Seeing Clearly: Sunday night-March 16

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Sunday night-March 16

Today is Annie Lane's birthday. She would be 27 today. Many of you know that there was another little girl before my Annie Elizabeth who was stillborn. I am happy to say that Miss Annie E is here with me tonight and will be accompanying me to work this week as I make my way through my happy reunion at Waukazoo and Sheldon Woods! I will be working mornings only this week, easing back in, with the wonderful Ken Newton taking over for the afternoon shift each day. People, I cannot tell you how hard he has worked to provide the kids with great art experiences, and he has gone way beyond the call of duty for me. Thank you , my friend, for your humor and dedication as well as creative sub plans and art displays of marvelous student work!

The temporary conformer has made me pretty much symmetrical again, and with my glasses I can mingle and go out feeling much less self-conscious. I have gotten used to it for the most part, except for a few minor glitches, the worst of it being that I can't quite close my eye without forcing my lid down. This means that it's hard to get to sleep with that lid a little open...isn't that funny that it would matter? but it does! Also my socket aches a little tonight, so I put my little clear conformer back in for the night. I am getting good at taking the iris conformer in and out and have washed it out a few times. My socket is still healing, of course, and looks a little grizzly. I guess it takes a full year for the healing to be complete!

I am continuing to log on to Losteye.com, a great website for folks who have monocular vision for one reason or another. Many of these people have struggled for years with glaucoma, infections, cataracts and injuries and I am inspired by their stories, their good humor, positive attitudes, warmth and the amazing wealth of information available on that site. There are people from all over the world, of all ages (moms are members who have infants with ennucleated eyes) and it is a great support group.

Speaking of support groups (and speaking of speaking!) Annie and I went to a speaker's meeting tonight and heard Mark Vandenbosch talk. He did a great job and you can just tell he is going to be a great preacher once he graduates from Western Sem. Talk about a story! Mark's pic is back a page or two on my blog...he and Lori have been great and Mark is helping me learn that asking for help won't kill me!

Two mile walk with the dog today in the bright sunshine! Starting to feel like my old self again and looking forward to continued progress. Thanks, all, for your amazing love and support, and I will let you know how it goes tomorrow!

2 comments:

Anonymous said...: Hi Claudia!
We are so glad to have you back--even if it's just in the mornings. Taking it slow and easy is a wise thing to do.
Waukazoo is sort of like a stew--when one ingredient is missing, the whole thing falls a little flat. A dash of Claudia is just what we need!
Liesje :); March 19, 2008 at 10:47 AM
Anonymous said...: I fully agree with author opinion.; September 21, 2010 at 9:29 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