Seeing Clearly: saturday feb 23-feelin' groovy

Saturday, February 23, 2008

saturday feb 23-feelin' groovy

so happy to tell you that the vertigo wound up being a one day thing--friday morning I had my sea legs again. still am having a CT scan next week just to make sure that the little bleeder from the accident isn't making trouble somehow, but I feel really good today. Hard to believe that it hasn't even been two weeks yet. this morning I did some simple yoga stretches and it felt great. Still need to be careful to keep my head above my heart (and y'all know how hard that is for a hippie girl like me :)) but overall starting to feel some energy and stamina and trying to be careful to remember that the reason this is the case is that I have been taking it easy. Deborah is good at gently reminding me to back off and sit down and take care of myself. She is leaving tomorrow, on the jet plane out of GR, and back to Port St Lucie, Fla, where her fab hubsie Frank is waiting, as well as her awesome daughter, my neice Abigail, who is kicking some serious butt in horse shows over the past few days. Thanks, you guys, and thanks to Holy Family Catholic Church for living without Deborah for the past two weeks. I know I keep saying this but she really has been a gift. We have enjoyed being together so much. We have known each other for 30 years and friendships like this do not grow on trees. don't know how I got so lucky.

Deborah and I had lunch with my ex Mark and he gave me Lance Armstrong's book, ITS NOT ABOUT THE BIKE, about his battle with cancer. I also recieved an inscribed copy of a book about the Detroit Tigers from his son Ben, who is seven and also a Pudge Rodriguez fan. Thank you Hagar men for the thoughtful gifts.

Deborah and I continued our eating and socializing spree by going to a meeting at the Grand Haven Alano Club and I was able to see my friend Lori, an awesome and beautiful woman who has always been an inspiration to me and a bunch of other old timer buddies who I have had the privilege of staying sober with over a number of years. It was great to have that fellowship again. As many of you know I am a proud member of AA and am eternally grateful for the new life the fellowship has given me.

We also went to Carolyn's for dinner, and Bobbi and Kathy were there, too, as well as the Cutest Couple Ever, Stephanie and Brian.

Today we went to Barb and Joe's and played Wii bowling, which was so much fun. I will tell you that if you have one eye, playing the tennis or baseball is a BAD IDEA. Anyway, it was so much fun.

Jan stopped by this afternoon with a gift-a set of watercolors and a pad of paper. It is one of those tiny little sets that you can take anywhere. She has given me an assignment to paint and to put the colors I am seeing on paper. As any of you who ever had Jan for an art teacher knows, you do what you are told or else! :) thank you, friend, for helping me to remember what is important....

love you guys....sleep well. thanks for caring.

1 comment:

Jon said...: Mom,
I've seen you play Nintendo before. I'm not so sure the second eye would have made much of a difference.; February 25, 2008 at 12:22 PM

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The Journey

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

© Mary Oliver.

a poem from TRAVELING MERCIES by Annie Lamott

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridge to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water looking out
in different directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you
in a culture up to its chin in shame
living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the back door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks that use us we are saying thank you
with the crooks in office with the rich and fashionable
unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feeling we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us like the earth
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

--w.s. merwin

from Kabir, Indian mystic poet

Friend, hope for the truth while you are alive.

Jump into experience while you are alive!...

What you call "salvation" belongs to the time before death.

If you don't break your ropes while you are alive,

do you think ghosts will do it after?

The idea that the soul will join with the ecstatic

just because the body is rotten--

that is all fantasy.

What is found now is found then.

If you find nothing now, you will simply end up with

an empty apartment in the City of Death.

If you make love with the divine now, in the next life you will have the face of satisfied desire.

Night Letter to theReader by Billy Collins

Night Letter to the Reader

I get up from the tangled bed and go outside,

a bird leaving the nest,

a snail taking a holiday from its shell,

but only to stand on the lawn,

an ordinary insomniac

amid the growth systems of garden and woods.

If I were younger, I might be thinking

about something I heard at a party,

about an unusual car,

or the press of Saturday night,

but as it is, I am simply conscious,

an animal in pajamas,

sensing only the pale humidity

of the night and the slight zephyrs

that stir the tops of the trees.

The dog has followed me out

and stands a little ahead,

her nose lifted as if she were inhaling

the tall white flowers,

visible tonight in the darkened garden,

and there was something else I wanted to tell you,

something about the warm orange light

in the windows of the house,

but now I am wondering if you were even listening

and why I bother to tell you these things

that will never make a difference,

flecks of ash, tiny chips of ice.

but this is what I want to do--

tell you that up in the woods

a few night birds were calling,

the grass was cold and wet on my bare feet,

and that at one point, the moon,

looking like the top of Shakespeare's

famous forehead,

appeared, quite unexpectedly,

illuminating a band of moving clouds.

This poem does what all good art does-it makes my heart fill as I recognize myself in it, and I say, "yes! that is exactly it!" and I realize once again that I need to tell you so many things. I feel inspired. Alive.

There are not enough hours.

a note from Kevin Griffin, author and spritual leader from Shambhala