dogdog and babycat have an interesting relationship. seemingly-by-dog/cat-definition partisan, they cross the aisle everyday to beg together when they are looking for a morsel from our breakfast, stand together when looking for dinner, lay together on the rug when conked out at the end of the day. they have figured it out and i know that they love each other, despite their differences and the personalities they have as well as the traits we have assigned them by speaking for them judging by the looks on their faces.
dogga stares out the front door window and wonders. the cat not so much; he stares but doesn’t seem to really wonder. but they share the front-door-rug and we provide the conversation and thoughts. we have many one panel cartoons of the two of them at the door.
the thing i would point to, in all of the cartoons we have drawn about these two supposed-foes, is that they get along. they respect each other’s toys, food bowls, spaces on the bed. they may think a rude thought here or there, but they don’t voice it aloud. they don’t name-call or lie to each other. with the exception of babycat’s black chair, they don’t destroy things, they don’t shred the garbage, spewing that which is trash all about. they take turns at their shared water bowl. they are empathic creatures, loving and tuned in to things around them and the real state of affairs in the house. they are quietly candid and honest, albeit b-cat a tad bit sarcastic. they are loyal to the bigger picture, their home. they accept each other. without exception, without pretense, without anger or contentiousness. they embrace living together, right here, right now.
the ernie straw. this straw has lived in the kitchen drawer for decades. it served the sesame-street-zeal of My Girl and My Boy when they were little-little and has made various appearances back in the sunlit-world from time to time since then.
this summer when The Girl was here house-sitting i came home and into the kitchen to find her using it to sip her pre-workout drink. she laughingly told me, “it’s a good straw!” i can’t tell you how happy i was that ernie was still in the drawer when she went searching for the perfect sipping-utensil.
in the last week, ernie has become my constant companion. positioned carefully in my coffee hydroflask or perched in my water glass or teetering out of a wine glass, ernie and i have done beverage-life together.
they say necessity is the mother of invention and, particularly, this past week with two broken wrists, i would have to agree. stuck closer to the right side of my brain as a creative thinker (although admittedly there is quite a bit of ny-style-left-side there as well) i have had to sort out how to do things, let’s say, in-a-different-way.
i can proudly say that i can put on my socks, eat my own meal with a fork or a spoon, cut a steak (with the steak knife lodged into my RH cast), put on a little eyeliner and mascara with my LH steadying my right hand (not easy, but some things are just necessary), and type. last night i squeezed (!) the toothpaste out of the tube and surprised d with his toothbrush pre-pasted. in bigger news, i have played my piano four days in a row. i have 9 fingers to use right now; my right thumb is immobilized. but there are a lot of notes you can play with nine fingers, especially at the right angle and taking your time.
ernie and i are trying to keep a good attitude. his curlycue-ness is pretty cute and his smile engaging. he keeps me from feeling too sad, too limited. he reminds me that the constraints i feel right now are exercising my creative juju (he’s a ridiculous optimist). and he, most importantly, ties me to all the years backward, where he, yes, an inanimate object, has been a part of my life and the life of my children.
i couldn’t be more grateful to have found this life-gossamer-thread in our kitchen drawer last monday, the day i was injured. once again, something profound and something simple – and both remind me of what’s important.
i sent My Girl a photo of ernie in my coffee vessel. she quickly replied, “it’s a good straw!” yes.
“i shall pass this way but once. any good that i can do, any kindness i can show to any human being, let me do it now, let me not defer nor neglect, for i shall not pass this way again.” (etienne de grellet)
this saying is tucked into my wallet. it hangs in our kitchen. it was my sweet momma’s favorite and she lived by it like a mantra. she did not procrastinate kindness until it was convenient; she lived it.
we pass the deer tracks at bristol woods. often we are first after the deer. i wonder what they are like as they pass each other, as their paths converge and diverge.
emergency room to the right. urgent care to the left. it was a choice point.
as we drove from the ski hill back to our town, i was worried. terribly worried. but my worry was less about my two broken wrists. it was less about the pain. it was less about all the things i could see – already – that i couldn’t do for myself. it was less about my piano and, thus, my life. it was less about how long it would take to heal and what that healing would look like. it was less about how important a role david would play for me in this process of getting-my-wrists back. it was less about how this injury would impact me.
my worry? it was about what it would cost.
i wracked my brain for all the research i had done in selecting this year’s healthcare plan and how the deductibles work and what is covered and what is not covered and whether x-rays were completely billable sans satisfying our deductible. i worried about the cost of the emergency room, the cost of the ER staff, the cost of radiology, the cost of casting. there was a moment, driving through paddock lake, that i began to sob, thinking of the financial worry of all this. my wrists throbbing, our health “insurance” a whopping $29,000 a year out-of-pocket, and i was sobbing, in the middle of post-injury shock, at the worry of the additional burden this would put on us.
and that’s pretty pitiful. what a pathetic country in which we live that the first set of thoughts when injured is not getting well, is not healing.
i believe in an effort to more fully understand what i was going through, ptom told me he read a few blogposts written by or about people who had broken both wrists. it occurred to me that might be a good idea so i googled them.
the first post made me made me frustrated. after telling the story of her injury, deborah, who lives in new zealand, spoke about her experience with the socialized healthcare in that country. i wept as i read the motto is “prevent, care, recover,” and there was no cost to her – at all – through diagnosis, treatment, healing, extra care helpers, rehabilitation, transportation. she lost no work salary during the time of her recuperation. every single thing was covered and paid. she states that, “this has been a huge relief to me and has definitely aided in my recovery, because I’m not stressed.”
why am i so amazed by such a humanitarian approach to a nation’s care of its populace? is that not of utmost priority? should our population have to worry about seeking care to remain in or regain good health? what kind of country does not put the health of its people first?
as we approached the hospital in kenosha we had a choice. emergency room or urgent care. i asked david to park by urgent care. in the middle of pain emanating from both my wrists, two slings fashioned by ski patrol around my neck, i thought i remembered that maybe the co-pay or coverage would be more palatable in urgent care. we sat in big red for a few extra minutes; i repeated i wasn’t sure what to do or not do. not sure about the differentiation between urgent care and the emergency room, i thought we could at least ask if urgent care could handle what i presented – a need for x-rays and exam and treatment.
we walked into a crowded waiting room. indeed, they could handle my injuries. we waited hours with all the others there, many of them with masks covering their mouths and noses. everyone looked worried.
a very kind doctor examined me, did x-rays, cast me, gave me directions and sent me on my way with follow-up to an orthopedic doctor in a few days. at that office, a very kind doctor examined me, re-cast me, gave me directions and sent me on my way with a follow-up and more x-rays in ten days, a likely change of cast-type in four weeks, physical/occupational therapy on its heels and a standing invitation to see the reigning hand specialist whose expertise had been proffered.
and, of course, we haven’t received any billing yet. i’m quite sure that will be the icing on the cake, well, so to speak.
or maybe i should say – that will add insult to injury.
two broken wrists. there’s not much that can stop me, but two broken wrists has done it.
it is profound what you do in daily living with at least one hand. really everything. this is my fourth day on this hand-less journey and i know there’s a long road ahead. i am not a good patient and the inability to perform the simplest of tasks has been world-stopping. i had to teach david how to ‘properly’ wipe my mouth, put on girl jeans, comb out wet hair. he has to hold my coffee cup (and yes, a wine glass or two) with the infamous sesame street ernie straw, feed me every bite, help me sit up from laying down, open doorknobs, pick up my cellphone so i can voice activate it, wipe my tears as i cry in frustration. the list goes on and is only limited to your imagination.
i wanted to have a tiny window into my beautiful daughter’s world. My Girl tells me lots of coaching and instructing stories from her high mountain snowboarding career, but i have never stepped on a snowboard. i wanted to physically experience the board under my feet, even a tiny grasp of how she feels. so we have planned for a long time to take a lesson and surprise her with our tale.
this week was wisconsin ski and snowboard week and for a mere $29 you could purchase lift tickets, rental equipment and a group lesson. it seemed perfect.
and for an hour and twenty minutes it was. a really difficult sport, we stood on boards and managed to learn the slightest of skills. until that little girl on skis was in front of me downhill just a bit. not really well-versed at turning and, clearly, less versed on stopping, i worked to avoid her. the stop and the fall were simultaneous. tailbone down i clearly put out my hands to help my fall, the first do-not-do-this rule. instinct took over; reflexes prevailed. that was step one in this two-broken-wrists tale, this whole rest.
four days ago i took for granted every little thing my hands (and arms) did for me. i could play the piano at any given moment, grab a pencil and jot a lyric, readjust the bench, open the blinds and let the sun into the studio. today the studio is dark, the piano quiet, the pencils waiting.
instead, moment by moment i am aware of every move i make, every single thing i need assistance with. i work each day to gain one more tiny ability. we have slowed down to a crawl and are abiding in each minute, one by one. i appreciate david’s help beyond mere gratitude or words; his commitment to my every-single-movement is humbling. our friends and family have reached out with offers of meals, company, words of encouragement and vast amounts of humor. we are right here in this very moment. presence defined.
i wonder about my piano. i know that my right hand in a hard fiberglass cast is on hiatus. i think that maybe my left hand, which is in a hard splint, might have a beensy chance at a few notes, regardless of the ensuing pain. when i was 19 i broke three fingers on my left hand slammed in a steel church door. they were splinted but i was fending for myself making a living for college as a musician and so i relentlessly started playing with those fingers anyway. this too-early-in-the-healing-process-playing prevented full healing, so i am cautious now. the piano is a part of my soul and so i honor the process of getting-back.
in the meanwhile, in the way that only the universe understands, after these last months, i seem to have needed a reminder of being loved and cared for, a reminder of attending to ‘now’ with no dreaded worry of ‘next’, a reminder of what’s truly important.
“one minute you’re a snowflake with possibilities and the next you’re wearing a scarf and goofy hat.” that sounds like a statement of judgement. a measurement of sorts. and i suppose it is. possibilities of profound impact on the world, on science or art, in music or film, medicine or education. we measure ourselves in this society by our success; our merit based on what we reap financially, what we individually or collaboratively have contributed to the furthering of humankind, this good earth, the animal kingdom, worlds unknown.
but pay attention to the next snowman you see. does his sweet nose make you smile? does his crooked grin make you stop? does his hat make you think of your dad, your brother, your best friend? does the snowman make you happy – and do you carry that happiness with you after you pass him by? of what value is that?
never underestimate the power of who you are. your impact on the world will spread in concentric circles rippling outward. whether nobel-prize-worthy or under-the-refrigerator-magnet-fame, your scarf-and-goofy-hat-ness counts. your kindness is contagious. your good intentions affect the one closest and, in turn, and with a sureness of the way things truly do work in this world despite all efforts for the opposite, they will land in the heart of someone you may never meet but who will have been impacted by you, from way back in the middle of the concentric circles. right in the possibility-filled-snowflake-heart of the snowman.
i remember way back in elementary school. the girls were brutal. if ‘they’ decided you were ‘out’ you didn’t have a chance, regardless of your best efforts. expressions like “she took away my best friend” were rampant and hurt feelings prevailed. outsiders of the ‘cool’ inner (closed) circle were left feeling inadequate and lonely.
this was not contained to just elementary school. junior high and high school were examples of exponential closed circles, the occupants ‘inside’ becoming more versed with age on how to inflict emotional pain on those un-included. never being one of the ‘cool’ crowd, i have watched from the fringes as closed circles have stubbornly restricted access to people with much to offer. and then, adulthood. circles still exist. you step lightly. everywhere.
a closed circle.
in our work, in our communities, in our world. are we aware of them, these closed circles? do we make an effort to be inclusive, to offer our hand, to embrace the outsider and bring him or her inside?
or are we like those children in the early arc of learning, gathered around the tetherball court or the four-square game or the hopscotch drawn on the asphalt? do we point out the differences? do we turn deaf ears to ideas that are not ours? do we refuse to play together, work together, listen and learn together? do we act like others – somehow in some way unlike us – do not belong in our club, do not merit our friendship, are round pegs in our square-holed world? are we closed circles? have we not left the elementary school playground?
we were watching out the window. a balmy 35 degree chicago late afternoon and we were waiting for The Boy to get home from work. the bus went by touting an ad for one of the universities. “you be you,” it read.
i personally cannot think of two people more dedicated to being themselves than my children so this post is in honor of their fierce ‘being you-ness’. it is celebrating their ever-continuing search for who that is and their ability to both stand in and walk through the fire of growth. it is lifting up their spirits of adventure and knowledge of what’s important. it is acknowledging that they often walk outside what would be comfortable or secure for others, confident that they are finding their way in the space beyond the edges. it is reveling in their zeal. i am infinitely proud of them. my beloved children.
too old. too young. too busy. too tired. too apolitical. too rabid. too conservative. too liberal. too artistic. too left-brained. too analytical. too kinesthetic. too emotional. too opinionated. too apathetic. too uneducated. too educated. too poor. too rich. too believing. too agnostic. too manipulated. too manipulative. too confident. too tentative. too work-engrossed. too free. too lofty. too basic. too orthodox. too unconventional. too open. too closed. too rigid. too fluid. too not-from-here. too down-home. too much. too little. too far-reaching. too little impact. too intentional. too haphazard. too unknown. too anticipated. too cavalier. too afraid.
d’s master’s degree embraces the organization of whole systems; when i recently read this it felt like everything he has said in a nutshell (and i, not being a nutshell person, embraced this nutshell with the glee of change). here is what i read about systems theory:
‘our family systems. our work systems. our neighborhood and community systems.’ our country. our world. the system reeling inside ourselves.
too trouble-making. too resistant. too dysfunctional. all good reasons for a system not to be too chicken to change.
life. too short. too fleeting. too few golden opportunities to learn. too few possibilities to stand tall and face down adversity. too few windows to be kind. too few chances to say ‘i love you’. too many people to laugh with. too many places to see. too many moments to miss.
all good reasons for us to be “not too chicken to change”.
we are watching. two lovely young women, the daughters of dear friends, will be married this year. we will be attending each of these weddings. i will have the honor of playing at them. they are excited, immersed in the details of their ceremonies and their receptions, the times that people will gather around them and celebrate their joining of lives, of families. it is a time of immense joy for them and it’s certainly fun to be included, hearing about gowns and venues, songs and vows. they are amazed at how quickly these days are approaching. it’s that life thing. it keeps moving. faster and faster.
when my niece got married on the beach, she had her dj play instrumentals of mine as her bridal party, including me, walked across the sand. but a couple weeks ahead, when we were talking about all the tiniest details, she asked if maybe, just maybe, i could write her and her husband-to-be a song, something that would be solely hers as she walked toward him over the warm beach, bright sun low in the sky.
this is the song i wrote for them. no time to run to nashville or even chicago, i ran to a studio in town and quickly recorded it, just piano and voice, nothing fancy. i was moved to hear it broadcast over the sound of waves, watching as she walked into a new chapter of her life, directly to her best friend. and now, there’s so much more. life keeps going.
i wore a pink dress with puffy sleeves (yes, shockingly, a color) for my other sweet niece’s wedding. twice as long ago, i was touched at being included. i have watched her grow (she’s amazing!) and have watched as she and her husband have built a home together and lovingly raised their two boys. life. keeps moving on.
i recently heard from a nephew of mine after a pretty long time of silence. he sent a picture of he and his husband together and i was thrilled to see him looking so content, so in-his-life. it keeps moving.
we are at the age when many friends’ children are marrying. each time we attend a wedding or send off a gift we watch as two people decide to be together, through thick and thin. we wish them more of the best than the challenges, but we know that the challenges are also the glue.
each story is not as simple as it sounds. we know that. moving in together, whether post-wedding or no wedding at all, sharing a sink, worrying about life’s constant worries, dividing up household responsibilities, traversing family dynamics, navigating gigantic decisions, choosing which direction to put the toilet paper on the roller…life as two is both more difficult and less difficult than life as one. and, in the way of how it all works, the time of life both moves in slow motion and flies by.
it helps when you choose it with your best friend.
download the single MY BEST FRIEND on iTUNES or CDBaby
(©️2020 narrative lectionary resources)
reverse threading 