SIGHT

I have a burned out spot on my retina. It happened years ago from aligning an HBO bulb on a microscope. I didn’t even know about it until I finally visited an eye doctor six years ago. The spot is in the lower right quadrant of my left eye, not really in my field of vision. The only time I notice it is there is when I have closed my eyes. My eyelids are not blackout curtains. So I see this kaleidoscope of tinted colors of darkness with the exception of one teeny tiny speck of complete dark, black, nothing. It’s like noticing a couple of pixels are out on the TV. That burnt spot on my retina is the best thing about closing my eyes. It becomes a point of focus during meditation. It is the center of my very own everything bagel and the second I close my eyes, I tune into that tiny speck of nothing.

Last Friday, my schedule opened up and made it possible to attend one of Roze’s yoga/meditation hammock classes. I got to class feeling like my brain was hot and staticky from some last minute issues I had to fix at work before leaving for the evening. The whole week had been a mental challenge of dealing with people who acted like they’d never seen a microscope before. I found my hammock and was chatting with Sarah and Leigh. At one point I said “Man, I wish I’d taken this stupid bra off before I came to class.” and Leigh said “Take it off. No one cares. The bathroom is that way.” I said I don’t need a bathroom and then proceeded to take off my bra without taking of my shirt and then I sighed with relief. I spun the bra around the top of my head like a lasso as all the women cheered. We all had a good laugh and then settled into class.

Roze started us off with some gentle movement before getting us comfy for guided meditation. I snuggled down into my hammock and pulled my blanket up over my face. I closed my eyes and focused on my void of nothing spot. Then Roze started playing with a rain stick. When I first heard it, I thought it was a car crashing into the building and I almost yelled out “THERE’S A CAR CRASHING INTO THE BUILDING!” But I didn’t. I told Roze this story a few days later and she responded with concern. I assured her that it was fine. I told her that the second I realized it was the rain stick, I started giggling. I told Roze “I laugh at fear.” which she though was a ‘juicy’ response. I don’t know if it’s juicy or just instinct.

I’m not condoning running out and burning spots on to your retinas. We just were not as concerned about lab safety fifteen years ago or at least where I worked was not that concerned. Robin and I wore flip flops and climbed around on cabinets to reach things on the top shelf. That behavior would be highly frowned upon today, but I file it into the same folder as ‘before seatbelts’ and ‘bicycle helmet?’. I learned to walk on hard brick floors with pointy edges all around me. My car seat was sitting on the armrest between the driver and passenger seat of my mom’s car. Mom’s arm was my seatbelt. Safety gear was not a thing. Many of you reading this can probably relate. We all grew up, flying down a hill while balancing on the handle bars of a sibling’s bicycle. Our childhoods did not have soft padding and it didn’t stop many of us from being the one to volunteer for the handle bar seat.

I have so many scars, so many markings of being broken and healed. Some of these scars are visible, but many like the one on the inside of my lip and the spot on my retina are scars just for me. The secret scars that I don’t have to explain or answer questions about. Good lord, you should see the scars on my heart. Those hidden ones on my heart are my favorite ones. They were earned and received just after great bouts of laughter and joy.When Chris was sick, we were terrified, but still joking about the tortilla chip stuck in his liver. The last time I talked to J, we were joking about Dad’s haircut. The last real visit with Dad, he joked about Michael and I’s living situation. In fact, I am positive if the wounds that led to those scars had not been proceeded by a ridiculous amount of laughter, those scars would barely be visible to even me. The loss of sources of great amounts of laughter and joy leaves the deepest scars.

So I laugh at fear because what difference does another scar make.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

More often than not, when I sit down to write my Friday gratitude post, it turns into a list of complaints. I just start writing about all the difficult and annoying things that happened during the week. The aches. The pains. The exhaustion. The list of things I didn’t accomplish. All of this flows out onto the page with such ease and I will have whole paragraphs of complaints written before I even realize that I’m complaining. Then, I’ll sit back and really read what I wrote and I will select all and hit ‘delete’. It’s not that I don’t feel like I have a right to complain. We all have complaints. Complaints are valid. It’s just that there is something therapeutic about writing it all down and then destroying it.

In a way, this whole process of writing is like cleaning out a closet. I’m getting rid of all the things that I don’t need and leaving behind the good stuff. But I am also making space for extra goodness. A few weeks ago, we received our Gene Keys for Self Care Circle. I have no idea how my gene keys were determined. It has something to do where and when I was born and the website descriptions make me roll my eyes real hard, but the results that came back to me are not untrue. In fact, there is so much not untrue things in my results that I have struggled to read them all completely, but I am going to share with you a few things that really stood out for me.

In the section on what keeps me healthy, it says that one of the most important factors in my well being and longevity is my ability to laugh. When I read this, I thought about last year’s October camp and how much laughing I did. At the end of camp, we went around the circle sharing what we got out of that camp. One woman said that she didn’t come to camp thinking she would end up laughing so much and I looked over to see Amani poking a finger at me, outing me as one of the causes of all the laughter. And it was all true. Last October, I rediscovered my laugh and my ability to see the humor in the ridiculous. This is important because the next thing my gene key says is that “life for you is about finding lightness and humor, especially in difficult or challenging circumstances”.

Shut.

Up.

Sometimes it takes me writing paragraphs of complaints and then deleting them in order for me to make space for finding the lightness and the humor under any circumstances. Especially in difficult and challenging ones.

UNPACKING

I’m the type of person that comes home from a trip and immediately unpacks. Dirty clothes are sorted and laundry is started. Toiletries are put back in the medicine cabinet. Bags are placed back into storage. Any souvenirs that were purchased, find a home. Then I sit down and process photos and I might write a blog entry about my travels. I do all of these things as soon as I am home because I know that if I don’t, my life will fall into chaos and the planet will stop spinning. Basically, I just need everything to be in its proper place so that I can sleep better at night. I have always been this way. I unpack physically and emotionally in a timely and efficient manner.

With an exception.

I feel like I have not unpacked my emotions from Camp Wildling, June or October. We do camp mail bags and I’ve only glanced at the contents of either of them. In fact, I put June’s bag into my cedar chest. Out of sight out of mind. People have asked me about camp. What’s it like? How was it? All questions to which I have replied “Great. I had a great time.” and just left it at that. There is like a complete mental block when ever I go to describe my camp experience in any real detail. At first I thought it was just because I let too much time pass before giving it any thought and attention. I got back from June camp and we immediately headed off to Arizona, which brought its own emotional weirdness. We got back from October camp and then immediately left for a weekend trip to a lake house with Robin and Summer. It’s almost as if I intentionally stay busy so that I don’t have to time for processing. Then I convince myself that I really don’t have anything to ‘unpack’.

I slept through all of the profound experience opportunities.

I had a massage scheduled for the first day of October camp, just before all the campers arrived. Nadah, our camp massage therapist, is this beautiful wise older woman. In fact, I have a picture of her sitting at the fire pit. She is wrapped in a blanket and holding a walking staff. She looks like the woman you would expect to find after a long epic journey to search for answers to age old questions like the meaning of life. Her massage therapy also involved some energy work and at one point, she had her fist in my back under my left shoulder while holding her other hand over my heart and she just stayed there. It felt like minutes passed and then out of nowhere a bubble of a sob worked its way out of my throat and the next thing I knew, I was ugly crying on the table. This went on for longer than I care to think of, with Nadah the whole time murmuring encouraging words.

To tell you the honest truth, I was kind of mad about the whole thing. This was not the experience I want from a massage. Except it was the experience I needed and that idea makes me even more angry because I’m stubborn and obstinate. I am compartmentalized and I knew that letting go of whatever that was in the back of my heart was going to leave an empty space. Then what? I can’t have empty spaces. Everything has a place; see the whole unpacking ritual at the beginning of this entry. I’m not good with empty spaces, but creating this space right at the beginning of camp was actually a really good thing to do because I filled that space with laughter. There was one moment when Amani and I were sitting next to each other around the campfire and someone was telling a ghost story. I don’t know what was said, but something set the two of us off into a fit of giggles so severe that I truly expected my mother to appear between us to angry whisper “Do I need to separate you two?!?” I pulled my blanket over my head and tears streamed down my face because I was laughing so hard. I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard and so much since Chris was alive.

I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard and so much since Chris was alive.

That sentence was worth repeating because it will be ten years in February since Chris’s passing. On one hand, ten years feels like a blink. On the other hand, ten years is a fucking long time to go without that kind of laughter. I’m not saying that my life has been void of laughter all this time. I just went from daily bouts of it to scattered moments of laughter. That’s a little hard to admit. I don’t laugh like I used to and that’s a shame. Now that I’ve unpacked that bit of emotional baggage, I’ve got to find a place for the contents of that knowledge. I don’t want to fill my empty spaces with trash. I want to fill those spaces up with ridiculous giggles and the kind of laughter that leaves you gasping for air. I’m working on some goals. Goals for, hopefully, a healthier me and part of that healthier me includes daily bouts of laughter.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Recently, Michael was lamenting the lack of humor in teenagers. He had taken a small jar of hand cream into Ulta. It was one he really liked and was almost out of. He asked the teenager working there if they happened to sell it in a five gallon drum. The young woman replied very seriously “Sir, I don’t think we sell it in that size.” She did not understand that he was joking. Michael told me this story and said “I don’t get it. Didn’t you laugh all the time when you were that age?” I replied “Oh my god. Stephanie and I would laugh for hours at nothing. We laughed all the time!” Then I told him about a senior trip to San Antonio and a bathroom mishap that had Stephanie and I crying with laughter. In fact, thinking about the incident still makes me giggle.

Later on I sent a text to Stephanie relaying the conversation I had just had with Michael. She replied immediately with “OH MY GOD!” and then added exact details of the incident. She said “I’m laughing about is now and Cati is looking at me like I’m crazy.” Cati is Steph’s seventeen year old daughter and just the thought that Cati is now seventeen, makes me want to throw up. I was there when she was born and I don’t feel seventeen years older. Stephanie and I then continued to text back and forth about how hilarious we were and all of our shenanigans. I told her I would do all of it again and she replied “Oh girl, me too.” We ended the evening knowing that this was truth. Stephanie and I were our own sitcom right in line with Lucy and Ethel, Laverne and Shirley and the precursor to Liz and Jenna.

Before Chris, there was Stephanie. There is Stephanie. Our paths may have diverged. Physical distances can take a toll on friendships. We both have demanding jobs, but Steph has the added job of keeping up with her brood and all of their activities. Yet Stephanie and I have managed. We always seem to just pick up where we left off from our last talk or visit. It’s kind of like each of us are a tin can and we’re linked by a really long string. Every once in a while one of us will tug on the string and yell out. The other always hollars back. Stephanie is always there when I need her and good Lord, I hope she knows that I am always here when she needs me.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Delicate wishes

This is what I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Well…it isn’t the only thing I’ve been thinking about, but it has been taking up a lot of brain space this week for some reason. I’ve been thinking about what this pandemic would look like if Chris were here. I talked to Dr. Mary about this on Tuesday. I talked to Dr. Mary about a lot of things on Tuesday. I only see her once a month now. So the minute I sit down in her office, I just start babbling. It feels more like I do a lot of complaining and after I finish whining about something, I try to end it with something positive like “at least I still have a job.” Because that’s no joke. I complained a lot before I got to Chris and imagining an alternate reality.

The thing I miss the most at this moment is his sense of humor. Good God, I miss the way we would just laugh. He had a way of taking those dark serious parts of life and turning them into something we could laugh about. Not in an irreverent way. Okay…sometimes in an irreverent way, but we knew when to be respectful. Mostly. I have spent this week desperately curious about his take on our current events. I miss the sharp razor blades of his wit and I miss his silly antics. You know his face mask would look re-damn-diculous. I came across that picture of him in Chad’s jeep the other day. His face all dorky and hair messed up as he played the part of Rosco the Hitchhiker. Imagine that face wearing a face mask. He could make me laugh like no one else and he saw the value in the need for laughter.

The value in the need for laughter.

Life is a struggle. At times it is a grueling slog. We are living in a dumpster fire right now. I have friends who have lost jobs and have had to make some really difficult decisions. Science has been politicized in such a way that it has put peoples lives in danger. POC are still being murdered by police. STILL. It feels like we’re on a hike that went horribly wrong and have ended up trudging through a swamp up hill with only one good hiking boot. We’ve run out of water and snacks. The compass broke, it’s raining and we are being swarmed by mosquitoes. I one hundred percent guarantee you that Chris would have us in stitches with a running gag about that one boot and that broken compass. Of course this world needs more empathy, more compassion, more understanding of otherness. Of course we need those things. But we also need laughter. If Chris taught me anything, he taught me this.

To tell you the honest truth, I don’t even know if all of this would be happening if Chris were still with us. I still believe that his death altered our timeline significantly. One thing is for sure though, he would still be making us laugh.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Yoga outside

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The week before they officially closed the Institute was really hard. There were just three of us left in my department, which left me dealing with all eleven of our microscope systems as well as a handful of small microscopes we keep on a different floor. We still had scientists using these systems. The Institute is a home for many graduate students and postdocs who’s research and experiments are vital to them being able to graduate and move on. The lab is their life. Near the end of the week when my supervisor finally closed all of our microscopes, I spent the rest of my time telling people “no” and “I don’t know.” The look of despair and disappointment on their faces when they realized that would not be able to do just one more experiment, wrecked me. I sat at my desk crying while reading texts from Jeff and Sarah, my coworkers who were already working from home, telling me to go home.

I just felt defeated.

There was more to it than just the feeling of defeat though. So much of what I do is hands on work. My job is centered around solving other people’s problems. I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself or how I was going to be of any value by working from home. Michael has serious fears and anxiety over contracting the virus. He dreads the odd errand that has him leaving the house. My fears and anxiety are centered around not leaving the house. So, I had to do something to ease those fears and soothe those anxieties. I had to find a way to fill up my day with something of value. The Python coding class I am taking does some of that. My department also meets for a Journal Club Zoom meeting once a week and there is a tutorial on using a new image processing software that started this week. We have lab meetings on Fridays, as well as Friday Science Club.

I am busy.

My job has shifted from solving other people’s problems to solving my own problems. The shift has been a HUGE adjustment. I can’t remember when I have ever had a block of time to just focus on solving my own problems and at times I am literally solving problems. Coding is hard. Getting that imaging processing software installed on to my work computer was hard, but I did it. I am doing it. My group all meet in Zoom for tea time earlier this week and some where saying that they kind of like working from home. I smiled, but shook my head. I do not like it and I look forward to going back to solving others’ problems. That’s okay. I don’t have to like the current state of things. I do things I don’t like all the time, like torture class for example. I do those strength training exercises because they are good for me; they make my body a better body. I like to think that spending this time focusing on my own problems is going to make me better at solving those problems for others.

I love myself and see challenges as a way to grow stronger — Manifest Your Unlimited Potential, Mark Guay

I have stuck pretty well with this week’s goals. I’m working. I’m taking a moment in the day to be creative. I am somewhat active. At least, I seem to be shrinking. The number on the scale was a happy surprise this week. Little by little, the new enclosure for the chickens is coming together. My yoga practice feels strong. I got myself (safely) into a pose that I have not been able to do since I turned forty. At the end of each day, my body and brain are so exhausted that I have no problems going to bed at my usual hour. The day to day of things sometimes wears on all of us in this house and there have been some snappy moments, but there have also been moments of stupid laughter. So the gratitude for this weeks comes in the form of settling in to the things I don’t like to do.

And the moments of stupid laughter.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Home decor

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I met with my doctor yesterday to discuss the lab results from some tests I had done a couple of weeks ago. I was a little bit nervous about this because the blood draw and urine sample seemed excessive, but they were just being thorough. Turns out, everything is just fine. Cholesterol is steadily declining. I am back to the weight I was the last time I was in. Sugar levels are excellent. My doctor is happy with my diet and my exercise routine. He did think that I should update my tetanus shot. The new tetanus vaccine last ten years now and covers whopping cough. I tried to negotiate against getting it. My doctor is pretty great and told me that I didn't have to do anything, but he did it in the same tone of voice my childhood doctor would use when I tried to get out getting a shot. So...I got the tetanus shot.

I have had a few things recently that has made me anxious. I was worried about my lab results. I was worried about paying some bills. I had to present a poster on some research I have been doing at a work retreat. I was stressed about that. So this week I am thankful that all of those things making me anxious have been solved this week. Lab results were good. Poster presentation was a success. Payday came before the checking account fell into the negative numbers. I am also reminded of the consequences of worrying about things I cannot control. Sure, I can take care of my body and eat right. I can prepare for a presentation. I can minimize spending. I cannot control my genetics. I cannot control people's reaction to my work and, unfortunately, I cannot just make money appear out of thin air. That would be a nice trick though.  

I am also very thankful for the time I got to spend with Talaura and her family. I am thankful that I could show Talaura this new place I call home and that Sarge was comfortable in my home. Talaura's nephews and niece are hilarious teenagers. There was a moment during dinner on Sunday with all of them when one of them randomly shouted out something so funny that I nearly sprayed my drink all over my dinner plate. I couldn't breathe from laughing so hard. I am thankful for that time. My prayer of thanks for this week is a simple one. Gratitude for well spent time with loved ones. Gratitude for good health. Gratitude for minor success stories. 

Gratitude for you.

Happy Thankful Friday!