Pretty Pink Peonies.
One vase, three exposures, kind of like life.
How others see us.
How we see ourselves.
How we truly are.
I’m not sure which I care to be, though I suppose I am all three.
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It is spring, truly, with the whole of Portland dressed in dewy emerald and swaths of effervescent flowers, all happiness and wonder and so very much pink. All is happening under spectacularly swift skies, rolling and roiling with clouds one minute and bright beams of sun the next.
I watch from the window mostly, bound to my bed. The pain is easier now, eleven days post surgery, but it is still wholly present, a dull, quiet insistence. It is bossy, too, and gives directions. I may not move too quickly, nor may I stretch, nor lie on my side with the hubster spooned to my back. Simple pleasure, that, but I must wait for it. I am patient. So we kiss and lace our fingers together and press our limbs in parallel. I smell the sweetness of his beard. I smooth his hair when I cannot sleep.
And I ponder this body of mine. It is not perfect. It does what it pleases, despite my occasional pleading, diligent exercising, and imperfect efforts to eat wisely and healthfully. Gratefully, I no longer blame myself for all that has happened, for all that is wrong, for all that I cannot change. But there are times when I see a pregnant woman, a wee babe in someone’s arms, or, better yet, smell that sweet baby scent, and I crumple a little inside. My body, and her organs of femaleness, could never make this wonder that is life, heart pumping, with fingers and toes and silky soft skin. I didn’t ever want a child or to be a mother but did want to know that I could. To feel that the choice was mine. The loss is acute, but luckily, the pain waxes and wanes.
Tags: Endometriosis
Hello! It’s been a while! Thank you so very much for all of your kind words of support and love about my surgery. I am one lucky gal, surrounded by the most marvelous and caring people, including the hubster’s mom, Martha, here for the week to help out. I’ve gotten flowers, a lovely plant, spectacular meals, texts, sweets, and every manner of treat, in person and from afar. Boy howdy, does it make my recovery a little less difficult to be bouyed by so much love! A million thanks!
As for the surgery, it went swimmingly. So much so that I was released from the hospital that day! Compared to my last surgery, this is a piece of cake. I have spent the majority of the last six days incredibly sore and in bed, and for the first couple of days only able to get out with much help from the hubster. Now, I am fully mobile, and as of yesterday, without pain medication, able to get dressed by myself, go up stairs, and leave the house without complications, though not without major fatigue. Errands are hard work, peeps!
And so is blogging! So forgive me for my brevity while I take a s l o w stroll around the block to clear my head.
My care giver extraordinaire, taken while I was in bed, of course. He is truly the best!
Tags: Endometriosis
I was recently asked if I was for real. At first I didn’t know what the question meant. Flesh? Blood? And thought, just to be cheeky, “Nope, I am the best fucking hologram you’ve ever seen. I’m just missing the tell-tale H.” Then I realized it was a matter of my personality, my happiness, my positivity that was being questioned. How do I do it? The world is so wretched and filled with inequity, cruelty, horror. There’s hardly reason to be so blithe. I beg to differ, from the depths of my being, with all I’ve got. I do. I do. I do.
So, much like Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I’ve been counting the ways and whys, my modus operandi to happy.
1. Dance – Every single day. Around the house and yard. In the produce section. Naked, after a bath, laughing at the jiggly bits. In the car, radio at full volume. With a child, your sweetheart, best friend, a cat, ferret, or bunny. On tip toe. Do it, and be glad!
2. Be grateful. For every morning. I get to do it again! For every kindness and breath. For love. For friends. For hugs. For dust motes swirling in slanting beams of light. For bold type on crisp paper. For the truth (it is out there!). For lies. For barking dogs. For music. For food, water, and whiskey, a cup of steaming tea. For faded photographs and crystal clear memories.
3. Love your body. Love its failings, the throbbing temples, squinting eyes, fat thighs and bottom, the ache of neck and back. Love its beauty, the silken hair, the soft lips, the arced brows, the rosy, freckled cheeks. Love its strengths, to hold a soul, a pencil, a thought on the tip of the tongue.
4. Make friends with pain, of war, smashed fingers, murderous rampages, heartache, cruelty, never-ending endometriosis and ovaries that have failed. Treat it with affection and reverence.
5. Acknowledge feelings. Kindly sit with them. All of them, in still patience, no need for gestures or words. Let them BE – fiery, heavy, soft, and sweet, then watch them fly.
6. Be yourself. Do what you like and love. Examine, write, curse, ride, race, guffaw!
7. Listen. To others (wholeheartedly). To birds. To children. To Thom, Ella, or Jim belting out a song. To the rush of the earth spinning.
8. Look up and out. Flowers, insects, a universe await your wide and wondrous eyes.
9. Be kind and generous, to creatures great and small. Extend a hand. Say hello. Compliment.
10. Laugh. At farts, dumb jokes, and old-fashioned silliness. Most especially at yourself, when times are rough and good and grand.
11. Let go of all you don’t truly need. Treasures, knickknacks, humiliation, the unkind, the selfish, the drama queens. Send them away with love, if you can.
12. Surround yourself with happy. Books, movies, people, and thoughts. Happiness, everywhere happiness, and so it will be!
Tags: Neon
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly.
Theodore Roosevelt
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Happy Thanksgiving!
Tags: Quoting
