Prompt: Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?
I'm an avid blog reader, particularly the crafty blogs. The blog Modish did a post about an annual ornament exchange where you are part of a ten person group and make and ornaments for everyone in the group, and then sit back to wait for your ornaments to arrive. It sounded like fun so I joined.
I decided on mice ornaments. I halved and cleaned out the walnut half, made felt ears and tails, glued the ars in the inner top and the tail in the inner bottom, glued in a hazel nut for the head, glued on googly eyes, stuffed the bottom half with batten and covered it with material and voila! A mouse all tucked into his/her walnut half bed.
I finished them tonight, and my husband painted a nose and mouth on the hazel nut.
They are so cute! I want to keep them all!
I also knit, and have compiled a varied yarn stash. I wish I had more time to make more projects, as the rhythm of knitting I find very therapeutic. I also got a sewing machine for my birthday. My husband made a dining room table this fall. He only just finished it so now I have a big surface on which to start sewing.
I also would like to cook more. My head injury has kept me out of the kitchen as I find it quite confusing now, particularly the multitasking. My OTA is gearing our sessions towards cooking these next few month so this week I made a dhal. I used to make large curry spreads - 3-4 dishes at a time - and while this is unattainable currently, it felt nice making dinner this week.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Reverb#10 - Day 5
Prompt: Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?
I let of a few things this year. A few fair weather friends and some close friends.
I let go of a lot of stuff. The physical stuff I donated or attempted to sell. The metaphysical stuff, well, that's still rattling around somewhere but one day I'll figure that out.
I let go of so much expectation. Expectation in "life long" friends who felt less strongly about that then I did. Expectations in the health care system. Expectations that someone's profession says much about how they are as a person. That the world is ultimately a good/bad place. The notion that humanity and human kind encompasses all like minded traits. In short, I let go of expectation as a deciding factor. It is far too random a term to define anything of value.
When I was younger, I traveled for a spell through the Indian continent and South-East Asia. I spent some time ordained as a novice Buddhist nun in Thailand, at a national park that housed a monastery. There I met two of the most interesting women I'd ever met. Maria was a German lady who had journeyed to Thailand ten years earlier, had fallen in love with Buddhism, traveled back to Germany to sell all her worldly possessions and explain her new life course to a disbelieving family. She had soon returned to Thailand, where she entered the monastery and stayed, her heart and life bound to life by the words of the Buddha. I had never met a Westerner who had so fully renounced and let go of the Western way of life so entirely, in the name of religion. For Maria, religion was such a disposable word to describe what she had found in the monastic way of life. She was very serious most of time, making sure I didn't eat anything except at the one meal time of the day, made sure I counted each mouthful and each bite of the food I did consume. She made me stick to my Buddhist principles, and ensured that I meant them. She was filled with stories related to the Buddha and took great delight in sharing them. I could have listened to her for hours.
Christina was a lady from the USA, whose last city of residence had been Houston. Christina was a nomad: she had lived in many places and studied many things. She told me that she had many degrees and certificates and schools of thought behind her name. She was as warm and open as Maria was serious and reserved. She too had come to Thailand to live as a Buddhist, but for very different reasons. She and I would go on great excursions across the Park to this auspicious cave or that holy field near that holy rock near the river. We once put up our mosquito nets from a low bower of a banyan tree and sat in meditation for the better part of an afternoon. Christina was funny. She loved to make Maria break a smile. They were like Yin and Yang. She fussed over me like a light-hearted big sister, explaining this and that and encouraging me to do better in my studies and meditations, whereas Maria minded me as her desiple or young student, and often chose to say nothing so that I might work out the answer on my own. Both women were awesome to spend time with and they both had my interests at heart.
We were sitting around the house one night, listening to a sermon in Thai by a well revered monk. Maria of course could follow - she spoke German, French, Thai, and Pali. Pali is known as the language from the earliest of Buddhist scriptures, similar to Sanskrit more in a dialectic sense then from an origin of time. Most of the readings and recordings were in Pali, and the prayer books had translations into Thai and English. Pali to the naked, unknowable ear sounded old, I always imagined the Buddha himself speaking it so many centuries ago, particularly in inner monologue form as he sat under the banyan tree, before he gained enlightenment.
Anyhow, Maria would translate the parts she felt were important. Christina was still learning Thai. She stated she would learn Pali when she felt she could get a proper hold of it. During this listening session, Christina grew very quiet, and it wasn't until after the tape had been switched off that she made her thoughts known.
Essentially, Christina felt lost. Her trip to Thailand was another attempt at finding out what she wanted to do with her life. Her greatest anguish was that she excelled at most of what she did, but could never seem to stay rooted to one thing for any long period of time. She had had many failed relationships, too much schooling, and so many experiences that she didn't know what to do with all the knowledge she had gained. In short, she felt she was wasting her life. This had become more apparent each time in the last few years that she had moved. In Houston, she had come close to feeling some sort of satisfaction in her expectations. But that had fallen through and while flailing about, she had found Buddhism. She clung to this find, like it was a life preserver, and had dove headfirst into this new venture, finding solace and peace for the first time in ages. However, because of the trail of broken expectations and disappointments, she decided to put herself to the test. So she sold everything she owned, save a small storage unit in Houston, shaved her head, and had flown to Thailand to lose herself in Buddhism so that she may ultimately find herself. But she feel it not working. And she felt like fleeing. Back to her storage locker? Maybe.
I listened to all this in stunned silence. Everything Christina had just said had floored me. To me, she was the most optimistic, most outgoing and self-assured person ever. Her feelings of flight seemed so familiar, so much like mine. My expectations in her were so different than who she had revealed just now. I looked at Maria, who sat looking at Christina, her lips pursed.
"You need to stay here and stop running away from yourself," said Maria finally. "Where else is a better place to do this than in a monastery, a place of meditation and worship. You need to truly give yourself to Buddha's teachings, and what you seek will reveal itself."
"But I have," said Christina. "It isn't working."
"Of course not. You haven't given yourself to the teachings yet. You go into mediation and wait for something to happen. It isn't a sideshow. It is going within, and watching things as they are meant to occur. So that the outside does not bother you."
"But the inside is bothering me. This is why I want to go."
"No. It is the outside. It is your expectations, your entitlement of what you feel the world owes you, that causes you to flee when they aren't met. Stay here and see them for what they truly may be. Take a vow of silence for ten days. Talk to no one, let nothing distract you from you. Truly give this a chance to take seed."
"I've been studying for months. Months. But nothing! I keep hoping and praying."
"These are expectations. Leave them outside. Truly commit to following the teachings. That is the only way this can work for you."
I almost wanted to smack myself to see if Maria had transformed into a tiny green creature with big green ears and cream coloured robes. There was such conviction, such calm behind her words. Even now, I can still here her speaking to Christina, kindly, but firmly. No sugar coating to be found.
"Westerners, they do this. They throw expectations on everything. They feel hope and try to put meaning on to many things. Why? It seems cruel. The expectation, it becomes so heavy. You don't seem able to measure up to what you expect. Or to what they expect. Who's they?" Maria, I felt, was now addressing both of us.
"Because we are a new continent?" I asked.
Maria smiled. "Maybe. In the European sense. Funny, yes?" She poured some water into a glass, gave it to Christina. "Sleep on it. Jenny and I will go to temple tomorrow. Early morning. If you need to, meditate here. We won't judge." Another ghost of a smile.
Christina took a sip of water, nodded to us both. Then excused herself to her room. I wanted to give her a hug, but was not allowed to. Another precept.
The next morning, it was just Maria and I at temple. I had my most successful meditation session yet. After the meditation, it was made known that a bus was going to take some monks back to Bangkok. Maria was going too. I had a feeling I would be too.
At the house, Christina stated quietly that she would stay behind. "I think I might go silent for a few weeks," she said. Maria smiled, and bowed her head.
Before the bus left later that day, Christina and I walked around the grounds one last time. "You will not stay with me?" she said. "Stay, and we can go inwards together for a few weeks. Even be silent. It will be hot in Bangkok now. Here it will be cooler. More quiet."
"No, I should go back. There are things I need to do." Part of me wanted to stay with her, in the quiet park. But more of me did not want to be a distraction.
As the bus pulled away we waved at each other. I watched her go up the walkway to the house.
On the bus I was quiet. Maria turned around in the seat in front of me. She started telling me a story. I listened only too gladly.
Sometimes when I look at my own expectations in things, I can hear Maria. I don't wonder about her, as I am sure she is sitting somewhere, focused inwards, and on the teachings. Christina, I wonder where she is. If she ever found a place to stay. And if so, does it meet her expectations? Or had she become unburdened?
I let of a few things this year. A few fair weather friends and some close friends.
I let go of a lot of stuff. The physical stuff I donated or attempted to sell. The metaphysical stuff, well, that's still rattling around somewhere but one day I'll figure that out.
I let go of so much expectation. Expectation in "life long" friends who felt less strongly about that then I did. Expectations in the health care system. Expectations that someone's profession says much about how they are as a person. That the world is ultimately a good/bad place. The notion that humanity and human kind encompasses all like minded traits. In short, I let go of expectation as a deciding factor. It is far too random a term to define anything of value.
When I was younger, I traveled for a spell through the Indian continent and South-East Asia. I spent some time ordained as a novice Buddhist nun in Thailand, at a national park that housed a monastery. There I met two of the most interesting women I'd ever met. Maria was a German lady who had journeyed to Thailand ten years earlier, had fallen in love with Buddhism, traveled back to Germany to sell all her worldly possessions and explain her new life course to a disbelieving family. She had soon returned to Thailand, where she entered the monastery and stayed, her heart and life bound to life by the words of the Buddha. I had never met a Westerner who had so fully renounced and let go of the Western way of life so entirely, in the name of religion. For Maria, religion was such a disposable word to describe what she had found in the monastic way of life. She was very serious most of time, making sure I didn't eat anything except at the one meal time of the day, made sure I counted each mouthful and each bite of the food I did consume. She made me stick to my Buddhist principles, and ensured that I meant them. She was filled with stories related to the Buddha and took great delight in sharing them. I could have listened to her for hours.
Christina was a lady from the USA, whose last city of residence had been Houston. Christina was a nomad: she had lived in many places and studied many things. She told me that she had many degrees and certificates and schools of thought behind her name. She was as warm and open as Maria was serious and reserved. She too had come to Thailand to live as a Buddhist, but for very different reasons. She and I would go on great excursions across the Park to this auspicious cave or that holy field near that holy rock near the river. We once put up our mosquito nets from a low bower of a banyan tree and sat in meditation for the better part of an afternoon. Christina was funny. She loved to make Maria break a smile. They were like Yin and Yang. She fussed over me like a light-hearted big sister, explaining this and that and encouraging me to do better in my studies and meditations, whereas Maria minded me as her desiple or young student, and often chose to say nothing so that I might work out the answer on my own. Both women were awesome to spend time with and they both had my interests at heart.
We were sitting around the house one night, listening to a sermon in Thai by a well revered monk. Maria of course could follow - she spoke German, French, Thai, and Pali. Pali is known as the language from the earliest of Buddhist scriptures, similar to Sanskrit more in a dialectic sense then from an origin of time. Most of the readings and recordings were in Pali, and the prayer books had translations into Thai and English. Pali to the naked, unknowable ear sounded old, I always imagined the Buddha himself speaking it so many centuries ago, particularly in inner monologue form as he sat under the banyan tree, before he gained enlightenment.
Anyhow, Maria would translate the parts she felt were important. Christina was still learning Thai. She stated she would learn Pali when she felt she could get a proper hold of it. During this listening session, Christina grew very quiet, and it wasn't until after the tape had been switched off that she made her thoughts known.
Essentially, Christina felt lost. Her trip to Thailand was another attempt at finding out what she wanted to do with her life. Her greatest anguish was that she excelled at most of what she did, but could never seem to stay rooted to one thing for any long period of time. She had had many failed relationships, too much schooling, and so many experiences that she didn't know what to do with all the knowledge she had gained. In short, she felt she was wasting her life. This had become more apparent each time in the last few years that she had moved. In Houston, she had come close to feeling some sort of satisfaction in her expectations. But that had fallen through and while flailing about, she had found Buddhism. She clung to this find, like it was a life preserver, and had dove headfirst into this new venture, finding solace and peace for the first time in ages. However, because of the trail of broken expectations and disappointments, she decided to put herself to the test. So she sold everything she owned, save a small storage unit in Houston, shaved her head, and had flown to Thailand to lose herself in Buddhism so that she may ultimately find herself. But she feel it not working. And she felt like fleeing. Back to her storage locker? Maybe.
I listened to all this in stunned silence. Everything Christina had just said had floored me. To me, she was the most optimistic, most outgoing and self-assured person ever. Her feelings of flight seemed so familiar, so much like mine. My expectations in her were so different than who she had revealed just now. I looked at Maria, who sat looking at Christina, her lips pursed.
"You need to stay here and stop running away from yourself," said Maria finally. "Where else is a better place to do this than in a monastery, a place of meditation and worship. You need to truly give yourself to Buddha's teachings, and what you seek will reveal itself."
"But I have," said Christina. "It isn't working."
"Of course not. You haven't given yourself to the teachings yet. You go into mediation and wait for something to happen. It isn't a sideshow. It is going within, and watching things as they are meant to occur. So that the outside does not bother you."
"But the inside is bothering me. This is why I want to go."
"No. It is the outside. It is your expectations, your entitlement of what you feel the world owes you, that causes you to flee when they aren't met. Stay here and see them for what they truly may be. Take a vow of silence for ten days. Talk to no one, let nothing distract you from you. Truly give this a chance to take seed."
"I've been studying for months. Months. But nothing! I keep hoping and praying."
"These are expectations. Leave them outside. Truly commit to following the teachings. That is the only way this can work for you."
I almost wanted to smack myself to see if Maria had transformed into a tiny green creature with big green ears and cream coloured robes. There was such conviction, such calm behind her words. Even now, I can still here her speaking to Christina, kindly, but firmly. No sugar coating to be found.
"Westerners, they do this. They throw expectations on everything. They feel hope and try to put meaning on to many things. Why? It seems cruel. The expectation, it becomes so heavy. You don't seem able to measure up to what you expect. Or to what they expect. Who's they?" Maria, I felt, was now addressing both of us.
"Because we are a new continent?" I asked.
Maria smiled. "Maybe. In the European sense. Funny, yes?" She poured some water into a glass, gave it to Christina. "Sleep on it. Jenny and I will go to temple tomorrow. Early morning. If you need to, meditate here. We won't judge." Another ghost of a smile.
Christina took a sip of water, nodded to us both. Then excused herself to her room. I wanted to give her a hug, but was not allowed to. Another precept.
The next morning, it was just Maria and I at temple. I had my most successful meditation session yet. After the meditation, it was made known that a bus was going to take some monks back to Bangkok. Maria was going too. I had a feeling I would be too.
At the house, Christina stated quietly that she would stay behind. "I think I might go silent for a few weeks," she said. Maria smiled, and bowed her head.
Before the bus left later that day, Christina and I walked around the grounds one last time. "You will not stay with me?" she said. "Stay, and we can go inwards together for a few weeks. Even be silent. It will be hot in Bangkok now. Here it will be cooler. More quiet."
"No, I should go back. There are things I need to do." Part of me wanted to stay with her, in the quiet park. But more of me did not want to be a distraction.
As the bus pulled away we waved at each other. I watched her go up the walkway to the house.
On the bus I was quiet. Maria turned around in the seat in front of me. She started telling me a story. I listened only too gladly.
Sometimes when I look at my own expectations in things, I can hear Maria. I don't wonder about her, as I am sure she is sitting somewhere, focused inwards, and on the teachings. Christina, I wonder where she is. If she ever found a place to stay. And if so, does it meet her expectations? Or had she become unburdened?
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Reverb#10 - Day 4
A friend of ours had a "I got my Canadian citizenship, let's PAARTY" party Friday night so I didn't get around to writing about Prompt 4 till the day after. Oops, you'll forgive me won't you? You, you, you, whoever you are! Anyhow, we dressed up in red and white Nordic best, and drank cheap beer, said "eh?!" a lot, and perpetuated the stereotype that Canadians are all a bunch of hosers. Good fun all around.
I had a case meeting this week with My case manager (CM), Occupational therapist (OT), and physiotherapist (PT). We meet to go over current goals and objectives, scheduling, and where do we go from here. It was intense. My schedule was lightened a bit - we decided to stop Pool for now until the new year and then see if drop sessions for AquaFit at Bloorview (a Rehab facility) would work. We also stopped exercise sessions with the PTA and increased the Pilates to three sessions a week. I am going to start seeing a nutritionist weekly, organize my kitchen enough so that I can start cooking regularly again, figure out what the source of my chronic fatigue is, and try and get a handle finally on my pain issues. In short, a tall list.
Which brings me to yesterday's prompt.
Prompt: Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?
I wouldn't call it wonder, but more amazement. And a hard, cold dose of reality. In Fall of 2009, after the accident, my body was broken, battered, sick and invaded by an infection which pushed my immune system close to the edge. I dropped enough weight to become skeletal. Emotionally I void of feeling. I lived day to day, and some days it was hour to hour. My family rode an emotional roller-coaster that fall - shock, despair, hope, anguish, disbelief, anger, outrage - all these emotions and more plagued those closest to me for months. When I was finally discharged on December 11th came home to an exhausted husband who still had to finish school, pass all sorts of exams and find a job. Not o mention he was now the primary caregiver to a wife who was still sick, broken and very needy of care. I spent most of Christmas on the couch, surrounded by family.
My care team was in place by the New Year. Most of my care was out of home. The winter was spent exercising - I was so weak and atrophied that my PT had to lift my leg for me and I would try to join in. But my care team took over and before long I had someone to talk to, I was medicated for anxiety and depression due to grief and PTSD. In short my recovery became a large organization, multi faceted, employing a large group of people and services, lake a large corporation. Hence the name for this blog, Recovery Inc.
The scope of this recovery has me amazed. I never thought it would become so big. At a care conference there were 12 people, not counting my legal team, reiki, Thai massage and pilates therapists, family, and physicians/surgeons that handled my multi-system care. My team is so big here is a case manager who over seas each professions to ensure every aspect runs smoothly. Despite my profession, I had no idea that recovery from this kind of accident was so large and took so long.
But my amazement is in myself. A year ago I was in rehab, about to be discharged home, barely able to walk. Now I am down to trekking poles, I can walk around my house on my own. I can lift things again. I can do cardio again. I am progressing fast enough in Pilates that another session has been added, one that puts my in charge of my own routine. I have to remember the order of my program, how to set up and run the equipment, and the techniques needed to do the exercise and do it well. My pilates instructor still prompts me but she said I accelerated quickly enough to her having to rethink the course of my program. Even my PT seems impressed, not only with my progress, but with pilates as a whole. High five, Pilates!
I still have so far to go. But when I think back to where I was last December, and where I am now, I am truly amazed. I've come so far. Farther than I thought I could. The human body is incredible. If I have any wonder it's in this body of mine. I was able to heal a severe break and survive an even worse trauma. The fact that I am walking is incredible. I wish I could remember this when things seem bleak or when I am being hard on myself.
So there, wonder. Not shock and awe a la Bush administration, but visceral, cerebral wonder. High my constitution you. Couldn't have done it without you. :)
I had a case meeting this week with My case manager (CM), Occupational therapist (OT), and physiotherapist (PT). We meet to go over current goals and objectives, scheduling, and where do we go from here. It was intense. My schedule was lightened a bit - we decided to stop Pool for now until the new year and then see if drop sessions for AquaFit at Bloorview (a Rehab facility) would work. We also stopped exercise sessions with the PTA and increased the Pilates to three sessions a week. I am going to start seeing a nutritionist weekly, organize my kitchen enough so that I can start cooking regularly again, figure out what the source of my chronic fatigue is, and try and get a handle finally on my pain issues. In short, a tall list.
Which brings me to yesterday's prompt.
Prompt: Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?
I wouldn't call it wonder, but more amazement. And a hard, cold dose of reality. In Fall of 2009, after the accident, my body was broken, battered, sick and invaded by an infection which pushed my immune system close to the edge. I dropped enough weight to become skeletal. Emotionally I void of feeling. I lived day to day, and some days it was hour to hour. My family rode an emotional roller-coaster that fall - shock, despair, hope, anguish, disbelief, anger, outrage - all these emotions and more plagued those closest to me for months. When I was finally discharged on December 11th came home to an exhausted husband who still had to finish school, pass all sorts of exams and find a job. Not o mention he was now the primary caregiver to a wife who was still sick, broken and very needy of care. I spent most of Christmas on the couch, surrounded by family.
My care team was in place by the New Year. Most of my care was out of home. The winter was spent exercising - I was so weak and atrophied that my PT had to lift my leg for me and I would try to join in. But my care team took over and before long I had someone to talk to, I was medicated for anxiety and depression due to grief and PTSD. In short my recovery became a large organization, multi faceted, employing a large group of people and services, lake a large corporation. Hence the name for this blog, Recovery Inc.
The scope of this recovery has me amazed. I never thought it would become so big. At a care conference there were 12 people, not counting my legal team, reiki, Thai massage and pilates therapists, family, and physicians/surgeons that handled my multi-system care. My team is so big here is a case manager who over seas each professions to ensure every aspect runs smoothly. Despite my profession, I had no idea that recovery from this kind of accident was so large and took so long.
But my amazement is in myself. A year ago I was in rehab, about to be discharged home, barely able to walk. Now I am down to trekking poles, I can walk around my house on my own. I can lift things again. I can do cardio again. I am progressing fast enough in Pilates that another session has been added, one that puts my in charge of my own routine. I have to remember the order of my program, how to set up and run the equipment, and the techniques needed to do the exercise and do it well. My pilates instructor still prompts me but she said I accelerated quickly enough to her having to rethink the course of my program. Even my PT seems impressed, not only with my progress, but with pilates as a whole. High five, Pilates!
I still have so far to go. But when I think back to where I was last December, and where I am now, I am truly amazed. I've come so far. Farther than I thought I could. The human body is incredible. If I have any wonder it's in this body of mine. I was able to heal a severe break and survive an even worse trauma. The fact that I am walking is incredible. I wish I could remember this when things seem bleak or when I am being hard on myself.
So there, wonder. Not shock and awe a la Bush administration, but visceral, cerebral wonder. High my constitution you. Couldn't have done it without you. :)
Friday, December 3, 2010
Reverb#10 - Day 3
Prompt: Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).
It was October 12th. Erick and I were seated aboard an 10 seater 2 propeller plane - ORCA AIR - which serviced Vancouver Island and Vancouver. We were gearing for take off. Erick and I were fresh from a doze while waiting in the South Terminal of Vancouver International. I could still taste the overpriced fries I had enjoyed an hour ago during the layover between arriving from Toronto and journeying on to Tofino. Vacation had finally arrived. We had only been planning it since March and it was the first vacation for us since the accident. 13 months ago. Now, seated aboard a small plane, awaiting take off to one of the most beautiful spots in Canada, let alone the rest of the world. We were headed there to watch two of our favourite people get married on the beach beside our clifftop hotel.
The pleather felt rough beneath my fingertips. A dull white colour the seating. Outside the sky was an atypical west coast shade of grey. We could see he mountains in the background.
The plane began taxing away from the terminal. The captain's voice came on the loudspeakers, even though we could reach out and touch him, he was that close. The roar of the propellers and engines initially drowned out his voice.
We reached the runaway and paused for the all clear. I could barely sit still, my heart racing, Erick grinning. Finally, vacation. The plane lurched forward began to pick up speed. My stomach sank into my gut. I could barely stand the suspense. Then, gracefully, the plane tipped back, the nose came up and the back wheels left the runaway. The plane sloped forward with a big rush as we lifted up into the air. I was practically out of my seat with excitement. The plane began to bank to the right and the ocean came into view, endless and silver, stretching out into nothing.
Finally, vacation.
It was October 12th. Erick and I were seated aboard an 10 seater 2 propeller plane - ORCA AIR - which serviced Vancouver Island and Vancouver. We were gearing for take off. Erick and I were fresh from a doze while waiting in the South Terminal of Vancouver International. I could still taste the overpriced fries I had enjoyed an hour ago during the layover between arriving from Toronto and journeying on to Tofino. Vacation had finally arrived. We had only been planning it since March and it was the first vacation for us since the accident. 13 months ago. Now, seated aboard a small plane, awaiting take off to one of the most beautiful spots in Canada, let alone the rest of the world. We were headed there to watch two of our favourite people get married on the beach beside our clifftop hotel.
The pleather felt rough beneath my fingertips. A dull white colour the seating. Outside the sky was an atypical west coast shade of grey. We could see he mountains in the background.
The plane began taxing away from the terminal. The captain's voice came on the loudspeakers, even though we could reach out and touch him, he was that close. The roar of the propellers and engines initially drowned out his voice.
We reached the runaway and paused for the all clear. I could barely sit still, my heart racing, Erick grinning. Finally, vacation. The plane lurched forward began to pick up speed. My stomach sank into my gut. I could barely stand the suspense. Then, gracefully, the plane tipped back, the nose came up and the back wheels left the runaway. The plane sloped forward with a big rush as we lifted up into the air. I was practically out of my seat with excitement. The plane began to bank to the right and the ocean came into view, endless and silver, stretching out into nothing.
Finally, vacation.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Reverb#10 - Day 2
So the prompt for today is this:
Writing. What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing -- and can you eliminate it?
The answer doesn't just apply to writing, but to everything. It is a day to day distraction, prone to whims of impulsivity, whimsy, hours wasted and plans shoved aside. It is a distraction in the truest sense. It allows procrastination room to fester as much as it provides a welcome distraction from a really hard day or feeling lonely and disconnected. It is a necessary evil. It is what brought me to this challenge. "It" being the internet. Naturally.
Some might say it is a chosen distraction - I choose to shelve my plans aside and get lost for hours in blogs and online shopping. It is a social hub, thanks to Facebook and Twitter. It makes benign events and thoughts seem epic enough to tweet about. The internet and the identity it brings or creates is the face of the new generation. Kids today seem to feel this need to announce to everyone what they are doing. Privacy isn't hip anymore, at least not to the newer generations.
When I came home from the hospital the time at home was so lonely. My care was predominantly at my home so people came and went, but they were all there concerning the accident and my rehab. Not much of a distraction. As the excitement and novelty surrounding my predicament waned and fell from the collective radar the loneliness began to creep in. The internet gradually became something for me to do. I discovered al these blogs and stores and places that I had never known of. Etsy became a shopping heaven and eventually I began to meet people and form some relationships. I joined writing groups and online challenges. I found some pretty inspirational people to read about and soon my Inbox was flooded with daily blogs and posts. My Visa bore the brunt of my new hobby. Sometimes I wondered if my shopping was getting out of hand but I managed to restrain myself from bankruptcy. Buying myself presents to make up for hardships or pain or tough situations became an almost daily ritual. It was retail therapy to the max, dude. For awhile the distraction worked. It still does sometimes today. I've come to realize my shopping is ultimately a pick me up hit for my depression and anxiety concerning my situation. But, dude, do I look good!
But anyhow, the prompt. The last paragraph was a perfect example of the distraction the Internet can cause. Amazing.
Although the Internet and all the blogs, pages, shops, collective etc can provide inspiration and it certainly has. I didn't realize what a therapeutic tool the internet could be until I found the writing groups I belonged to. I wouldn't have met my writing coach. I wouldn't have found the motivation guru of the Net - Danielle LaPorte. And I wouldn't be going to Portland on a whim for a convention of remarkable people living remarkable lives, hosted by Chris Guillebreau. So although the internet prevents my writing, it also gives me material to write about. It allows me to exist in places outside of the accident. Hell, it even allows me to start to look back on what happened in the last year and begin to start healing.
My strategies for cutting down the mindless surfing - which I am so guilty of doing.
Close all open windows except for the document I am working on. Work for an hour or whenever creativity grabs a hold, and have a break every hour or so for ten minutes. If surfing is still a problem, take a notebook and a pen to the table and brainstorm or figure out an outline to what I am working on. I could always give myself 75 minutes of internet per day.
For now my personal challenge is to write every day here for the duration of this challenge. And to cut down my time spent surfing the net. I have some plans concerning the internet. Hopefully this challenge will provide the inspiration and motivation to proceed with them.
Writing. What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing -- and can you eliminate it?
The answer doesn't just apply to writing, but to everything. It is a day to day distraction, prone to whims of impulsivity, whimsy, hours wasted and plans shoved aside. It is a distraction in the truest sense. It allows procrastination room to fester as much as it provides a welcome distraction from a really hard day or feeling lonely and disconnected. It is a necessary evil. It is what brought me to this challenge. "It" being the internet. Naturally.
Some might say it is a chosen distraction - I choose to shelve my plans aside and get lost for hours in blogs and online shopping. It is a social hub, thanks to Facebook and Twitter. It makes benign events and thoughts seem epic enough to tweet about. The internet and the identity it brings or creates is the face of the new generation. Kids today seem to feel this need to announce to everyone what they are doing. Privacy isn't hip anymore, at least not to the newer generations.
When I came home from the hospital the time at home was so lonely. My care was predominantly at my home so people came and went, but they were all there concerning the accident and my rehab. Not much of a distraction. As the excitement and novelty surrounding my predicament waned and fell from the collective radar the loneliness began to creep in. The internet gradually became something for me to do. I discovered al these blogs and stores and places that I had never known of. Etsy became a shopping heaven and eventually I began to meet people and form some relationships. I joined writing groups and online challenges. I found some pretty inspirational people to read about and soon my Inbox was flooded with daily blogs and posts. My Visa bore the brunt of my new hobby. Sometimes I wondered if my shopping was getting out of hand but I managed to restrain myself from bankruptcy. Buying myself presents to make up for hardships or pain or tough situations became an almost daily ritual. It was retail therapy to the max, dude. For awhile the distraction worked. It still does sometimes today. I've come to realize my shopping is ultimately a pick me up hit for my depression and anxiety concerning my situation. But, dude, do I look good!
But anyhow, the prompt. The last paragraph was a perfect example of the distraction the Internet can cause. Amazing.
Although the Internet and all the blogs, pages, shops, collective etc can provide inspiration and it certainly has. I didn't realize what a therapeutic tool the internet could be until I found the writing groups I belonged to. I wouldn't have met my writing coach. I wouldn't have found the motivation guru of the Net - Danielle LaPorte. And I wouldn't be going to Portland on a whim for a convention of remarkable people living remarkable lives, hosted by Chris Guillebreau. So although the internet prevents my writing, it also gives me material to write about. It allows me to exist in places outside of the accident. Hell, it even allows me to start to look back on what happened in the last year and begin to start healing.
My strategies for cutting down the mindless surfing - which I am so guilty of doing.
Close all open windows except for the document I am working on. Work for an hour or whenever creativity grabs a hold, and have a break every hour or so for ten minutes. If surfing is still a problem, take a notebook and a pen to the table and brainstorm or figure out an outline to what I am working on. I could always give myself 75 minutes of internet per day.
For now my personal challenge is to write every day here for the duration of this challenge. And to cut down my time spent surfing the net. I have some plans concerning the internet. Hopefully this challenge will provide the inspiration and motivation to proceed with them.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Reverb 10 - Day 1
So today while online, I came across this project - Reverb 10. The premise is to reflect on the past year and manifest what's next. Putting the past year to bed and preparing the motivation juice to jump start the next year. Through daily prompts I will reflect and think about the past year and verbally amp up the next. Sounds cathartic!
The timing is excellent. I just had a team meeting with my case manager, physiotherapist and occupational therapist to discuss my current schedule and forming goals to work towards in the coming months. My sessions with the PTA Heather are now on hiatus to make room for a 3rd weekly session of Pilates, as well as a nutritional consult. Many plans were made and I left the meeting feeling pretty good about things to come. So this challenge feels right. Maybe evoke some good ju ju for once.
So today's prompt.
December 1 One Word.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
Recover. The name of this blog and the word of the year. This year has been all about recover for me. Jan 1st 2010 I was house bound, essentially chair bound, very skinny and weak having just been discharged from hospital. I had to figure out home rehab, figure out how to navigate my house. I had to recover what was left of my life and start over. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable. So defenceless due to my fragile state. I had the ass of an eighty year old - atrophied and all bone. I had to recover myself from the inside out. Throughout the course of the year what I had lost became apparent and I had to get over the grief, loss and sorrow for my former self. In our apartment I lived with a ghost, the ghost of my former self, in every nook and cranny. Towards the end of the year I regained the weight I had lost and then some. Now very little fits. More loss, as I had amounted a killer wardrobe. I had to recover, head to toe.
Recover - the word of the year.
The timing is excellent. I just had a team meeting with my case manager, physiotherapist and occupational therapist to discuss my current schedule and forming goals to work towards in the coming months. My sessions with the PTA Heather are now on hiatus to make room for a 3rd weekly session of Pilates, as well as a nutritional consult. Many plans were made and I left the meeting feeling pretty good about things to come. So this challenge feels right. Maybe evoke some good ju ju for once.
So today's prompt.
December 1 One Word.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
Recover. The name of this blog and the word of the year. This year has been all about recover for me. Jan 1st 2010 I was house bound, essentially chair bound, very skinny and weak having just been discharged from hospital. I had to figure out home rehab, figure out how to navigate my house. I had to recover what was left of my life and start over. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable. So defenceless due to my fragile state. I had the ass of an eighty year old - atrophied and all bone. I had to recover myself from the inside out. Throughout the course of the year what I had lost became apparent and I had to get over the grief, loss and sorrow for my former self. In our apartment I lived with a ghost, the ghost of my former self, in every nook and cranny. Towards the end of the year I regained the weight I had lost and then some. Now very little fits. More loss, as I had amounted a killer wardrobe. I had to recover, head to toe.
Recover - the word of the year.
aching neck
517AM - Wednesday morning. Can't sleep. Neck aching. Posture pathetic - hunched like an old crone.
Spent all night surfing the internet. Looking at clothes, blogs etc. Could have been doing a million things instead. Procrastination is the worst enemy when you are house bound. I wish I could get back all the hours I have spent online. And all the money I have spent online. Geebus!
Briit told me today I should be a personal shopper. To do that I would have to have style. I don't feel I do, certainly not for myself. No theme no basics. Just buy, buy, buy. I kidded myself that it was retail therapy but really it is self-indulgence.
Spent all night surfing the internet. Looking at clothes, blogs etc. Could have been doing a million things instead. Procrastination is the worst enemy when you are house bound. I wish I could get back all the hours I have spent online. And all the money I have spent online. Geebus!
Briit told me today I should be a personal shopper. To do that I would have to have style. I don't feel I do, certainly not for myself. No theme no basics. Just buy, buy, buy. I kidded myself that it was retail therapy but really it is self-indulgence.
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