This Is Me on Steroids

The treatment for my pneumonia requires that I take steroids along with antibiotics and inhalers. I seem to have a lot of energy, and I am in a really good mood. Here’s what I do on steroids:

Write a 2,500-word brief for a law professor that a) details the civil-rights violations of hospitalized Alzheimer victims, and b) advocates enforcement of state and federal self-determination laws by imposing punitive measures against medical facilities for violations. Compile copies of the pertinent regulations, rejoice that the guy is interested, and send the package off.

Indulge in an act of shoe repair to mend my favorite slippers.

Cross-examine an old friend, via email, who has retired to a sailboat in Mexico and fallen in love. Quiz him at length about her, the circumstances, and the emotional/philosophical conditions of falling in love with a stranger.

Make yet another attempt to concentrate on my overdue writing assignment about local charity programs during the holiday season.

Wander in the garden with the pruning shears, investigating the whereabouts of two praying mantises that live in the dahlias.

Query the family corporate attorney about the legal interpretation of certain provisions in my parents’ trust, comparing the instructions to the actual intentions of my parents.

Stand in the middle of my sunroom office and whirl my arms in big circles because it feels great.

Have AA meetings on the phone with sober friends. Explore big issues like spirituality in marriage, how to pursue a goal, and the best way to treat a sore throat.

Cope with a bedtime panic attack, afraid I’ll stop breathing in my sleep. Wake my husband to warn him of my impending death and remind him where I keep all our essential papers. Ask him to stay awake and keep me breathing. Forgive him when he chuckles and goes back to sleep.

Make a little autumn bouquet and ride into town with a friend to put it on my mother’s new headstone, taking a photo to send to out-of-town family.

Stay on top of respiratory treatments and medications. Check for improvement with my new lung-exercise toy.

Eat a gloriously crisp Braeburn apple. Then grab a few Cheetos for nutritional balance.

Tackle that overdue writing assignment again. Try to write a lead paragraph. When that fails, take the beagle for a walk. Ponder my upcoming 56th birthday. Laugh at the falling leaves. Thank God for my life.

Rested and Refreshed

A crazy week came to a close yesterday. In quiet happiness I watched with the rest of the world as the trapped miners stepped into freedom, one at a time, emerging with a relief I can’t even imagine into the open sky with bear hugs and joy.

First thing, we got my husband resettled after an early-morning medical procedure and got a little food in our bellies, and then I stayed glued to the Web all day. Every other pressing issue was laid aside. I had turned in the last of my assigned magazine articles the night before. Like the miners, I could take deep breaths at last.

I’d had to shut out the world for three days between Sunday morning and Tuesday night so I could do the work I was assigned to do. The emotional eruptions that developed late last week were still in process but they went on without my help. The phone was off, literally and figuratively.

A couple of dramas have been unfolding, and it’s curious to see how hard it has been to step away and not participate in the anxiety and speculation. On Tuesday morning, the hospice bereavement counselor made me stop talking about the issues. She had me put my feet flat on the floor, close my eyes, breathe in and out, and become aware of my physical self centered in my seat. After a while, she sent me home with instructions to engage only in the things that took care of what I myself needed. Like finishing the articles I was responsible for.

Now it’s a new day. I can check in with my loved ones and see what I can do to help today. I can encourage and listen. With a little respite from the drama, it’s easier to see that of course I’m powerless to fix anything, and I don’t need to wail and wring my hands over it. All the people who worked to rescue those 33 miners helped each other to explore solutions one step at a time. What I CAN do is stay calm, surround myself with a good team, and do whatever is in front of me to do today with graciousness.

Today’s meditation started with a quote from Galileo: “The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.”

I’m going to take it easy today and see what I can do to help ripen a few grapes.

From Trauma to Drama: Butterfly Tacos

A praying mantis snacks
on a little butterfly
holding it like a taco
munching headfirst
and I wonder
should I have shooed
the butterfly away
and let the mantis
go hungry
or was it right
to stand aside
and let sweet nature
show its ugly face
on a yellow daisy
one day in the fall?





_________________



This is a Hamlet moment. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune have made yon yellow butterfly shuffle off this mortal coil.


What would you have done? Go ahead, sit in judgment of my existential angst.


This is also a Flash 55 Friday. To tell a tale in 55 words, no more, no less (I asked once), post it on your blog and run tell G-Man. It's posted a day late because I lost Friday among my earrings.

I've lost a whole day. I didn't realize it was Friday until my therapist called my cell and said, "Where are you?" I live in discombooberated time. I'm supposed to be the consummate professional writer, but damn, I lost a day. It didn't even hurt.

Praying Mantis, Yellow Rose

November Roses
Dedicated to Rosaria (lakeviewer at sixtyfivewhatnow)

November roses
summer warmth easing
through their veins
raise their new growth
skyward
where the setting sun
and rising moon
bookend the day.

Blood red
butter yellow
petals unfurling
like fingers on a fist
lifted skyward

Big as a hand
roses rise
in the warm sun
November frost
long forgotten
in the headlong
rush to beauty

If you were able to look closely at the bottom of the rose, you would see a female praying mantis who is ready to mate and leave her eggs on the roses. I'll have to be careful with this rose when I prune them back this winter, keeping my eyes sharp for that egg sac so I don't prune it and send it to the green waste. Oh, inconvenient little critter! Wish you were living in the lilac. But thanks for the visit anyway!