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Papyrus

A well known child psychiatrist once told me that a cure for writer’s block was simple. He told me to take a blank sheet of paper out of a notebook, put it on a seat, and sit on it. Wait a minute. This was a very intelligent man. I spent years picking his brain for the latest knowledge on childhood mental health issues and ways to assist families desperately seeking answers for why their child was so challenging. He was also a passionate man with a huge heart and excellent mind. I knew he would have some wise words to share concerning my angst with putting it all down on paper. I thought it was because I had to write so clinically. Was that robbing me of the creative? Did the paper need to be specialty paper? Papyrus perhaps?

It all started with a book about a dog rescue. I read the fiction in two days, tears streaming down my face at the end. I was also doing a lot of fruitless internet dating, returning from dates that were meant for short stories and hilarious endings. I shared some of the stories with my co-workers who often said that I should write a book about my adventures. I thought about calling it Dating After 50 – A Cast of Characters. It was a true adventure and not for the weak at heart.

I’ve always wanted to write the book. Literature is life! I need somewhere to start. The paper awaits. Revisiting that on President’s Day sounds like a good idea.

It starts with thoughts. Words become life.

Orchid Children become Adults, Pandemic Response

Stop being so sensitive.

You are so hard to get close to.

Silence.

If you need me, I will be hiding in the most recent plant based cook book, literary novel with full life characters or dreaming and concocting ways to change a tiny solo life. I might be engrossed in travel videos, dreaming my life away. Tiny house? Conversion van? Travel and never stop? Many might not understand this goal of surviving a pandemic when it doesn’t make sense what the reasons are for staying.

You see, orchid children have a difficult time from birth onward to make sense in the world. Beyond sensitive, the world is not easy to navigate. Starting with the unknown. Avoiding conflict. Trying to please everyone so that no one sees the cracks. Filling the cracks with as much fluff as possible to avoid the loneliest place on earth. Striving to be seen. Trying to be heard without rocking the boat, tiptoeing and navigating through unknown waters sends an orchid child into retreat where time is spent overthinking, desperately trying to normalize any given situation. Traversing the waters of insecurity and the promise of hope rolled into one small, neat package.

Hence, a pandemic reads it’s ugly head, protests are running rampant, fireworks are set off nightly, the news is horrid and the orchid child waits, in silence, head bent, waiting for someone, anyone to show up and say they care. A few do. The adult knows that others are struggling also. It is not easy navigating through a pandemic. And it’s knowledge that assists with the slow, steady crawl to acceptance.

Orchid children are highly sensitive, are in the minority, and are sensitive to both good and bad. They are biologically reactive and have a difficult time coping with anything stressful. They have higher levels of cortisol and fight or flight reactivity. As an adult in a pandemic, this response grips sleep, creates wakefulness and cravings for comfort foods, good books, art and literature. Drive through coffee becomes regular just to feel somewhat normal and connected to the world.

Orchid children can and do learn how to maneuver through these difficult times. Keeping a good schedule of self care and reaching out is important. It’s the reaching out that gives an adult orchid child pause. It’s just easier not to.

So, bloom carefully, orchid child. Stay in the present. It’s going to be ok. Surround yourself with sunshine, dandelion people who thrive and care.

It Always Comes to me Mid-Dream While the Cat Sleeps

For eleven days I have been staying in my home, watching time pass during a pandemic. I’m no longer a young person who feels very carefree and invincible. My heart certainly does, don’t get me wrong. I still have plenty that I truly would like to do. Looking back, I would have done things a whole lot differently but hindsight is never helpful. As a writer, most of my thoughts wake me up at night. Thoughts spiral out of control. How long is a pandemic? Am I equipped to handle it, come what may? Being an introvert has helped thus far. Staying in hasn’t been all that bad except when I remember why. To lose control is often the most difficult part. Nothing is worse than an introverted control freak, stuck at home with nowhere to go, especially when the government has shut down the library! And the coffee shop is only drive through! But, alas, it’s spring! I’m mid-dream, remember?

One particularly lonely evening, my heart felt the need to throw open the front door and stand in the yard, right by the solo budding tree in my yard. Right in the center. Looking up, I was reminded that, hey, the stars are still glowing their brilliant light, the moon is still hung in the night sky, and I am truly still here. So returning to my humbleness, I come back inside, grab a warm blanket and sit down on a favorite chair in my entree (front room – there’s a little French thrown in) and collect all the million thoughts I’ve had in my tired brain over the days prior. I organized them into pandemic speak.

During an impending crisis, our human brain really ramps up those what ifs and oh no’s. How much sanitizer do I have? Will my fresh foods diet have to fall by the wayside and will I have to go back to eating processed junk? Will I crave sugar again? What if something other than this scary scenario crops up? What if our water supply is cut off? What if I can’t get my hair cut and colored? What will happen to my loved ones? What if I never see my friends again? Cue the cortisol that ramps up the fight or flight hormones and causes immunity to decrease!

As the days have passed, it’s day eleven, here is what I have learned. A good night sleep is pretty healing. Staying hydrated makes everything work much better and your lungs will thank you. Eating healthy never goes out of fashion, especially during a pandemic. Friends are there always, if only virtually. The sun still rises in the morning. The spring birds are still singing. Planes are still flying over. Kids still play basketball in their driveway. Exercise and daily walks are a very helpful thing to clear your mind. There’s a ton of shows to watch on your smart tv. Your grandkids can message you funny emojis. Take a shower and stay in a routine. Calm down. Say your prayers. Hug your cat, even when he’s sleeping and you are deep in thought mid-dream.

Magical Thinking Wand

I’m sitting in a trendy coffee shop in a small seaside town in Newport, Rhode Island with my handsome partner. We cherish our time together, never in a rush. The soulful person that is the embodiment of who he is, prays with me, listens to my words, is supportive and kind. He’s intelligent, has a beautiful smile, quick wit. We never fight, although we have an occasional disagreement over which wine bottle to open or what town we want to visit next. We love those little disagreements. We see life together as 50/50. He’s as giving as I am and honestly, I have never been happier. We just purchased this little cottage, full of books and art, color and comfort in a space that is indicative of our passions. Art is everywhere. The town is welcoming and alive. Rarely do we need a car. Everyone knows each other, and they look out for their neighbors. Kids are a huge part of my life here. They come and visit often. We bake cookies and read books and play games. We take walks down by the water’s edge and talk about their latest concert, project or friend. Laughter is our constant companion. My dog is a one year old Cavalier King Charles spaniel, because spaniels are my breed. He’s tri-color, soft and soulful. He’s the stuff of kings and queens. A lap dog that travels wherever I go. He’s with me as I create jewelry, crafts to share and sell in little shops on Main Street. I drink hot chocolate and I don’t hurt. I spend time with real friends, not just the ones who are there when they are lonely or need me as a last resort. I’ve always hated that. I spend time with them, because they are true. We drink a glass of wine, lift it up to a new day and I don’t hurt. I’m free from pain. It no longer limits me. My prayers have become genuine. I’m no longer alone. I know the angels are present every time I see a cardinal in my yard. I feed the birds and the songs are encouraging and hopeful. My creator reminds me that I am still here for a reason. My partner and I travel to towns along the Eastern seaboard in my Mini Cooper. We stop along the way to take in the vast vistas and I always have my Nikon with me. I see the world through the lens of a camera. We are planning a trip to Europe to enjoy a Viking River Cruise along the Danube. I want to see Germany and spend time with my German daughter who was an exchange student a few short years ago. I’m no longer tethered to hurt. I’m exploring Brazilian music, soft jazz, Michael Franks. My family visits often, my sons and grandchildren play in the twin square, meeting other seaside family children who have the New England accent. The craggy rocks invite me in. The pine trees smell sweet. The air is clean. The food is the stuff of Gods. I can eat anything I want. The trauma is gone. I don’t miss it. I’m heard. I’m seen. I’m thinking magically in 2020.

Coffee Shop Wisdom

Today I blew it. I will not go into detail and I will not forever berate myself. I was feeling somewhat defeated so I did what I always do, I got in my Honda and drove to my favorite coffee shop. Normally I grab something and leave. Today I decided to sit in a leather couch and just rethink things. Today was unlike any other day. I met a German lady who was super full of life. She was knitting a beautiful scarf of many colors. The pattern was exquisite. I asked her how long she has been knitting. She said that she learned as a young child to knit because her mother said if she didn’t have a hobby, she would find her something to do. Her skills told a tale. Not only was she full of wisdom, she was one of the liveliest woman I have ever met. Her attitude and positivity were so inspiring and contagious. She told me where to go to dispel loneliness, how to stop taking care of everyone and everything else and start looking into my life and living more than I currently have been. She talked to everyone who entered the coffee shop, made new friends and acquaintances, encouraged me to go beyond my negative thinking and simply strive to be happy. What a concept!

It’s something I forget. She insisted on taking the high road into life is beautiful. Flip the narrative. It feels good. I can do it.

In memory of a fur kid

He came to me quite unexpectedly as a fostered cocker spaniel. He had markings that were quite unusual and the tri-colors that I loved. His tail was luxurious, and his personality unmatched with any dog that I had ever met. He could have been an agility dog but looking back now, maybe not with his heart murmur. He lept into the arms of my foreign exchange student at a Mutt Mingle event and we brought him home for a trial run. Needless to say, we fell immediately in love with this little guy that stole bones from his older fur kid brother. He was food driven, like most cocker spaniels. He loved the words walk and so good. His jaunts around the neighborhood were always his idea of adventure. He loved running up to kids who were bouncing balls, riding bikes, playing outside. So many people stopped and remarked on his appearance. “Beautiful dog”. “Very unusual face, he should be in movies”. He could be outside without a leash. He traveled well, loved car rides and French fries. He had a mountain of toys and loved his Snoopy dog. As a rescue he didn’t know tricks, but would give me his paw for a treat. When I had major surgery and was in recovery, he not once left my side. He was there for me when humans couldn’t be. Sometimes I think he loved me more than anyone. As a stray running the streets in Columbus, Ohio, he came to the rescue matted, malnourished and dehydrated. As my fur kid, he had good food, preventative medications, treats, grooming, boarding, car rides, and everything that goes along with what the love between a human and animal looks like. He gave me all the love and attention I needed. He slept in my bed. On many occasions I would wake up and his face was in mine. His body, curled up in almost half moon pose, kept me warm and made me feel safe. We watched countless shows and movies together. He never once let me down.

When I came home from work on that fateful day and found him in a terrible state I begged him not to leave me. The vet came to me with that awful news that rocked my world. His suffering had to end.

Today he’s in a tiny tin with his nose print and paw print surrounding him. In my state of utter despair, I had forgotten to even ask for those things. It was the tail clipping that really hurt. I still can’t touch it without sobbing. But, I have decided to sob. I’m going to. He deserves it. I loved him more than words and his life enriched mine so much that the tears are allowed. No holding back. Let them flow. It’s time to grieve.

Everyone tells me the same thing. Don’t run out and get another dog. Maybe someday when the tears have subsided, one will find me. After all, it isn’t just a dog. It’s a heartbeat, a love that can’t be matched with anything else. I hope it’s true that he’s running with other dogs and cats at the rainbow bridge. He loved cats too. What a totally cool dog. What a great time we shared. I would not trade it for anything that money could buy. The experience I had with this dog is the reason for my words. I love you boy. I wish you were still here. What a fun time we had.

Aloneness and the Lonely

I am a people watcher from way back. People have always intrigued me. In the age of social media, I think this observation is so much more interesting. I observed an older couple across the restaurant recently waiting for their food. They did not have cell phones. They were not looking down at a screen. They just weren’t looking at each other. They were not conversing. They were just “there”. It made me, a solo diner, a bit sad. I thought about how sometimes it’s hard to be alone so much, but how much more difficult it must be to be with someone and still be alone. I wanted to interject something into their separate aloneness. I wished to see a spark between them. But, perhaps they were happy with that status quo. Perhaps the dinner table was always like that and wasn’t going to ever change. And maybe that is ok. I try to look at things through different lenses at times in order to not make assumptions. I have grown accustomed to my aloneness. I can be totally happy either way. But I would struggle if I was eating with someone and silence was all that I heard. I would rather be alone than be with someone who wasn’t fully present in conversation.

Small Seeds Sewn

I have always planted seeds. Not bulbs. Which might explain a whole lot about why the Ranuculus never became a flower in a pot. The YouTube video taught the best way to plant the perennial, but the rootlike claws never produced much above the soil after the roots were dampened and put into some majorly expensive soil and terra cota pots. I mourned that loss. I could grow everything else, just not the flower that consistently through time has stolen my heart. I understand that this flower grows in the wild. Untended by human hands, it grows and becomes the envy of everyone who wished to be a queen.

Words are forever

I will be the first to admit it. I have said things in my life that I wish I could take back. We all have. That’s why I have been really hearing words that people say and realizing that they sometimes come out without warning and thought. It might be charged with pent up emotion, blind ignorance, or just in the moment utterances. But the freedom to utter them should not be taken lightly.

I am an introvert. I could go an entire day without saying anything. It is my nature. So when I do speak I try to season my words, and when appropriate, add some humor. Because right now, in this world, humor is what keeps us going. Sometimes I listen to old humorous radio shows. Who doesn’t like to hear the voices of humor from long ago? Life was so much different then. It seemed simpler. Less pretentious, full of life.

Getting older as an introvert creates new challenges. We tend to live out our lives in solitude. Gathering around the old radio seems like a dream from another time. Living far from family makes it even more difficult. I grew up around tons of family, cousins, and connections. I moved away from all of that and have created my own new tribe of friends who are very excellent stand-ins for what is missing. And that makes it better.

Last week I went to a friend’s home and her and another lovely lady and I made cookies. It was one of the most memorable days of the entire year. We listened to music and filled the kitchen with laughter and love. It was what I was missing. It felt good. It will happen more often.

Soon it will be 2019. This year I plan to select my words, laced with more humor and more color. This past year is grinding to a halt. I continue to have a story in my mind and will begin to pen it with a joyful heart and fullness. I will share my life with others and try to not hermit myself as much. It is easy to do when an introvert is a social worker. We tend to get overwhelmed easily, take on other’s emotions, and need to recuperate quickly. I am not sure if it is a curse or a blessing.

But, in the meantime, I will listen to the old radio shows on Sirius XM, add more comedy to my life, laugh a whole lot, and write it all down. Every single word as the new year commences.

Namaste. OLD RADIO SHOW

As of Late

Lately the words have been stuck in my head. Swirling around looking for the perfect place to land. Going nowhere. I have decided to place my fingers on a local library keyboard where the screen is larger and the setting is perfect for placing words on virtual paper. The gentleman beside me is searching recipes for sweet potatoes. I think he is thinking ahead to Thanksgiving dinner. That was quite a side note. Writing has always been my go-to. My way to express things that I am less likely to put out there and morph into something that just might benefit someone else. The struggle is real. I enrolled in a Women Writer’s class in Gender Studies recently at a local university and have found it extremely daunting. I am not sure if it is the subject matter or my lazy attitude about achieving something difficult. I really wanted to take a class in nutrition but could not find an appropriate online venue for that subject. So I took the next best thing. Why would I settle? Why do I settle? It’s not that I am anti-feminist. It’s not that I don’t want to open my mind to other ways of thinking. It’s just that I want to study plants and their ability to assist in the healing arts. I want to know why lavender can help a restless person fall into slumber. I want to understand why you can consume dandelion greens and why many people do not. I want to find the fountain of youth. I want to be a nutritionist and study the entire person and assist in this area. So, I started looking into nutrition programs and wonder if I started one would my interests vanish like the afternoon sun? It would have a huge price tag and the benefits would be immense. Yet I hedge. I am finding that hedging is happening quite a bit lately. As of late.