Moomin Light

Feeling frustrated

I wish I could have dreams more like older son's.  One morning recently, he mentioned that he had a dream that was like the movie, "Love, Actually" - except with time travel and space aliens.  His dreams are almost always very creative and interesting.

Sigh.  That same morning, I was remembering my dream from the night before.  In my dream, I was trying to go and sing in choir.  However, for some reason, I couldn't leave the house until I had taken care of all of my piles of papers.  The piles kept growing and multiplying, but I finally took care of all of them.  As soon as I did that, a nurse came into the room and gave me an allergy shot, which made my throat swell so that I couldn't sing.  

That dream pretty much describes what I've been focused on lately.  I've had lots of doctor's appointments - all trying to attack the blood pressure issue in some form or another.  Even the allergy shots, which I started a few weeks ago, I hope will help my allergies enough so that I can get off of Sudafed, which raises blood pressure.  I had throat swelling from the first few shots, but they reduced the concentration so, now, I just get a bit loopy.  I read for an hour and then go home.  

With driving and waiting, the allergy shots take about four hours of time every week.  All the doctor's appointments I had in January and the first part of February took up lots of time, and many of them didn't do any good.  I'm trying to pare down to the things that I think will help my bp the most.  I was trying to do all the things that have been recommended, and I was getting burnt out and unfocused on all of them.  

I had my second sleep study last Monday (they didn't do the first one right).  I knew from the first one, back in November, that it made me even more exhausted than a normal, bad night of insomnia (1 - 2 hours sleep).  I hoped the second one would be better, but it wasn't. For days, I was exhausted, totally unfocused, and had no enthusiasm for anything.  I started feeling slightly normal on Thursday evening (able to drive, etc.), but I was even exhausted for half of Friday.  I think today is the first day I've felt good all day, but it's only 4 pm.  

In other words, I lost most of a week to the sleep study.  At least I couldn't feel guilty about being exhausted (i.e. lazy) because I gave up guilt for Lent.  Although younger son did lots on his own, my ability to homeschool was minimal, and figuring out the answers to math questions took me forever (I majored in math; no, I don't use a teacher's manual!). I had to skip Zumba classes and my voice lesson.  

On the bright side... sort of... it turns out that I do have sleep apnea, which can be a major contributor to blood pressure problems.  I have to go back to the doctor in a few weeks to see where we go from here.    

I've been irritated to loose so much time to medical stuff - and it's not like dealing with blood pressure usually takes up that much time for most people.  Many people can take a happy pill to fix it and then get on with their regular lives.  

Thursday, we had a warm, sunny afternoon.  I wandered around the yard and cut some of the first daffodils, because we were going to get sleet and freezing rain on Friday.  After Thursday's sun and warmth, Friday felt like being hit in the face with a wet fish.  I thought I was dealing with winter pretty well this year, but, today, I finally admitted that I still have seasonal depression.  

Even the piles of paper in the dream I mentioned have to do with my frustration.  I've been feeling like things have just been piling up all over the house.  We rearranged the library into a room for me about a year ago.  I haven't posted about it because it's still not done.   I realized that I've started keeping piles of papers and other things all over the library to remind me to do them.  However, it's also a less restful and thoughtful place because I'm constantly reminded by looking at the piles.  I've redone the way I organize things in the last few weeks.  We got Microsoft Outlook, and I put all my papers in a hanging file in my desk, and now, at certain times of day, the computer reminds me of what needs to be done.  So far, it seems to be working better.

I guess my biggest frustration is that, in the winter, we usually have more inside time to work on homeschooling projects.  It's one of the (few, for me) reasons to look forward to winter.  I haven't had the time or the energy to get those started.  Younger son is also going through another growth spurt so he's been really tired too.  He's almost as tall as older son now.  On the positive side, The Lord of the Rings has really been increasing his reading speed.  It took him about two months to finish the first volume, and he's read most of the second volume in two weeks.  

What's interesting, is that I know that, although two years from now, I'll remember that this time was frustrating, what I'll remember most are the long family conversations after meals, taking a walk with dear husband in the snow in downtown Hillsborough last Saturday, younger son's increasing interest in wide-ranging conversations, Skype conversations with daughter, enjoying older son's art, and watching White Nights with everyone the evening I felt the worst.

 

The strangest Lent ever

Giving up chocolate for Lent is far less pleasant, but it's actually easier.  Chocolate doesn't follow you around.  You can make efforts to avoid it.  Chocolate isn't the stream underlying every waking moment - and probably lots of the sleeping ones.  Chocolate isn't a creature constantly sitting on your shoulder and whispering in your ear. 

Let's back up.  Two weeks ago, I mentioned something that was bothering me, and younger son said that I should give up feeling guilty for Lent. 

How bizarre!  Isn't that what Lent's about?!

I thought about it for a while.  I even offhandedly mentioned younger son's comment on Facebook.  I didn't expect any response, but twenty-three people either liked the post or left a comment agreeing with younger son.  

It's such a strange thing to give up for Lent, but, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the right thing to do.

Here's an example of what I'm giving up:  That Friday, I did the usual morning Zumba class.  It was the instructor's 30th birthday, and we all applauded for her at the beginning of class.  

Now, I can blame my behavior on other things.  I had been to Broadway Dance class the night before so I was into the musical theater part of my personality.  The instructor occasionally has people come up and dance a song onstage along with her, and I was one of the ones she chose that day.  The onstage part of my personality was in rather high gear for a non-musical-theater-rehearsal day.  

During the cool down and stretch as the class was winding down, I remembered how special it seemed when the whole cast of the musical sang "Happy Birthday" to one of the cast or crew last summer.  At the end of the Zumba class, after the teacher finished and said to have a nice weekend and people started chatting with each other, I jumped up onstage, got everyones' attention, held up my fingers in a "Three, Two, One," and we all sang "Happy Birthday" to her.  

And I spent the rest of the day fighting guilty feelings.  What if she didn't want us to sing to her?  What if she doesn't like other people hopping up onstage?  What if...?  What if...?

I thought I had banished that from my head by Sunday.  However, Monday morning, when I went to class, she said hello to me and asked how my weekend went.  Obviously, she wasn't angry at me, and I relaxed a couple of notches.  Apparently, I hadn't totally banished the guilt from my head.  

I feel guilty when I do something that might bother someone.  I feel guilty when I'm doing the speed limit in the right hand lane on the highway and someone is tailgating me* because I'm holding them up.  I feel guilty if I have too many books at the library or too many groceries in line at the grocery store - anything that might inconvenience others.  I feel guilty if I don't respond in conversations the way other people seem to need.**  

I also feel guilty when I don't live up to the expectations I have in my head.  Last night, we celebrated older son's birthday.  We got him lots of books and CDs.  It was an unusually good set of very special stories and music.  Dear husband and I made lasagna, Swiss chard, and brownies - which we had with 9th Street Bakery challah and Edy's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream.  We didn't finish celebrating until after 10:30 pm.  

Did I feel good about putting that together?

No.

I ALMOST felt guilty because I was too tired to do the dishes.  One of my own expectations for myself is to have the kitchen clean before I relax in the evening.***

I couldn't feel guilty, though, because I gave it up for Lent.  There were five different times yesterday evening where I would clench my hands in frustration because I was tempted to feel guilty, but couldn't.  The guys kept giving me stranger and stranger looks everytime I did that and said what I was feeling guilty about.  Younger son finally said, "Your mind is broken."

As I said at the beginning, guilt seems like a stream that underlies every moment, or a small creature who always sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear.  How can I get rid of that?  Can I?

Every time I feel guilty, I push it out.  I may have to do it every ten five three really often.  It's often hard to remember.  

The result is really strange, though.  It feels like there is a really large, open, grassy park in my head, or a large dance studio.  There's all sorts of room to think all sorts of things.  What do you fill your mind with if you're not filling it with guilt?!

Getting rid of guilt doesn't mean I'm all of a sudden doing all sorts of wrong things.  Morals and guilt aren't the same thing.  I do what's right because - it's right - not to avoid guilt, which I can't avoid anyway.  I actually feel freer to do things the right way because I'm not spending my time and energy on guilt.  I actually even have more energy to think about God this way.

Strange.  

I'm not sure where this focus on guilt came from.  I certainly didn't grow up with it.  It came along later.  I know lots of people used guilt on me in college and after, and there are lots of religious books/blogs/articles/sermons that motivate with guilt.  Interestingly, the numbers are pretty even in terms of Catholic and Protestant as far as motivating by guilt.  Protestants do it a lot too.  

On the other hand, my experience with the clergy has been different.  Thinking back on all the priests that have been at the Catholic churches I've gone to, I can't think of any priests that focused on guilt.  Oh, they would discuss right and wrong, but they didn't use guilt to motivate.  Occasionally, a visiting priest would, but the regular ones didn't - not the one whose homilies sounded like editorials from the Independent, not the one who had been a clown before becoming a priest, not the one who was involved in the Charismatic movement, not the one who was a poet, and certainly not Father C.  However, I've known two Protestant ministers who could make me feel like I was God's biggest mistake and that everything was hopeless.  They're part of that guilt stream that runs under every moment.  

It will be interesting to see how Lent plays out.  

 

• Here's another post I wrote, six years ago, about guilt.  I like the post - it's a shame I can't keep these thoughts in my head.   

 

 * Older son said that he's decided not to feel guilty about following traffic rules.  

**  I've realized, recently, that, after a while, this has the result of making most people seem very needy and incapable of handling any inconvenience whatsoever.  

*** I don't have those expectations if someone else is doing dishes though.  If someone else were doing them and they were tired and left them for the morning, I'd be fine with that.  I certainly wouldn't want to exhaust them any further.  I don't treat myself that way, though.

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day - February 15, 2013

"Look, daffodils!  Spring isn't far off"

"Will you stop saying that!"

I wasn't much fun for dear husband to take a walk with last weekend.  Flowers mean spring; spring means graduation; and graduation means older son possibly moving away (if he finds a job somewhere else).  I've been very resistant to spring, and flowers, until the last few days.  On Monday, I finally decided that spring, graduation, etc. were all coming anyway so I might as well enjoy the flowers.

Here's what's I'm finally enjoying in our yard:

 I was surprised to find the reticulated irises blooming.

Crocus

 

Daffodils

Lonicera fragrantissima

The pansies on the deck have been blooming unusually well this winter, even after cold spells.

Check out more garden bloggers at May Dreams Gardens Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day. 

Not a normal Ash Wednesday

I thought my voice was back to normal last weekend, but I was wrong.  I blew my voice out during the choir rehearsal on Sunday, and, by the time we got to the anthem, I could barely sing.  I croaked out - maybe - 1/4 of the notes.  I usually give my voice a month to recover after almost totally losing it like I did in January.  This time, I was too excited to get back to choir so I only gave my voice 2 1/2 weeks. 

No singing for at least the next week and a half means no church either.  I can't go and not sing (I've tried before, and I just can't) - so I missed the Ash Wednesday service today.

I'm trying to get in better shape to help get my blood pressure down so I've been doing four Zumba classes a week (plus one Broadway dance).*  The Ash Wednesday service was during one of my usual four classes so I just went to Zumba like usual.  

At first, I kept looking at the clock to see where they were in the service.  We were dancing to In a Search at about the time for the first reading.  "I wanna party with a sexy lady..." - not unusual lyrics for Zumba, but certainly not Ash Wednesday-ish.

Here's a video of another instructor's version of the song.  The choreography that our instructor does to the chorus is similar, including the body roll, but the rest of the choreography is different:  

During the second reading?  

Booty Shake.  That's when I decided to stop looking at the clock.

Here's another instructor's choreography for Booty Shake.  The moves that our instructor does for part of the chorus and the bridge are similar (the rest is different).  I love it when we break into the samba during the bridge!

 

Once I stopped thinking about not being at the service, I had a wonderful time (as usual) at Zumba (one of my favorite instructors), and it was over before I was ready.  

 

* At first, four Zumba classes a week made me really tired.  Now, I don't even really notice.  

Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden: The Conservatory, Part 2 - Orchids

Back in mid-January, dear husband and I spent a beautiful day at the Ginter Botanical Garden in Richmond, VA.  It was our early anniversary celebration.  We haven't gotten away for our anniversary, just the two of us, for a number of years.  

We'd had a cold, dreary week before that weekend.  Although we had some indoor plans in case the weather didn't work out, it sunned up and was in the 40's and lower 50's.  We spent most of the weekend outside, soaking up the sun.

However, we did spend about an hour inside the Conservatory, enjoying the flowers (Part 1 here).

I wandered around and took lots of pictures, and dear husband sketched orchids.  The orchid room was beautiful:

Begonias can get huge when they're not living as annuals.

One more view of the Conservatory in the late afternoon sunlight:

 

Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden: The Conservatory, Part 1

I took lots of photos a few weeks ago when dear husband and I were at the Ginter Botanical Garden during our anniversary weekend.  I probably won't get to blogging about most of them, but I did want to post the Conservatory pictures because they're a welcome bit of color this time of year.

The first time we went to the Ginter Botanical Garden, they were just building the Conservatory.  It was a hot, September day, and the Conservatory site was mostly red, muddy clay.  It's beautiful now:

It had been a cold and cloudy week so the sunshine outside and inside was wonderful.

The fountain at the other side of the atrium

This is the room on the left when you look at the Conservatory from the front.  It was wonderfully cheerful.  

The rainbow chandelier was made up of 2500 origami cranes.  

 

 There weren't many people at the gardens that morning so I could sit on the floor and enjoy the flowers close-up.

The view from the other end of the room

Winter flowers at Ayr Mont

Dear husband and I went for a walk at Ayr Mont on the afternoon of Superbowl Sunday.  It was very quiet and peaceful.  I was surprised at how many flowers were blooming there:

Dear husband pointed out the aconite.

The scilla flowers were way back in the woods.  My camera couldn't focus on them, but they were a nice splash of blue.

It was overcast where we were all afternoon, although we could see that there was sun way off in the distance at times.  Here, a hole in the clouds briefly opened up.

Crocuses and a partly frost-blasted pansy in the garden at the back of the house.   This garden faces south and has two stories of warm brick behind it so flowers bloom early.

I was amazed at how many daffodils were blooming in this one spot, which isn't near the house or unusually warm.

"The Night Circus: A Novel" by Erin Morgenstern

I find it difficult to write book reviews.  When I'm in the middle of a book and all enthusiastic about it, I don't know enough to write a review (and the time to take to write a review conflicts with actually reading!).  Once I'm done, I'm off to another book.  

I'm only about halfway done with The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern, and I won't be finishing it anytime soon.  I only read it when I have lots of attention - never when I'm the slightest bit tired.  If I find my attention wavering in the slightest, I put it down and wait for another day.

It's that beautiful.

I don't want to miss a single word.

It's difficult to describe.  You feel like you know the characters very well, but they don't chatter all the time, out loud or inside their heads.  There's tension in the story, but it also feels perfectly balanced.  It's unlike any other book, but it feels like what a book should be.  It's like a dream you remember vividly.    

Here's the Amazon description:

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience full of breathtaking amazements. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night. 

But behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway: a duel between two young magicians, Celia and Marco, who have been trained since childhood expressly for this purpose by their mercurial instructors. Unbeknownst to them both, this is a game in which only one can be left standing. Despite the high stakes, Celia and Marco soon tumble headfirst into love, setting off a domino effect of dangerous consequences, and leaving the lives of everyone, from the performers to the patrons, hanging in the balance.

It's a good description of the basic plot, but it doesn't give a feel for the book at all.

I don't like to know much anything about the plot of a book so I've taken to reading the first sentence of the description and the first paragraph, or the first page of the book.  In the last few years, I've realized that writing style is very important to me.  If I like the way the first paragraph is written, I'll probably like the book.  Here is the beginning of The Night Circus:

ANTICIPATION

The circus arrives without warning.

No announcements precede it, no paper notices on downtown posts and billboards, no mentions or advertisements in local newspapers. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not.

The towering tents are striped in white and black, no golds and crimsons to be seen. No color at all, save for the neighboring trees and the grass of the surrounding fields. Black-and-white stripes on grey sky; countless tents of varying shapes and sizes, with an elaborate wrought-iron fence encasing them in a colorless world. Even what little ground is visible from outside is black or white, painted or powdered, or treated with some other circus trick.

But it is not open for business. Not just yet.

Within hours everyone in town has heard about it. By afternoon the news has spread several towns over. Word of mouth is a more effective method of advertisement than typeset words and exclamation points on paper pamphlets or posters. It is impressive and unusual news, the sudden appearance of a mysterious circus. People marvel at the staggering height of the tallest tents. They stare at the clock that sits just inside the gates that no one can properly describe...

I'm very lucky to have it in hardback - my Christmas present from daughter.  

The part of me that likes to discuss wants to finish it quickly so I can hand it on for the guys to read, but I'm not rushing at all.  

The Chapel Hill library has a few available copies, though, and I have some books to return there...

 

 

Prayer

For those who think God alters the outcome of a football game while today 30,000 children die from preventable disease, we pray.  (Unvirtuous Abbey)

Unvirtuous Abbey is a Facebook page where the digital monks post humorous prayers about common aspects of society.  For instance:

We pray for the kid texting how bored he is on a piece of technology that 20 years ago could have launched a space shuttle. Lord, have mercy.

or

For the Facebook option to hide people from timeline who you can't unfriend but wish you didn't know, Lord we give thanks. [BTW, I've never done this.]

People also send in their own prayers.  I particularly like this one:

For those who slow down to let you in when you don't have a prayer of changing lanes, we give thanks.

I also liked this submission:

For those who think that posting cute cat pictures on Facebook actually helps anyone in any way, we pray to the Lord--even as we eagerly await more cute cat pictures..

Yesterday's prayer, however, stayed with me a good bit of the day:

For those who think God alters the outcome of a football game while today 30,000 children die from preventable disease, we pray.

It makes sense, and I understand wanting to say this, but...

...if you take it to its logical conclusion, you never end up praying at all.  

At least I did.

Actually, I did pray for other people, even though I didn't think it would do any good at all, but I didn't pray for myself.  Whatever problems I had, I could always find someone with worse problems who didn't seem to be getting any relief.  Should I pray for help when others are worse off?  Is there any point in praying at all if others are stuck in horrible situations?  How could I be selfish and pray for myself?   Why would I be helped if they aren't?  

I have no idea.  

At the same time, my faith had already been fading fast.  Is God even there?  If He (She?) is, does He (She) care?  Did God just get everything started, but that's pretty much it?  Was I mistaken about everything I had believed for decades?  Had I wasted all that time on faith?  I still kept going to choir, but when we would say the Creed, I would preface everything with "I would like to believe..." instead of "We believe."  I wasn't part of that "we."

This went on for a few years.  I would pray for other people daily (probably pointlessly, but still...), but never for myself.  The faith I had had for decades seemed to be gone.  Nothing at church helped.  In fact, it felt sad to watch everyone else so enthusiastic about something which didn't mean anything to me.  

It would be wonderful, writing-wise, to be able to point to some event or dramatic realization on my part which reawakened my faith, but that didn't happen.  I just realized, in mid-December (less than two months ago) that I believed.  Strangely, I realized it at church, during a sermon, even though the sermon didn't have anything to do with my faith or doubts.  

It was the first Sunday that daughter went to church with me when she was home during the Christmas break.  Was that why I felt faith-hopeful again?  Maybe it was just an emotional reaction to her being there.  

However, she's been back at college again for three weeks, and I still believe.  I'm not sure why, and I'm not going to bother analyzing it.  

I also realized that I missed... well... talking to God.  I had restricted my praying to praying for others, which is more important than anything else, but I missed all the rest of prayer.  

[BTW, sometimes I feel that, prayer-wise, my purpose is to be the one saying, "Hey, really neat beetle!  Thank you!" or "Wow, what a beautiful violet!  Thank you!" - about the little things that often get overlooked.]

I was going to write this post yesterday, but then by the time I got home from choir, we had a nice long lunch conversation, dear husband and I took a walk at Ayr Mont - we ate a wonderful dinner, talked to daughter on Skype (happy!), watched a strange episode of Red Dwarf, and showed dear husband and older son a song on My Little Pony that reminded us of The Music Man ("Trouble, right here in River City!") in order to get psycho-Rimmer out of my head... I wasn't up to blogging by the time I got to it yesterday evening.  

 A post at Experimental Theology brought this back this evening. ET is one of the things that helped me during the last few years.   In This Ritual of Hallowing, he writes:

...What happens in prayer? Does God really listen and answer? I have no clue. But this much I've learned:

Prayer is an act of hallowing.

Imagine someone comes to you and shares a great burden. They share loss, failure, despair, fear, brokenness, or sickness. Their own or that of someone they love. What do you say upon listening? Thanks for sharing? Good luck with all that? I'm so sorry?

Something has happened, something was shared, that needs to be set apart from every other mundane and silly thing that has happened during the day. The moment needs to be hallowed--set apart, consecrated, made holy...

This makes sense.  It doesn't answer anything, but it helps.  

"You Could Drive a Person Crazy" - Bernadette Peters

I'm finally enjoying folk music again... and Broadway music... and reading... and warm pretty days.  Why I haven't been enjoying them is a topic I'm going to leave for a longer post another day.  

On the way home from Zumba & choir tonight (which makes for a wonderful evening and leaves me very keyed up (the chocolate chip cookies I made when I got home turned out really well (and the kitchen is mostly clean (and I listened to the entire CD this song is from while doing all that (and discussing Sondheim with Ross & Paul (we need to watch Sunday in the Park with George and Into the Woods again))))))... oh, I was in the middle of a sentence.  

On the way home from Z & ch tonight, I was listening to a mixed folk/jazz/Broadway cd that I made in October, 2011.  I haven't listened to it for a while because I wasn't enjoying folk & Broadway music.  That didn't happen with jazz, which is strange since I'm not really a jazz person, although I've noticed lately that my favorite Broadway songs to sing (not to just listen to) are mostly the jazzier ones.  I got stuck on You Could Drive a Person Crazy and listened to it four times on the way home (and twice more while making cookies/cleaning the kitchen).  

It would be so much fun to sing.  I'm hardly singing at all because I almost totally lost my voice a few weeks ago, and it hasn't come back all the way yet.  I only rehearsed one anthem at choir, the one for this Sunday (it's really unusual, but I can't find it online to post for you), and then I came home so I wouldn't be tempted to sing more.  

I've decided that I want to work on this in my voice lessons this spring!