Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Category Archives: musings


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And the decision is….

You can see that the blog is looking traditional again.  I lived with the big formating changes for a couple of days, but looking at it made me feel sort of frenetic, less peaceful and even slightly stressed.  So I changed it back. Thanks, Spike, for making me consider something outside the box!

Partly I changed it back because I liked the idea of putting my own photo at the top.  This one is a photo I took from the boat of the mountain where we put my parents’ ashes.  It’s a beautiful place and I think I’ll enjoy looking at the photo each day.  Eventually I’ll change it to something else, probably just as pretty!

The good news in all this is that I was able to change it back all by myself!    WHOOOOHOOO!  If you really know me (Susie, Spike, Erin etc) you’d know how this computer stuff has been elusive for me; it’s all a bit of magic black box hocus pocus and not something that is intuitive.  So it took a lot for me to even try to change something – to poke around at what was admittedly a pretty easy formatting software site to add specific widgets in order  to make this blog a reflection of me.

So much of the time our fears are truly just that – ours.  Things that seem insurmountable can actually be handled by just trying to make one decision at a time.  Or a piece of one decision.  Or the decision to just try to make a piece of a decision.  If we don’t give up, if we don’t allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by the big picture – which I agree is often REALLY big and scary – if we just move one foot in front of the other…well…eventually we can all get to where we want to be.

And if we pay attention, we’ll learn a little bit about the world and ourselves along the way.


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Someone's mother

Someone’s mother died yesterday.  Though it wasn’t unexpected it must have been heart-wrenching. She was a warm and funny lady with many many friends and though her name was Virginia everyone called her Boom Boom.  Evidence of her personality I guess.  Once she was sort of related to our family but divorce changed the relationship.  Still.  I feel for her daughters and  her son, for her close friends, her church, her grandchildren.  Tonight  I sit on my deck and think  about her… what a wonderful day she missed today… and how much she is being missed by her family.

Then I realize that perhaps she did have a wonderful day today – wherever she is.  And that life after this was enhanced measurably yesterday by the arrival of a woman named Boom Boom.

God speed.


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What I was GOING to write about

I was going to describe last weekend’s wonderful, last of the season, Ann Arbor Symphony for you, but the words just aren’t flowing.

I was going to talk about Saturday’s obedience class, the first one Katie’s attended in almost two months, where she was “heeling” with her head down and ears flat because of all the new barking dogs, but really that was about all there was to talk about, she was a crazy girl and it’s obvious that we need to work every day to get back confidence we’ve both lost.

I was going to write about a coffee meeting I attended this morning with my Congressman Mike Rogers where I was hoping to ask him what specifically he was doing to make our highways safer, as his answers to my emails are usually generically vague.  But the talk was health care, pretty heated and there was no room for other issues.

I thought about telling you about my 2 mile run/walk this morning.  It’s significant because I haven’t run in 18 months, but two miles seems too small to mention, and I walked quite a bit of it.  Then again I ran quite a bit of it too.  But still.

And some of you may be wondering how the Aunt is doing, and I have to say she’s doing so well there really isn’t anything to tell you.

And I was going to go purchase some pansies in celebration of spring.  But the pot they’re going in is still empty so there’s really nothing to show you yet.

And there’s the painting I started while I was up north.  I worked on an unsuccessful version most of my time up there, but toward the end, the last couple of days, I started over and am quite pleased with it so far.  But I haven’t worked on it since I got home and I don’t want to show it to you.  Yet.

And I’ve contemplated lately talking about how frustrating it is not to be able to work in the field that my heart believes I am meant to be.  Unemployment is not all it’s cracked up to be, and I’m not talking about the loss of income.  But I don’t want to depress you and I’m not even sure how I feel about the whole job search thing yet.  So I’m waiting and thinking about all of that.

So all in all I just don’t have anything to write about.

Just yet anyway.

Trees 1329


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Do you miss Katie?

Katie 2541 Me too.  I’ve been so busy away, spending most nights at the Aunt’s apartment that in the past week I’ve only slept at home twice, and both times I had somewhere I had to go during that time.

Yesterday was my birthday and the Aunt down in Ann Arbor had weeks ago invited me to see the University of Michigan’s production of the musical “Ragtime” with her.  So after a day filled with a doctor visit that included a long and agonizing walk down halls, discussions about prescriptions, arguments about things not particularly important, frayed nerves and stress, I had the evening free.

Katie was ever so happy to see me when I got home, but I only had time to shower, pet her and leave again.  Her eyes were big pools of liquid sad  when I ran out the door on my way to Ann Arbor.  Half way into the the hour long drive I had to stop and buy some caffeine as I couldn’t keep my eyes open.   Good thing I did, as I wouldn’t have wanted to sleep through the performance!  It was wonderful.

This morning I find myself dawdling over things.  Laundry.  Playing ball with Katie.  Reading blogs.  Mindlessly watching TV.  I know it’s that I don’t want to go back to work over at the apartment.  But I also know my husband is probably going a bit nuts and needs a break after being there since yesterday afternoon.  But still.

Katie 2543 And of course I feel guilty that I don’t want to go back.   I’m not being productive  here either.  Sort of sitting in limbo, watching the time go by; not here, not there.

Katie is barking at me, that sharp little single bark that says she wants something.  But I can’t figure out what.  I’ve tried treats, playing, going outside.  Still as soon as I sit down to read she begins again.  I get up and she prances away, but doesn’t seem to want to go out.  I sit down she barks and stares at me.  I tried putting her outside in her kennel, but she immediately barked to come in.  Finally I just pick her up and hug her, rocking back and forth.  She tucks her head into my shoulder and I begin to cry.

I know baby, I know.

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A new day

Trees 1536 I’ve been staying with Aunt V these past few days.  She’s not steady enough on her feet to be alone.   But today I had jury duty, and had to be in “business attire” at the court by 8:30 in the morning.  I didn’t think I could get ready at her apartment without disturbing her routine, so my husband stayed with her last night, and I got to hug  Katie at home all night.  I’m not sure Katie really appreciated that, but she will when she’s older!

This morning as Katie and I emerged, trying to get her jobs done before I had to leave the sky was alive with fluffy clouds, the undersides of them gray, the tops tinged with pink as the sun came up.  I was sad that I was going to spend it in a jury room.  But I was also glad for the bit of freedom I had from the overly heated apartment I’ve been cooped up in since Sunday.  It’s funny how a tiny hour of freedom has so much more value when you’ve had none for a few days.

I have to give credit to those of you out there that are care givers full time, and have been for years, or face years of it in the future.  It’s a hard job.  Not to mention terribly boring!  I’m reading a good book, “Seven Types of Ambiguity” by Elliot Perlman,  recommended by another blogger, but it takes some concentration, and  it seems just when I’m getting my head back into the plot the Aunt needs something.  And of course she comes first.

She reminds me that it’s heck getting older.  Years ago when I lived in the Upper Peninsula I sometimes drove down to visit my own grandmother who was in her 90’s.  She’d outlived most of her friends and quite a bit of her family.  The last time I saw her she was walking with a walker and still living in her own home on the family farm.  She told me not to live to be her age and I wondered, in all the wisdom of a 20 something young person, what she was talking about.  Now I see it again with our Aunt.  Though she’s  smart as a tack she too has outlived her friends and much of her family.  Yesterday she started listing people, counting on her fingers over and over again, people she cared about who are gone now.  I had no appropriate response.  And it’s sad to witness.

Today’s jury duty went well.  All the cases before the two judges were settled, so they let us all go!  And today is going to be a beautiful day, high in the 80’s with sunshine.  I think perhaps Katie girl and I will have to go for a walk in the park before I head back over to the apartment to relieve my husband.  We did get some play in already, Katie and I, out in the yard.  She had a wonderful time.  Me too.

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And on a totally unrelated topic, I found a baby turtle in the driveway just a bit ago and took it over to the edge of the pond.

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He is about the size of a nickle and was warm in my palm as I carried him over to the pond.  I set him on a leaf just at the edge of the water.  I hope he makes it.

Newborn and elderly, all in the same day, with a bit of sunshine thrown in.  It’s a new day

Trees 1537


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Traverse City renewal

Northport March April 2010 973 In Traverse City the old state psychiatric hospital is being converted to upscale offices, chic stores, yuppie restaurants and trendy galleries.  I went by yesterday to take a look.  The complex is enormous, building after yellow brick building, three or four stories high, rows and rows of windows.  The parts of it that have been completely updated are beautiful.

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But many of the buildings are still in disrepair, and those buildings haunted me, their windows blank, watching me as I tried to absorb what it might have been like years before.

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Porches allowed patients fresh air but were caged with wire mesh to keep the residents contained.

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Barred windows, many now broken.  The silence that seemed to scream.

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There’s a sadness there that clings even to the freshly renovated buildings.  I don’t think I could live in the condos on the upper floors; even with sunshine pouring down I felt as though I was trespassing on fragile souls.  But it’s a good use of property and will be beautiful when it’s finished…

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…though I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a few ghosts floating around.  So many lost souls, so many lost stories.

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Define "art"

funky art 090I have to politely and respectfully disagree with those of you that say you aren’t artists, can’t draw, and leave the art to other members of your family or friends.  You say you’re just “not artistic,” or “can’t draw a straight line.”  My mother used to teach art, to members of Girl Scout troops, or people that came into her ceramic store to work on projects.  Most of these people didn’t think they had any talent.  She’d show them that they all had talent, each in their own unique way.  There aren’t very many straight lines in nature, or for that matter, anywhere.  And art isn’t about straight lines anyway.

I was taking notes while I was reading “Trust the Process” by McNiff; I ended up with 3 or 4 pages of the author’s thoughts.  I’ll share some with you, in an effort to change your mind, or at least sway it a bit toward realizing the art each of you has inside.

  • “The empty space is the great horror and stimulant of creation.”
  • “One creative act is the stimulus for another.  The painting stimulates a story and the story shifts to body movement and vocal improvisation.  Which inspires another series of paintings.”
  • “The best way to quickly expand the scope of creative expression is to actively experiement with different roles.”
  • “A writer friend used to tell me that single-octave living is boring and unproductive.”
  • “The creative imagination requires a certain abandonment and disregard for results, which often paradoxically generate the most useful outcomes.”
  • “The process of creation is a force moving through us, and only through practice do we learn how to cooperate with it.”
  • “The process is like a muscle.  It needs to be exercised in order to function effortlessly.”

I think we all wish we could paint or sing or dance or write effortlessly.  But it’s not like that.  Even professional artists practice.  They practice every day.  And if any of us decide we want to do something creative we must expect to work at it too.  Nothing comes free.

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Art is everywhere.  To prove it, I have interspersed photos I took today at the mall during my walk.  Think of it as creative expression filling in the blank spaces.  funky art 092

Look around you.  You’ll see your touches of art, peeking out of the oven when you’re making a special family dinner, oozing out of that warm family room you just repainted, that office you just organized.  Sitting quietly in the photo album of last summer’s vacation, or in the box of family photos sitting on the shelf.  It’s right there in the blog entries you write when you share bits of your lives with the rest of us.  When you sing in church, or alone in the car at the red light, that’s art.  Dancing with your loved one at a wedding or on your anniversary, that’s art too.

Don’t ever think you aren’t artistic.  As a child you painted and danced and sang.  It’s all still in there, we’ve just let ourself be told that we’re not “good enough” at painting and dancing and singing.  That’s foolishness.  If you want to let that creative energy out, let it out!  And let it out a lot!  Practice practice practice, ignore what you think are mistakes, move along.  Just do it.

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There.  I think I’ve convinced myself.


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Come take a mall walk with me

funky art 055 Almost every morning I’ve been going up to the mall to walk.  It’s mostly me and a bunch of old people –  at least that’s the way it seemed when I first started walking.  But lately I’ve been noticing individual “regulars” that are walking  just about every day.  It’s somewhat like it used to be when I ran at a local park every Saturday morning.  You’d see a lot of the same people and it got so you’d raise a hand in greeting and mutter a quick “Morning!” to them as you passed each other.

At the mall there’s not so much greeting going on, but today there were a few people that locked eyes and nodded, and even a couple that uttered morning back when I offered it.  So maybe I’ve become a regular too.  As long as I’m not one of the old ones, that’s OK.

Most mornings I get to the mall early enough to get 2 or 3 miles (laps) in before all the stores open.  I mark my progress by passing the Rain Forest Cafe which has water falls, monkeys, elephants and butterflies moving in animation along the outside walls when it’s open.  Most mornings I get 2 or 3 of my 4 laps finished before they start moving.  Today I arrive a bit early and my goal is to get all 4 of my laps done before the crocodile begins to roar and the waterfalls start sending up their morning fog.

So here’s some of the people I see up there nearly every morning:

A tiny Asian woman with her walker.  Always dressed beautifully, her oxygen tank sitting on the seat of her walker, she wheels around the 1 mile loop surprisingly quickly, head held high.  No discernible limp mars her gait.  Without the oxygen tank to slow her down I bet she’d be a speed demon with that walker.

A couple that always walks hand in hand; he wears a leather Indiana Jones hat and a long white beard.  They don’t saunter exactly but they’re in no hurry either.  They’re probably my age, so they’re not old.  But  also not so young.  It’s nice to see the affection between them.

The older man with the obvious side effects of having had a stroke; one leg swings wide and slowly, one arm dangles uselessly at his side.  He isn’t moving fast.  But he’s moving.  He doesn’t look at anyone, but he makes it around the “track.”  More than once.  Every day.

The middle aged black man that walks quickly holding a phone to his ear the entire time, conducting an animated conversation all the way around…and around…and around.  Every single morning he’s on that phone and I wonder if it’s the same person each day…I wonder if  it’s some sort of illicit affair that causes him to only be able to talk when he’s away from home on his walk.  I realize I’m starting to write whole stories about these people that I see every day but have never met.

A couple of women, probably my age, maybe slightly older.  One is heavier, the other is very slim.  They always walk just a bit faster than me.  Sometime during the morning they will pass me and I am never able to catch up to them again.  They talk nonstop about family and relationships and other people.  Interesting conversation to listen to.  In road races I used to run behind pairs of people talking and shamelessly eavesdrop to take my mind off of the pain of running.  I’d do the same at the mall but I can’t keep up!

The younger woman in shorts and a Tshirt wearing an Ipod even though there is great walking music playing overhead.  She is swinging her arms and moving right along.  If I were jogging I would still be slower than her.  She is in great shape and I remember evaluating female runners in the same manner I’m watching her now.  Wondering if she got this way by walking, or is just naturally lucky.  Wondering if I should move along a bit faster.

The pairs of young mothers pushing baby carriages with their youngsters asleep.  The mothers are talking and walking quickly, as if they need to get as much adult conversation in as quickly as possible before they head back to their children filled days.  The mothers all look so young, pony tails swept up, no makeup, big wedding/engagement rings on their hands.  Women of  leisure in the sense they aren’t working, but women in reality who have no leisure time at all.

The young man in a wheelchair going around and around, listening to his own Ipod.  Working out his shoulders and arms I suppose.  He doesn’t have one of those modern efficient wheelchairs and it looks a lot like work.  But then, my own feet are hurting by mile 3 so I guess if we do it right, we’re all doing a lot of work.  He smiles at me each time we meet, one of the few that acknowledges me.

So that’s a quick picture of my walk at the mall.  I’ve got to speed up now,  I want to finish before that crocodile wakes up.


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Haiti

I feel an extra emotional connection while I watch news footage of the massive 7.0 earthquake in Haiti.  It doesn’t look like many structures survived, and there are likely thousands dead.  The extra little tug I feel is caused by the fact that the truck driver that killed Dad in 2004 was from Haiti.  He had been in the US only a couple of years.  Likely he has family still in Haiti.

I only saw him once; at his only court appearance.  For whatever reason, killing someone with a semi is only a misdemeanor.  So when we went into a Georgia court to find out how he was going to plead we were dismayed to find ourselves in a courtroom filled with people there for nonpayment of child support, under age drinking and one guy who had burned tires in his yard without a permit.  Then there was us.  We were the only people there dressed in suits, other than one man and his attorney.  We knew instantly that the well dressed man nervously sitting with an obvious attorney was “our” driver.  Turns out he had been advised to plead “no contest” which doesn’t admit guilt but also meant he didn’t have to go to trial.  I think his attorney had worked out a deal with the Prosecutor that if he plead no contest he’d get off with probation.  They didn’t count on our family showing up from all over the country and providing the judge with heartfelt impact statements.

We had a wonderful judge that allowed us to make our impassioned statement and who took the time to silently read statements we had sent to the Prosecutor previously.  I remember  being in that courtroom, my brother standing beside our driver reading the family’s statement of grief and loss.  I remember the driver rocking back and forth on his toes not looking at us.  I remember the noisy courtroom hushing as people realized what we were talking about.  I remember the stifled sound of  sobs from some women, people we didn’t know, when my brother said that my sister couldn’t listen to Christmas music without crying anymore.  I remember a court officer, guarding the back door, wiping his eyes.

We wanted some jail time, to make the point that killing someone wasn’t just the cost of doing business, and the judge gave the driver the most she could, 30 days.  We were grateful.  The driver’s attorney protested loudly, saying that people fell asleep driving all the time.  The judge responded with a quote from our impact statement; “We expect more from professional drivers.”  The driver was escorted out and it was done.

The judge asked for a recess, and we all started to move out of the room.  Along the way people we didn’t know and would never meet again stood up, offered their hands and condolences.  It took some time to get out of the room.  Out in the hall I felt a bit of a letdown as I moved toward the exit.  Then I realized none of my family was with me, and I turned back to find them.  They were standing in a clump in the middle of the hall…with the judge, still in her robes.  She had come out to tell us she was sorry.  She was sorry about our loss, and she was sorry she couldn’t have done more.  She didn’t understand, you see, that we were thrilled with her ruling.  We had been warned that he would likely get off with probation and that we would probably be disappointed in the process.  Instead she did just as we asked, and we thanked her for that.  She had tears in her eyes.  So did we.

The driver  risked being deported back to Haiti by pleading no contest to a misdemeanor.  I have no idea if he ended up being sent back but I hope not.  It has always been my hope that he was able to stay and raise his two children here, that he turned out to be as fine a dad as ours was, that he used the lessons he learned from this experience to raise wonderful, contributing children. That in his own way he makes the world a better place  just like Dad made the world a better place.

So as I watch the footage of Haiti I hope that he and his family are not there.  I hope they are safe in Florida and that he has found peace.  But I know that very likely someone he loves has died a horrible violent death and that even if he is not there himself  he now knows the intesne grief that sudden death brings to survivors.  I hope he can cope, I hope he has the support we had.  And still have.

I wish him and his family well.


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Settling down

I met a woman once, not so long ago, who was expressing her unsettled feelings.  I only met her a couple of times, but each time she was rapidly and intensely expressive about how she wished she had made different decisions, always anxious about whether or not something else might have been better.  She described how she moved from job to job thinking the next thing would be the best, how she moved her family into a big house thinking that would be the best, her children into a private school wanting the best for them.   How she had to take a different, higher paying job to pay for the all the decisions she had made and now how tired she was, stressed out and not at all sure that anything was best after all.  That in reality her family had been the most happy in their small cozy home, kids in public school, she at a job she liked.

She reminds me of me.  Internally, though I rarely express it aloud, I too wonder if  living in a different place would be better, a different (or any right now!) job would make me happier, if living alone would be better for me than living with someone else.  And yet I know from experience that when the work world was busy I wished it would slow down, and when it slowed down I worried that the work would never come back.  I remember when I lived alone and wished there was someone else there.  Why is it such a difficult thing to appreciate what we have right now while we have it?  Why can’t we just be happy with what we have?  Why must we wonder what it would be like if...

Yesterday I purchased a teapot.  You’d be right to wonder what that has to do with being satisfied with life as it is.  It’s just that I’ve wanted a teapot for a long time.  A really long time.  And last night while my husband and I were out shopping for other things we wandered by the teapots and actually stopped and picked one out.   So now I have a little spot of color in my kitchen, and I’m sitting with a hot cup of tea watching the birds outside my window while fragrant meatloaf is baking in the oven.

I think for the moment I’ll learn from the lady with her frantically scattered fearful thoughts  and just sit here enjoying what I have.  I have beautiful birds outside, finches and chickadees and nuthatches, cardinals and a big woodpecker, titmice and sparrows.  I have Katie asleep nearby and a husband off in the den.  Dinner is in the oven.  The sun is sort of shining.  I don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow.  And I’m reading a great book; “Night Gardening” by E. L. Swann.

I think I am content.

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