And now for something completely different...

Well, I got nothing today save this little item.

I try to practice mindfulness if I am walking somewhere outside.  I endeavor to get out of my head and whatever it is I am preoccupied with at the moment, and really notice what is all around me.  You know, the sky, the plants, the warmth of the sun, the sounds, and all the small details that I would never see without directing my attention in that way.

So I am walking back to my office from lunch, and I see a woman walking her dog.  The dog is a closely cropped mottled black and white,  with a bobbed tail, some breed subtype of a spaniel, sturdy and handsome.

But what stops me in my tracks are the eyelashes.  The dog has eyelashes that are, without exaggeration, at least four inches long, sweeping dramatically out to the side.  I have never seen anything like it before in my life, and I am charmed and stop to talk briefly to the owner about it.

And then I notice something that makes my jaw drop:  the dog has a penis.

Now, with people, I think of myself as the tolerant type, live and let live, and whatever floats your boat is just fine with me.   I like the unexpected, the incongruent, the quirky; I am happy to walk alongside someone marching to the beat of a different drummer.  In fact, I love a man in eyeliner, but that is the subject of a different post.

So I am bemused that I find myself applying human gender stereotypes to a dog, to the point that my initial reaction is mild shock when I see this sweet creature.  I am laughing to myself as I extend my hand palm down in greeting, and the dog responds, as dogs tend to do, with interest, and he accepts a pat on the head.

A tranny canine?  Why not?

Perimenopause... this one is for you, ladies.

So I am 54 and still having periods.  I just looked up the average age of menopause (no period for 12 months) and it is 51.  Some women even go into their late 50's, occasionally early 60's.   Shoot me now.

I am definitely in the perimenopausal stage, with a vengeance, and I can't fathom going through this for another 5 years or so.  What's the big deal, you may ask?  (You are not asking this question if you are anywhere near my age... or anywhere near a woman my age.)

Well, let's see.  Topping the charts, and topping the scales, there's the creeping weight gain!   Even though I am doing nothing differently in nutrition or exercise (still work out a ton and usually eat well) I have gone up a size and I am having a hell of a time trying not to gain more much less lose what I have put on.  It feels like one step forward, two steps back, and there is a pile of jeans in my garage calling my name.  My ass, however, isn't answering.

Of course, then there's everyone's favorite, the irritability!  I have always considered myself even-tempered, even non-reactive.  Now I can feel extreme rage sweep over me in a nanosecond.  I feel like I should have business cards made to hand out to everyone in my path that say:      
                              I am so very sorry that I (circle one)
                               a. gave you the finger
                               b. said "Fuck you!!"
                               c. plotted your murder
                               d. all of the above.

And then there are the fluctuating periods!  28 days, 21 days, 43 days, 14 days, 80 days (at that point, I thought it was over, but NOOO).  And of course the varying presentations of said periods: no cramps,  or dear-god-I-am-14-again high intensity PAIN;  flowing like a stuck pig, or (only occasionally) barely there.

Oh, and not to mention the premenstrual symptoms which are (cue music)  New!  Improved!  Not only stronger, but last much longer!  Like the fatigue.  Right before my period I feel like someone slipped a Quaalude in my Quaker Oats.  I am secretly thrilled when a patient cancels or doesn't show up so I can lay down on my couch and take a nap.  I just have to sleep on my back so I don't have sleep lines on my face for my next appointment.  And remember to check the pillow for drool.

Of course,  the irritability then becomes a constant buzz in the back of my brain.  My poor husband and son.  My most accurate premenstrual indicator is how I am at the dinner table.  When I look over at them eating in disgust, and wonder what the hell was I thinking when I married one and gave birth to the other,  I know what joy tomorrow will bring.

And the never-ending charms of the fuzzy brain!  I have always been a little, well, not ditzy but let's say     tending to exist on a plane of reality about five degrees askew.  Now I feel like I need to put aside time in my daily schedule  for the inevitable and interminable searches for misplaced glasses, keys, and whatever it was that I just had in my hand.  Last week I confirmed an appointment in the morning with a workman at my office, being very clear that he had to come at an exact time between patients, and then two hours later I totally forgot and went out to lunch with my son instead.

I have to say that the hot flashes have not been so bad yet, except that a few weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night with cramps AND a hot flash.  Really?  Really??   But what I truly love is my face breaking out at the same time that my wrinkles are deepening, a geo-facial anomaly of epic proportions.   Think Mount Etna atop the Marianas Trench.  Charming.

Ah well, I feel a little better now that I have vented, but  I need to go take some more Advil.  So to all my sisters of a certain age out there, all I can say is let's muddle through this phase of our lives with a little grace and good humor.

To everyone else, fuck you.

Random Acts...

I pack up my bulging briefcase, lock up the office, and walk to my car at the end of my workday. It's around 6:30, still sunny and warm, and as I am pondering dinner and clicking the unlock button, I glance at the ground and see a familiar shape.  It is one of those car magnet memorial ribbons, upside down, so only the gray outline against the blacktop is seen.

It takes a moment to sink in.  I have two on the back of my car.  I look at my bumper; yes, now I have only one, with a remnant of the one torn from my car still hanging on.  My 2009 Carolina Basketball National Championship ribbon is still there.

The one that was vandalized says:  "Practice Random Acts of Kindness."

I pick up the ribbon, getting ready to put it back on the car, annoyed for a moment, but that feeling is quickly replaced by one of curiosity.  Who was this person, and what was their motivation?  (Ever the psychologist...) As I ran through the possibilities, I felt bemusement, anxiety, and then sadness.

Bemusement:  I imagine it could have just been a teenager walking by with a friend, goofing, laughing at the intended irony.  Okay, I stole my share of signs of one kind or another as a youth.

Anxiety:  It could be someone who knows me and my car.   In that case it is a more personal attack, but I do not generally tend towards paranoia so I dismiss that idea fairly quickly.

Sadness:  What my intuition tells me is that it may have been someone who is suffering.  Someone who feels so alone, or is so sad, or angry, (or all three)  that they are inflamed by this benign thought.  How painful to be that closed off and hopeless that you would feel agitated by the very kind of message of which you might most need to be the beneficiary.

I take a moment to breathe in that kind of suffering, and breathe out a wish for well-being as I replace the ribbon on my bumper.

I hope it was the teenager.

Why I Meditate -- revised

June 6, 2012    Why I Meditate -- revised

I like this one better (than the one from May 26).  What do you think?  And lest someone think I plagiarize, the bow to Allen Ginsberg is because he has a poem by the same name, he listing his reasons he meditates, and it spurred me to reflect on my own.

Why I Meditate

            with a bow to Allen Ginsberg

I sit because my Soul wants me to remember

I sit, that my Muse may whisper in the silence

I sit because baby girls get clitorectomies

I sit in order to feel what came before ego

I sit because I drink too much

I sit to honor the Source of Being

I sit, for then I feel connection to All

I sit because I am aimless and distracted if I don’t

I sit so that others will learn the power of mindfulness

I sit; it is easier than standing up

I sit because of genocide, hatred and fear

I sit to experience peace and spaciousness

I sit, and am more alive in the present

I sit to prepare for the moment of death

I sit to breathe in suffering, and to breathe out well-being

I sit because I am too old for mushrooms and LSD

I sit for the spider, the snail, the cactus

I sit for the lotus, the dolphin, the dog

I sit to transform the consciousness of the world

I sit, that I might touch the stars

                                                                                    Katherine Hamilton

                                                                                    rev. 6/5/12

Yesterday's follow-up: Tubac, longer version

So here is the more elaborated form of the poem "Tubac" I spoke of yesterday.  If you care to weigh in on which you like better, and why, I would love to hear it.

Tubac                                                                                                         

Effortless

the hawk

 jet black

against blue

jade cactus

below

dry brown

rocky hills

rise on

the horizon.

embracing

wings wide

adrift

with the draft

just being

floating

             at rest

                        in the pause

                                    before

hunt and hunger

saguaro

            seared rock

                        hot wind

                                    brittlebush

her keen eye

            surveys

                        all this

                                    that exists

                                                between

earth and sky

                        

On keeping things simple...

I just got home from a writers group meeting, a read and critique where people share parts of their work and get feedback from everyone present.

Such an eclectic group tonight! A man in his 90's writing his memoir of growing up in the twenties and thirties, a psychologist (not me) with a non-fiction self-help book about shame, another memoir writer who has been a political activist, two young female fantasy novelists, and little old me, tonight with a poem.

I shared "Tubac" (see post dated May 27), actually two versions of the poem, the original from my post and a somewhat longer version where I was playing with the placement of words on the page.  The overall consensus was that those present liked the first, simpler version better.  In fact, so do I.  The original one, more spare and minimal, conveys the feeling better.  I still have some tweaking to do, but it brings me to my thought for the evening.

That is, how simpler usually IS better, in most areas of my life.  Why then do I complicate things so?  Embellishing when none is needed, cluttering when I prefer clear, second-guessing an original impulse or intuition, going around the point instead of straight to it, complicating things by postponing and procrastinating.

Actually "why" is not really the issue; I know the why.  The why always has to do with some self-limiting belief or habitual response, being in my head and not my heart or soul, or having lost sight at the moment of what it is I truly want and who I am.

The issue is continuing to work on the "how" of keeping things simple, honest, spacious and true.  Meditation helps, a lot.  So do family and friends who will (lovingly) call me on my shit, or challenge me to move beyond.

Mostly it has to do with staying mindful.  Because if I am in the present moment, that awareness and connection is like a lighthouse beacon, showing the way through the fog, to a clearing.  In that clearing,  whatever is essential remains, and the rest falls away.

So here is the original poem again, with just a little of that tweaking.  I will post the more complicated version tomorrow, and you can see what you think.

Tubac                                                                                                            version 1

Effortless

is how I wish to be

like the hawk, black against blue

jade cactus below

and brown desert hills rise

just on the horizon

wings open

hovering

turning

with draft and drift

in the moment before hunger and hunt

simply being

the floating

between earth and sky

existing

in the nuance of now.

Ah, June!

Ah June!

For me, summer begins on June 1.

And even though we get the infamous "June Gloom" here in our coastal community, more often that not it will burn off by midday to a gorgeous blue sky and a  warming on the skin, if I can manage to get outside on a week-day.

If nothing else, even when I work late, the longer daylight usually affords me the opportunity to sit outside in the waning light for a short while, winding down, enjoying the flowers, watching the hummingbirds, watching our bassett Daisy running madly in and out (her "I am so glad your are home!" greeting), sipping on a nicely chilled white wine.

Then I kick up my feet, eyes closed, listening now to the hummingbirds unique chittering sound, my chakra wind chimes, the sounds and scents of others in their back yards wafting through the neighborhood, a child's laughter, a smoky barbecue.

It is delightful, and in this my 55th June, I hope to be mindful in each moment of my day, whatever each day may bring, and enjoy the pleasures of the month with those I love.