Seeing Clearly: Thursday night

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Thursday night

Hello, All-

On Tuesday, I re-took my road test--the one I failed last week because I failed to understand that 30 in a 25 actually IS speeding, according to those nitpickers at the Secretary of State's Office (imagine my surprise...:)) so now, I am officially able to drive, by myself and without restrictions! I am right on the borderline on this, having 110 degrees of vision range, and will have to be retested annually. Driving has become a nonissue (except of course for the speeding, which I am working on!)-and so is everything else that I was so worried about. I thought that I would be running into things all day, every day, that were harder or different to cope with due to my reduced vision, but this has not been the case. Most of the time these days, I live in joy and gratitude--and here are a few reasons why:

1- every day when I go to work, I get greeted with smiles, hugs, waves and hellos from many beautiful children. This is an excellent way to start one's day.

2-Also, these days include spending time with my dear friends who happen to also be my co-workers--additional hugs, smiles, greetings, chocolate--and in two cases, beautiful spring flowers! thank you , Lynne, for the perfect red tulips, and Nicki and class for the lilly.

3-Smiling face of awesome principal who loves to talk to me about Daniel Pink and the importance of art. We are speaking the same language and that is a beautiful thing...

4-Additional smiles, good wishes, hugs and yet MORE presents from parents who spoil Mrs. Art to death....Courtney Leonard's mom brought me back a beautiful skirt and bracelet from her recent trip to Africa. You will see me sporting these in the hall at school!

4-cute dog, potty trained most of the time

5-daily chats with family and friends

6-I dont' have cancer anymore

7-I have a beautiful new eye

8-you get the idea......

Today I saw my family doctor, Giny Hoekman and got good reports all around. Yippee on that.

Having monocular vision doesn't mean my vision is poor, just that it is different. I think I read more than ever now. Also, interestingly, literally not a day goes by that I do not hear of another person who has lost an eye, or vision in an eye. Isn't that weird?

Love to you --do you hear the birds singing in the mornings??

SPRING SPRING SPRING!

2 comments:

Jack Wiler said...: Hi Claudia, I got your blog info from Rochelle and was astonished by your blog, your struggle and your grace. It is indeed spring:); March 28, 2008 at 11:45 AM
Anonymous said...: Hi Claudia:)
I was thinking of you as I was driving to work this AM ( I, too, was probably speeding!). Just feeling the love for you and wanted to share.

Glad to have this blog to keep up on you each day...how totally cool!

Hey...we need to discuss the "installation of our Mothers" idea...I loved that! Wondered how to proceed...perhaps connect with Lorma and do mini-installlations? What do you think?

Love to you and thanks for writing in my blog!
Susan; March 28, 2008 at 5:49 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