly and spiritually onto the earth than sitting outside in the half-light, in almost any weather, eavesdropping on the world as it wakes up.
One last “Dance”
This is as close as I could get to the precious Dancing picture I lost. Tad, helping Lucy rise from her chair, the prolonged, swaying “hug” while she got her footing, and then always, when she was finally balanced, she would look into his eyes and smile, silently thanking him. A witness to this could easily feel their 60 plus years in love together, with goose bumps and a throat lump….
Morning Dance for WPC
DanceEvery day I’m here at home, I go outside onto my deck (huge because it is actually the flat roof over my old garage) to feed my Crows. (That is another post. As I am writing this, they are yelling at me to come out there with their breakfast…but I digress from my digression…)
Each morning, I stand in the shadow of my house, facing West and the early sun hits these tree tops long before it warms my deck.
A few days ago, I noticed something. These trees, even when there is no detectable breeze, bend and sway and ripple like they are dancing. Of course, the new theme “dance” had just been introduced so I probably had that on my mind.
I have had a powerful relationship with trees though, all my life. My Dad, when I was four years old, planted a Star Pine tree in our front yard so it could “grow up with me”. I first found God sitting on a fallen tree in the forest at 4th grade church camp. Later, in my early twenties, I discovered, forgave and accepted my body, stripped naked in the Redwoods. James and I camped along Avenue of the Giants on a long Harley road trip a few years back. Heaven.
And I chose my long-time home based on its surrounding trees.
But yesterday morning…I had an overwhelming and new sensation….these trees, planted as saplings, have been dancing for me, waving at me, to say “Good Morning Kathie” for almost 40 years now.
How have I not seen this before?
Dear Badfish, again (random memories)
- The Chart House restaurants in North San Diego County were a favorite eating place on vacation with my adopted family each fall.
- When I bought my house forty some years back, I picked it for its unusually large piece of unincorporated city property, complete with corral and finished horse barn. It came with two Shetland Ponies, a great start to the idyllic Horse-Life I’d dreamed of. Country paradise smack dab in the middle of suburbia!! But 3 weeks after we moved in, my son’s father left us. He sold the ponies (and my Dalmatian Clancy) while 3 year old son and I were off gathering our wits for the next phase of our lives. I ended up boarding other people’s horses for years, throwing myself into two jobs and trying to finish a degree so I could start my practice. I had also picked this house because I could immediately see building my office and Group Therapy room in the unfinished basement. I had the same struggle we women all had back then, fighting the mom vs career battle and I wanted to work at home.
- When trying to finish college, I waited tables at one of Seattle’s two Five Star restaurants, Henry’s Off Broadway. I got the job with zero experience, by barging onto the construction site and approaching the restaurant manager as the restaurant was still being built! He said he hired me for “my balls”. Hey, I was a young, desperate single mom and this place was just blocks from Antioch University. To fit everything in logistically, I needed a job either right next to home or to school, so apparently my ovaries turned into balls on the spot.
- I’ll never forget the John Denver concert at the Tacoma Dome, when we had just heard that one of our Board of Directors for INDEPTH (Institution for Developmental Education and Psychotherapy) had died. Buckminster Fuller was our most important supporter, and as it turned out, one of Denver’s closest friends. Mr. Denver could barely go on with his concert, all choked up. (One of my favorite quotes from Bucky was There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it’s going to be a butterfly.)
- I would have done obscene things back in the day to cross paths with any of the Eagles. The closest I got was attending every concert I could, including one when I was 30, a Super Concert with The Eagles, Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt, and BONNIE RAITT!! An amazing birthday gift from friends!! And, I’m thanking the universe now that my family treated me to the Eagles History tour (again, in the Tacoma Dome) just 2 years ago, for another birthday. I will grieve for Glenn Frey for some time to come.
- I was a Hermit Crab thief. On a once-in-a-lifetime, non-touristy trip to Fiji, on an extremely remote, uninhabited island at the southern most tip of the Lau Group, I collected fifty of what I thought were uninhabited hermit crab shells, beautiful ones. I wanted to bring back a shell for each of my clients at the time. Normally, we would not collect anything off the many beaches we visited without that island’s Chief giving us permission (after the whole Kava drinking ceremony) but as I said, uninhabited. So I asked the Universe if I could take some shells and it said “Sure, why not?” What it didn’t tell me was how to know if my chosen shells were occupied. Nope. Didn’t discover that until later that night. Soundly sleeping in my beautiful stateroom aboard The Tau (means “friend”), a 90 foot yacht housing a crew of 5 and me, with my 6 best friends, I am awakened by this frantic scritching sound!
Just about all fifty of my “empty” shells, being stored in a bowl of fresh water, were scrambling to escape!!! Not to worry, unless you believe that Hermit Crabs are traumatized when you move them to a new beach. I gently placed all of them on the sand of the very next island we came to, with a sincere apology for their uprooting.(I’ve always struggled with anthropomorphism). And then our Fijian First Mate, Sefo, taught us how the natives find out if there is “anyone at home” in shells of all sizes. (They hold the shell close to their mouths and whistle. If someone is in there, they come right out to say HI.) I then successfully collected 50 empties!
- Cross Country Skiing- I learned in an idyllic circumstance. Imagine you are deeply, newly, psychotically in love…..with someone who lives as far across the country as you can get. (man, do I ever hate a long-distance relationship) BUT, he just happens to be in a location for 2 weeks that is a 12 hour drive from where you live. He is on the US Disabled Ski Team and West Yellowstone is their pre-Olympics Training Camp. He can’t get to me…he’s blind, so I decide to surprise him by showing up there. On our regular, nightly, blissful and painful phone call, I tell him to walk outside so we can be sort of standing under the same full moon. He dutifully (or romantically) walked out of his motel room, guide cane in one hand and phone in the other. I then scared the shit out of him by walking up to him to hug him! (I was not yet fully Blind Etiquette Trained.) It worked out though and we spent from midnight until the beautiful moon set/sunrise, with him teaching me how to ski the groomed trails he and his team practiced on all day. He already had them fairly well memorized, even though he skied with a sighted guide. Only surprise were the huge, and I mean HUGE buffaloes that apparently wandered across these same trails all night long. THAT was a bit less romantic.
- I married the guy, kind of, on the above mentioned Fiji trip, and we were together for 13 years, most of which I would not trade a minute of, including one spectacular, take-only-the-back-roads trip to his best friend’s wedding in Breckenridge. That’s the closest I got to your old stomping grounds. I loved my guy and I loved hanging with the US Disabled Ski Team for those years, a crazy, irreverent bunch with nicknames like Blinky, Wheelie, Stumpy, and Flipper (this last, a Thalidomide baby with birth defect shrunken arms that just flipped around).
- There should be a law against, and an immediate consequence (Karma takes way to long and is less satisfying to the injured parties) for certain kinds of marital cheating; like doing it with someone you know, especially someone close to you, or using any of your territory or equipment (your bed or vehicle), or right under your nose, etc. In my case, it was with a former client of mine who was now a client of HIS…definitely the biggest No-No in my profession! Can I pick ’em or what?!? Yeah yeah, I got the lessons part and all but shouldn’t I be able to choose (on purpose, that is) which classes to sign up for???
- And that brings me Back to the Eagles–Don Henley in particular (along with Lynch and Winding)…one of my favorite healing songs is “My Thanksgiving”. My favorite line is “sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge”.
Oh and Badfish, I’ll see your Ted Bundy and raise you with a Charlie Manson. (That whole thing was happening less than a mile from where I brought my sweet baby boy home from the hospital.)
And there you have it, at least until you write the next chapter of your memoirs, to trigger the next bunch of memories for me!!
PS I forgot San Diego, which I already wrote about, and your Om T-shirt!
This is a handmade cloth paperweight.
If you have not visited https://badfish2.wordpress.com/ it’s one of my favorites, a visual treat and a fascinating journey!
Joy, the “guard dog”
I follow Wild Currents, a very moving blog and today was inspired by her post.
This entry moved me to write about my purebred German Shepherd, Joy, named to counteract her malfunctioning tear ducts, which were cosmetically disturbing enough that her breeder considered doing away with her.
Disgusting.
I’m afraid I don’t care who that offends.
I had always wanted a big ole German Shepherd. My best friend throughout my teens lost his vision and had the most wonderful guide dog, called Rue St James. I adored that dog.
And when I discovered my neighbor up the street was a well known breeder, with champion Shepherds, I made it known that I wanted one. Unfortunately her dogs went for thousands of dollars which put me out of the running….until my accountant asked me if I needed a Guard Dog for my therapy practice. Hmmm. I started saving money even though I never had any intention of teaching any nasty habits to a pet of mine.
One day I got a call saying if I wanted a dog for free, I could have a damaged one if I came for her right now. This precious puppy had been kept in a separate cage for the first four months of her life, no other dog or human contact, waiting to see if she would outgrow her birth defect to the degree her owner could at least breed her. I jumped at the chance.
I fell immediately in deep love. Joy grew up to be such a beauty the breeder wanted to buy her back. By then she was all mine, though that did not exactly come easily. She spent her first few weeks with me hiding under my bed.
Eventually I was able to take her to work with me. I’m a psychotherapist in private practice. Right around this same time I had started accepting clients referred by the courts and some of them were actually pretty scary. Several people suggested…strongly…that I have Joy “protection trained”, but I just wouldn’t do that. She was already pretty skittish and not reliably nice to strangers.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to train her. I hoped that her mere presence would imply protection for me. And in a bass-ackwards way, it did.
I was blessed to have Joy for 16 years, completely healthy for 15 of them, highly unusual for such a large dog of her breed. And you know what, she never so much as curled a lip at a client of mine. Not even when one of them showed up at my home at 2 AM, in a rage of negative transference, and carrying a baseball bat! Joy spotted this client out on my deck and started barking her “I’m so glad to see you” bark, tail wagging furiously. When I let her out, she simply ran to the client (her buddy from numerous therapy sessions) and attacked her with 110 pounds of slobbery kisses.
Joy protected me alright, by winning over the most hardened of hearts, and making instant friends with the innocent “child” part of them all.
Joy died in 2001, during the same trauma-filled stretch as several of my family members passing, both my other pets dying, AND then, 9/11 happened. I was devastated by all the jumbled loss in my life, and though I have grieved much of that loss, I still have not had the courage to adopt another dog….yet.
Joy, and her cat Bandit
I call her a Grandmother of the Service Dog, because she was here before we really knew the power and healing a therapy animal can have…..