INSOMNIA

Outside of really terrible things I can't think of anything much worse than to be trapped with my thoughts all night without sleep. Those who sleep well do not understand what a blessing it is to lay your head on a pillow and drift off into a deep, restorative sleep.

This week I have had minimal sleep. One night I may have gotten three hours. I tossed and turned. At times I told myself not to look at the clock because it would make the night go slower. And guess what? Moments after I told myself not to look at that clock, I did. And then I repeated that cycle several more times. "Don't look at the clock." (I did, again.) And yes, it did seem to make the night crawl at a snail's pace.

I got out of bed three or four times in the wee hours of the morning thinking that perhaps if I had something to drink or a bite to eat it'd be easier to find a few hours of good sleep. Neither drink nor food helped calm my mind. I began to think that perhaps if I gave my anxious thoughts to God in prayer and meditation that it would soothe my troubled soul. Hours later, my soul still troubled and my mind still stirred. And my body still did not sleep.

After the worst night I caved and bought a variety of over-the-counter sleeping aids. I understand the studies that sleeping aids really only mask a bigger problem and REM sleep usually doesn't occur for those whom partake in the ritual of a pill. It was minimal help.

So why am I so anxious? What are my convoluted thoughts? When the distractions of the day are gone there is a myriad of thoughts that consume me. Thoughts about my daily schedule, the effectiveness of my time, my troubles and others' troubles, worry and strife of those I love and my brain flips like a rolodex to find a way to find peace and solace in the crazy world in which we live. I rethink my past and wonder about my future. Wondering if I'll ever be at peace with the situation and station of life at the present. For I feel I have something bigger to share than what I have shared. And I believe I have a better contribution than which I've given thus far. With this uneasiness in my chest I have to keep working towards finding a way in which to unleash my potential and give of my energy to those who will embrace it. Being one with my Creator and in synch with others around me is my aspiration. I want others to make me better than I am. And I want to do the same for them. I long for the day where I place my head on my pillow, my heart and mind are quiet, not because I have nothing else to give, but because what I've given has been received. Reciprocation and life giving energy circled and recycled.

   

Celebrating the Weekend

Celebrating the Weekend

Friday after school I wanted to celebrate the three day Labor Day weekend. I decided to go to the local United Dairy Farmer’s and get an ice cream cone. Although the UDF is less than a quarter mile from my home I rarely frequent it for ice cream because there’s usually a very long line.  But on this day I was hoping I’d hit the store at an off peak time and things would go smoothly.

My optimism proved true on one aspect, there was only one other customer in front of me. However, when I told the attendant what I wanted, one dip of strawberry ice cream in a waffle cone, she conferred with her colleague. And I overheard her say, “How do we do this?”

Just dip the ice cream into the cone. How hard is it? 

As the two apron wearing employees finished their conversation the lady turned to me with an ice cream scoop in one hand and a paper cup in the other. “We’ve changed our policies. We now have to weigh all the ice cream?”

So instead of a the actual treat I had intended, I walked out of the store with a slightly different version, a paper cup of ice cream with a waffle cone dropped on top. We don't always get exactly what we want, even when we know what we want.

Stuff

           Like most Americans I have a lot of stuff. Not that any of it is worth any monetary value.  But it’s just a bunch of well—stuff. It’s hard to categorize all the things I possess; lots of papers, versions of unpublished manuscripts, basketball drills, notes from clinics, magazines, school worksheets and diagrams, adaptors, cords of all sorts of old electronics, and even a blow up mattress that doesn’t really hold air anymore. All these things, I guess, I thought I’d hold onto and sell in a garage sale or I’d just file away another day, but that day never came and more stuff got piled on top of that stuff. I’m not like a total hoarder, but I have too many things that I don’t need.

            I have a two car garage that’s full and only one car. I also have a spare room, guest room or whatever you want to call it. (I don’t get too many overnight guests these days and I only have a twin bed in there so I guess it’s best to refer to it as the spare room.) You know what they say today’s as good as any day to start something you’ve been meaning to do. Actually I started last week, but I’m keeping my organization and purging project front and center and doing a little purging each week. I want to get rid of all these things that have no value or no emotional bearing on my life so I can make room for something else. I don’t know what I’m making room for, but I’m making room. Maybe it’s merely an overnight guest, maybe it’s a housemate, maybe it’s just sanity and peace of mind. Whatever it is I hope it finds its way to me soon because even though I don’t know exactly what’s coming down the pike . . . I know I’m getting ready for something and that’s kinda exciting in and of itself!

I'm Not Sitting on the Back Row Anymore (Figuratively Speaking)

            When I was in college many years ago all freshmen participants in the sports programs had to attend a seminar about the university’s expectations of student-athletes. I just remember several coaches from all the diverse sports, along with the athletic director, telling us to represent on campus and in the classroom. They mentioned that a few professors already thought every athlete was a dumb jock so we weren’t supposed to feed into that stereotype. The main points of the discussion were the importance of:

1)  communicating with the professor about when we were going to be gone  

      on road trips,
 

2) getting any assignments we’d be missing or to reschedule labs and/or exams promptly,

3) arriving to class early, and

4) the school officials emphasized sitting near the front of the room.

            Sitting in the front meant you cared. It communicated that you valued the class and the professor. Sitting in the front meant you were willing to participate. At least that’s what they told us. I was never a dumb jock and in most of my classes I don’t think I would’ve chosen to sit in the back(well okay maybe a few of the really boring classes) but that speech has always been in my head. And all these years later as a high school teacher myself, when students get to choose their seats in my class and certain students choose to sit in the back of the room the above statements run through my mind. But conversely, I also think about these things when I choose my own seats be it in meetings, in seminars, or in church.

I’ll be honest I don’t always sit in the front, in fact, there have been many times I’ve chosen to sit in the back row. Times that I needed to leave early. Or times I wasn’t feeling well. Or even times my friends wanted to sit in the back of a meeting. Those are all good reasons, right? But there are other reasons I’ve sat in the back— because I wasn’t interested, so I could make a quick get-a-way, because I didn’t want to be stuck. Well, this past Sunday I went to hear a dear friend sing at a church that I hadn’t been to in quite a while. She had told me before that she’d be near the front with other people. I didn’t really know her new friends and thought it might be awkward so instead of sitting up front I chose to sit in the back. The very back, by the door. A lone.

I thought about my seating choice during the service and decided that this might be an analogy . . . that I’ve been sitting on the back seat of my life way too long. In certain areas I’ve been passive, professionally and personally. Perhaps I’ve even become half-hearted in participating in my own existence. Maybe cynicism had kept me on the last row. Fear? Fear of being swept up by insincere people or caught up in something I have reservations concerning. In some ways it does seem safer in the back where no one will see you. Where you can limit your engagement and take in the environment, but not really partake.

I heard my friend sing a beautiful song and after the service I went up to find her and her new friends. I don’t want to live a passive life. I don’t want to just play it safe. I want to care about what’s going on and I want to engage with those around me. An introspective investigation of my own seating choice leads me now to these questions, where are you sitting? And most significant of all, why are you sitting there?

Digging Dirt

     I’ve began again the task of creating a paver patio. You see I started a few years ago by hand… digging down into the hard soil around the foundation of my house with my shovel. Needless to say after my separated shoulder started to remind me of my physical limitations, the realization that I had nowhere to put my discarded dirt, and no means to actually move the dirt off my property, I gave up. I thought maybe I’d completely abandon the project or pay a landscape company to fulfill my vision. Procrastination, indecision, and the busyness of life left a mound of dirt and growing weeds.

            A friend of mine tried to persuade me that I could still make the patio and even offered help. So much so that they delivered bags of paver base and bags of sand that has sat for two or three years along the sidelines. The materials from my friend were supposed to be a symbol of encouragement, but, wrongfully in my own mind, it became a reminder of an insurmountable mountain. Every time I saw the plastic bags I felt inferior and defeated. (Sorry friend. Thank you for the gesture.)

            I had an offer from my brother and other friends at separate times to help, and for reasons I won't go into now I didn't accept their invitations. One thing most people know about me is I don’t like to ask for help. One of many personal flaws I’m working on changing. Recently, another friend has offered once again to help and an opportunity to use rented equipment, borrowed trucks, and locations for dumping my dirt has brought me to a renewed place of action. The area of the planned patio has grown. Obstacles abound, among them:  creating a dry well for a drain, over a ton of crushed limestone needed, and masonry cuts for stone pavers. Just when I have begun to feel confident that one day I will see this patio completed I am frustrated by technical components that complicate the process.

            Why does this surprise me? Nothing in this life comes easy. And perhaps this is why I’m discouraged. At the moment I’m in the thick of things. I believe I’m working hard in all aspects of my life, personally and professionally, and although I see progress, the goals are not obtained. Maybe this is where I need to cut myself some slack. Or maybe this is where I need to work even harder. Or maybe this is where faith comes into play. But for now, at this very moment . . . I feel like I’ll always be simply digging dirt.

Year Round Friends

Yesterday my running/walking group met at my house for exercise, coffee, and conversation. There were eight of us that ran the gambit of age, religion, and life philosophies. They encourage me to wake up early during my summer vacation and run another mile.They are thoughtful to send gift cards and warm wishes to those who are struggling inside and outside our tribe. They are inviting to include my mom from time to time and my neighbor (who is now a solidified member to our weekly gatherings.) I am reminded of how important it is to have people in your life that give to you in meaningful ways. I am blessed. These ladies are my nine month colleagues in the trenches of public education and I’m proud to say—they are also my year round friends.

 

A Drive Down Memory Lane

            I had the privilege of doing something this week few 40 year olds have the privilege of doing. I was able to spend time with my last two living grandparents. My 90, soon to be 91 year old, grandfather from my paternal side and my 87 year old maternal grandmother. To be in the presence of these two individuals, at separate times, this week was overwhelming. My grandpa and grandma have seen me throughout every phase of my life and lived so much history of their own. They are— after all— members of the Greatest Generation. What they mean to me and my family is indescribable. And to have them with us —still— as they are entering their final years— is an immeasurable blessing.

            One of my aunt’s drove my grandfather from Southern Ohio to visit for the day. It had been at least seven years since my dad’s dad had been up to my parents’ home. My grandfather doesn’t like to leave his house for any length of time. He usually prefers his back porch with the fan blowing on him and his view of the creek bank. Although the view is dimming with the condition of his macular degeneration in his eyes, it is, as it always has been, the place that brings him comfort. I’m glad he was willing to exchange his environment for the day to share it with my family. I sat and listened for hours as my grandpa shared stories from a long time ago and provided his opinion of the direction the country seems to be is going. He shared advice that might help our President and Congress members get out of domestic and international troubles. He spoke about the war (in which he had an all too intimate account as a tank driver and purple heart recipient) and talked about his wife, my grandmother, whom we lost over 14 years ago. He described the frustrations of getting older. But believe it or not, for the amount of tough topics that were covered in conversation, most of the day was filled with smiles and laughter.

            On Thursday of this same week— I got to spend time with my mom’s mom. We went on a drive to find one of the many houses her and my grandfather had lived. (My grandfather passed away a year and a half ago.) The house we decided to visit was a small country drive away. When we turned on the former road my grandparents had lived, the houses looked different than I remembered. It appeared on a much smaller scale than it had existed in my mind. The plot of land they owned dwarfed by other homes on either side — their property used to be so vast. Once cows had pastured behind the fence row, but progress had long since replaced the pasture with a string of newer homes. My grandmother and I even turned around and passed by the old house again to make sure it was the right location. And before we returned to her current home we stopped at the ice cream store. Not the one we had stopped at decades before, it was closed in lieu of a newer, fancier structure just down the road. We did, however, eat an ice cream cone and in that moment we were transported back in time. In the car as we savored the summer treat the only reminder of the years that had passed was the fact I was the one in the driver’s seat. Grandma and I reminisced about time gone by. It was nostalgic on so many levels.  

            Like so many other families in the midst of navigating the rough waters of aging loved ones—we, as a family, face challenges as my grandparents’ health decreases. And as my grandparents’ health decreases, in turn, certain tasks increase for those family members that are providing care and transportation, but family takes care of their own. And as my grandparents have taken care of their children (my parents) and as they have chipped in when their grandchildren needed babysitting or a special favor, we are taking care of them. This week I am thankful for a generation I have been fortunate to know and I am reminded that time is our greatest gift we give to those we care.