diagnoses

i have a diagnosis.

the other day i was explaining to my friend lindsey how i have such a hard time with dirt and mess.  when i see something that is disorganized or obviously needs cleaning it is like visual noise.  it is gnawing and unforgiving and compels me to act.  to react.  so i clean.  and i tidy.  and, to be frank, i'm glad i do.

there are times however....times when a friend is coming over and i pull out the broom and pause.  i think "it would be much kinder if i did not sweep the floor.  it would express my ability to be in a messy home, to be hospitable when things don't look perfect, to be laid back.  it would help my friend who has a newborn and is a walking zombie, who i'm positive has not had a chance to sweep in a dog's age, that she is not alone.  that she is okay.  that she can invite me over to her house and i will be perfectly comfortable."  and all of these thoughts are true.  i really do not care if my friends have clean homes.  and i love it when people "drop by" and surprise me, dirty floors and dusty dressers and all.

but then do you know what i do?  i sweep.  because the floor is like a shrill scream to my eyes.  and although i love my friend, i will not be restful until the screaming stops.

lindsey said "there's a term for that - when senses cross.  it's synesthesia."  so, there it is.  i suffer from synesthesia.  next time you come over and notice my pillows have been fluffed, think of my poor synesthetic brain and have pity.  i'm sick.

and no, this effect does not seem to happen in other people's homes - just my own!

this afternoon i was standing at my kitchen sink, singing the words "i give it all to you God, trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me" (do you know that song?).  i looked up to the sky and there was an eagle, soaring from the tall trees down the street and right over my home.  where do i live?!  i am currently looking through my front window to mountains pink with the setting sun.  across the street the japanese maples are gearing up for a brilliant showing of fall red.  the hibiscus is ending but the yard is still green green green.  when i read in the psalms the term "the land of the living", it is hard not to think i've arrived.  maybe i have.

i went to see a counsellor last week.  and another diagnosis, one slightly more medically sound than the synesthesia, is that i'm grieving.  i'm grieving the move from cloverdale to saskatoon that happened almost three years ago.  i did not allow myself to grieve it then because, as you read, i was so happy!  so blessed!  so surrounded by beautiful expressions of God's faithfulness on every side.  i shoved down the pain of the goodbyes.  of leaving family.  of leaving a place i knew how to get around.  of leaving being known.  down it went.

and then i moved again.  and up up up it came.  and with it, new grief.  old pain in new circumstance.

recently grief looks like me hiding.  i want to be alone.  i am sad.  i am emotional.  sometimes i wake up angry, or i walk through the day totally fine and then snap!  i'm so mad i don't know what to do with myself.  and tired.  bone tired.  i procrastinate as much as possible.  i watch tv.  i add another 'to-do' to the list, and procrastinate some more.

obviously, if you've known me more than 3 minutes, you will agree that this is not me.  i have become unrecognizable.  hence, the trip to the counsellor.

and things are better.  much better.  i have had some great time with friends, new and old, recently.  i have pushed myself out of the house.  i have rested well.  i have tackled some to-dos.  i have experienced joy and wonder and gratitude.  it feels good.  like taking a deep breath after months of shallow existence.

i seem to have needed permission to grieve.  from a health care professional.  from my husband.  from friends.  permission to be a little self-absorbed and hermit-like and escapist.  and now that the permission has been granted, i think i'm moving out of it.  maybe i'm just starting to expect less from myself.  i'm being gentle with my bruised heart.  recognizing that my desire for a nap and a movie could actually be a need.  and maybe it's okay to procrastinate the trip to walmart for another day.  walmart is not healing, no sir.

i give it all to you God, trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me.

there be spiders......

this has been my day so far.
wake up, ask scott for 20 minutes more sleep.  he graciously agrees.  as he's quietly trying to get some clothes out of his bottom drawer, something drops.  my eyes fly open
"what is it?  is it a spider?!" (i'm thinking he has surreptitiously dropped his pants on a spider so that he can quietly kill it without alarming me)
"shhh"
he goes into the bathroom.  he grabs his toothbrush.
"it's a spider right?!!" (i'm thinking he has the dead spider in his pants and is now trying to get rid of it with me being none-the-wiser)
"there's no spider!  close your eyes!"

i lie in bed for half an hour longer, trying not to think of spiders.

i get the kids off to school, journal, pray, eat breakfast, work out and shower.  i think about spiders whenever i move to a new location, open anything, or adjust any objects.

i am writing this for the world to hear:  i have a problem.

why?  you ask...i'll tell you why.  this province is crawling with friggin ginormous arachnids!!!!  almost daily for the past week one has made it's appearance.  last night it was in the bathroom sink when i walked in.  huge.  hairy.  huge.

when i try to think logically (which you can probably tell, is difficult in this matter) they do appear shy.  they timidly creep across the floor, or up the fireplace, or across a painting (must this be suffered?!!).  i'm sure they don't want to be on my carpet, they want to be spinning a web and eating mosquitoes.   which is why God made them, i tell myself.  i'm thinking i should educate myself more on the beauty and marvel of spiders.  i can see that there is a children's book on that precise topic sitting at the top of an unopened box in the family room.  can i open the box and take out the book that has a drawing of a spider and its web gracing it's cover?  no.  so far, i can not.

i am telling you. i have a problem.  this is not a drill.

okay, let's drop that topic.  on monday, as i painted, i listened to the Mumford and Sons album in it's entirety for the first time.  i know, you're wondering what musical planet i've been on - other good planets.  however, i must say that these men, and supposedly their offspring, took me on an emotional roller-coaster ride.  at one point i was thinking about joy, and wondering if my current joyous state transmitted somehow into the flora and fauna around me and out into the world.  the next minute i was fighting back tears thinking of scott dying.  up and down and around and around went my feelings and my brush.  it was artistry in community.  it was awesome.

i don't remember which songs brought me to the esoteric joy thoughts, but i'm pretty sure the frantic strumming and banjo picking had something to do with it.  do you remember that scene from one of the matrix movies that was supposed to depict heaven or utopia or something along those lines?  it was a giant dance party/orgy.  people crashing against each other, an ecstasy of rhythm and skin and sexuality and pleasure.  garbage!  and then hell in the movie was basically the same thing, just without the earth-toned clothing and some sadist elements.  both had these driving dance-bar rhythms, deep bass (unse unse unse...), and, from what i remember, a lack of melody.

heaven, in my opinion, will be like a square dance.  stick with me here!  i'm not a country music fan per se, but the idea of a ho down - the swirling and laughing and joyous strumming and fiddle and stomping and bowing to your partner and unified movement and harmony and teamwork.  and the banjo!  it sounds like heaven to my stunted gross-motor skills.  in fact, it sounds like heaven to my heart as well - a giant, celebratory ceilidh (pronounced "kay-lee"), filled with health, refreshing breezes, and a laughing Christ calling out the steps.

(maybe this all stems from grade 5 when i got to be michael campbell's corner and he had to hold my hand and oh!  he was so cute!!  one of the very few days i remember enjoying gym class)

but, truly, feel free to bury me with a banjo playing.
in a spider-proof coffin.

and one more time with feeling

Lady Bracknell: 35 is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained 35 for years.  (Oscar Wilde, "the Importance of Being Ernest")

                                                 
today i turned 38.  
again.
earlier this year i spent a solid two days firmly believing i was already this age.  i was doing dishes after dinner and finally exploded to Scott "i can't believe i turn 39 in a few months!!  i am so close to 40!!!".  he cleverly replied "you're turning 38".  
"no i'm not"
"yes you are.  i'm 35.  you're 37".
   (pause for thought)                        
"awesome!!"

i can tell you, there's nothing like believing you are already an age to dispel the sadness you may feel when actually turning it.  i looked in the mirror this morning and thought "not bad!"

today is also the auspicious occasion of both my children starting full-time school.  i celebrated with:  a nap, lunch with a friend and painting.  painting!  i haven't touched my paints since June and man, does it feel soul-satisfying to push colours around a canvas.  i did face a bit of the september jitters - you know, like when you had to write your first essay after summer vacation and were terrified you'd forgotten how.  i think i sojourned through it.  i'm a little afraid to look.

i woke up this morning with a beautiful birthday surprise of 6 bites ranging from my legs to neck.  i seem to have slept with a spider.  there are two on my neck, just below my jaw, a few centimeters apart.  i showed them to scott and said "do you know what i'm thinking?" and he said "spider?" and i said "vampire!", and rolled my eyes like "how could you?".  he didn't even pretend to be jealous.  

my daughter made me a beautiful card and inscribed it with words like "you are my saviour, you rescued me".  yikes!  she must have been thinking of a worship song for birthday inspiration.  must chat about that at a later date....  my son grabbed some stray wires (not connected ones) and quickly whipped me up a "rocket ship".  ah, the love of my children. 

i bought flowers for myself at the market on Granville Island - something i've wanted to do for over a decade.  my husband was quite willing to let me pick my birthday bouquet myself, and it is a beauty.  new friends stopped by with gifts today, and old friends phoned and mailed and texted love from the miles between us.  truly, truly, a lovely day.

so, goodbye 37.  again.  you were a difficult year.  you were a stretching year.  you had moments of intense beauty and friendship and love, and moments of wrenching sadness and loss and exhaustion.  you did not leave me at 36, and for that i'm thankful.  

now, on to 38!