Seriously?

So it was Monday, about two weeks ago, which is bad enough if you ask me; but compounding it was the fact that I had a few forbidden glasses of wine on Sunday night. I have sworn off wine for quite some time but it just seemed necessary that Sunday night to…I don’t know…stretch out the weekend, extend the feeling of freedom, none of which it does in reality. Reality is just a tough Monday. I don’t always sleep well when I drink wine so I was a few hours short on sleep. To top it off, it snowed on Sunday night.

Now, this is Michigan. A little snow doesn’t rattle us. But it was April 6th and had been almost 70 degrees on the weekend and after a long snowy Michigan winter, it was kind of the last straw. But whatever. Thinking that the snow was the real wet kind and the temps not too low, I heated up my car so the snow would hopefully just slide off and I wouldn’t have to scrape. But in the true spirit of Monday, all snow was intact on all windows. I was running late so I figured that I’d use the wipers and roll the windows down to get the snow off.

Again, I have lived here all my life! I know about snow okay? I had all of my stuff on the car seat including a bunch of shower invitations I was mailing out for my daughter’s baby shower. I’m sure you rational thinkers already guessed the outcome. I rolled the windows down but the snow stayed in position, for as long as it could really – before it fell into the car – all over me on my side and on all my stuff on the other side including the invitations. So that was the start of my Monday. Note to self – you know better than that – it has never worked!

The rest of the work day was probably “business as usual” but in my somewhat altered and slightly stressed state, things seemed a bit out of proportion. And man, was I tired. I won’t go in to all the murky details of a work day that also happens to be a Monday. Suffice it to say that I relieved to see 4:30.

I left work and drove to pick up a prescription at an area Costco. On my way home, I was passing a cemetery that my best childhood friend happens to be buried in. She’s been gone a long time and I don’t go often anymore, but I thought about her and decided I’d stop for a minute.

I parked and got out of my car, stepping on the snow covered grass to walk toward her grave which is maybe ten yards from the road. I took about three steps when my left leg sunk calf high into soft wet mud. I almost fell but caught myself as my right leg sunk in as well, just below knee high. I can’t tell you exactly what went through my head at that moment. But picture, images of biblical proportions – the ground opening up and swallowing me…hands pulling me into the grave…candid camera, just to name a few absurdities that passed through my head at warp speed. Before I even had a chance to pull a leg up out of the muck, I sunk even further. Within seconds, I was at knee level in wet mud on a freshly dug grave.

To say I panicked is an understatement. But to my credit, I didn’t scream. As a rule, I generally flourish under pressure and after I got my bearings and realized there were no hands groping, no ground opening up – no living dead… just me…standing on a freshly dug grave that had been camouflaged by snow, having a Monday. Note to self – go straight home after a day that started out like this.

It took a little doing to get my feet out of the muck – I was down pretty deep. And my next few steps were fraught with exertion through yet more of the freshly dug grave. I had a long wool dress coat on which made my escape a little more awkward. I finally hauled my mud besotted self on to solid ground and looked around to see if anyone had seen this debacle. Nope. Thankfully, I wore short boots that day for the first time in a few weeks because if I’d worn shoes, they would now belong to the deceased, whomever he or she may be. I looked at my friend’s gravestone and decided to forgo the visit. Note to self – only visit cemeteries on good days.

That crazy little experience bothered me on so many levels. I mean, really? Sinking into a grave in a cemetery on a gloomy Monday evening when I feel like crap both mentally and physically? What’s up with that? Is the universe trying to tell me something? Is it a sign? Is it God? Or am I just looking for an excuse to have a glass of Monday wine? I decided on the latter. So, I had a glass of wine and ate half a bag of chocolate Easter eggs for dinner. All better! Note to self – there is a word for this…I think they call it self sabotage!

Keepin' it Real

I read something on a blog yesterday that, had I been drinking a beverage, said beverage would have come out of my nose. I said that, well…….for effect really, but the truth is I laughed hysterically, unable to speak, tears streaming down my face. My husband looked on waiting to hear what was so funny as I guffawed with helpless abandon. A blogger that I follow talked about seeing her young child off on the school bus one morning last week and overhearing another parent put her small child on the bus saying, “don’t give in to Satan.” Excuse me…I’m laughing again.

I get that it may not be a real gut buster for you. My husband, while amused, did not understand my extreme mirth. But in my world, my past, it is significant. I may have heard that a few times…Dear God, I may even have said that a few times. My two children are grown now. I don’t know if I used those exact words and I’m not asking them…. Let’s just say they knew more about Satan at a young age than anyone needs to – probably ever.

I don’t deny that there is evil in this world. But I no longer believe in a personal devil. To put it simply, I think that God and his energy is in all of us, good and bad alike. Kind of like the glue that holds everything together. We have choices and we have work to do. The evil is in our humanity – that thing that most of us, no, all of us struggle with on a pretty regular basis. We’re born our own little entity and the whole world revolves around us. We are first as children unable, and later, unwilling or to self-absorbed to look beyond our own little life paradigms. We struggle to gain control over the selfish tendencies that often dominate us. Sometimes we are successful and sometimes give in to the darker side of human nature. In some cases, the result is catastrophic. But the fight is ongoing in all of us. A lot depends on the kind of role models we have adopted or had thrust upon us and even more on our own insights, inner work, and introspection, as well as our relationship with the creator of the universe, however we view that entity.

My daughter, at the age of 7, gave away an expensive Cabbage Patch doll that she had wanted badly because she had heard that they were made by minions of the devil who could possibly speak through them. No, she did not hear this on the playground, but at church. There was actually a sermon in our church about Cabbage Patch Dolls (I never bought in to that one). But she heard it from one of the children in youth church whose mother had her burn her Cabbage Patch doll because of the brouhaha about the dolls and because the kid thought the doll had spoken to her. Oy! My daughter didn’t tell me she had dispatched the evil doll for quite awhile because she thought I might be upset about it. That little red headed doll, Alena Diane, cost $30 on sale in 1984 – a lot of money for our young family at the time. But when I did find out, it wasn't the cost that upset me. It was that my little girl had been robbed of the simple joy of receiving a doll she had wanted and loved.

But back to my main point: So, if the little kid messes up, did the devil make him do it? What I really want to say is how bad I feel for that poor little tyke getting on the bus to school to learn letters, numbers and socialization, and having to battle Satan as well during that busy day. Ugh! The worst thing Satan has done in that case is steal what should be a carefree time of childhood that is way too short to begin with.

FREEDOM!!!

I just came back from a walk at the beach. It’s a beautiful day; sunny, blue sky, a few billowy clouds, low fifties, very windy, and the tide was coming in – some of my very favorite walking conditions. I started walking regularly last spring with the intentions of eventually running. I ran when I was younger and loved it but gave it up years ago. Over the summer I hurt my knee a few times trying to run, mostly because I have a little too much weight on me to put that kind of pressure on my knees. So, here I am again, trying to talk myself into a regular walking routine after work, with hopes of turning it in to a running routine eventually. Turns out it’s actually quite the struggle just getting myself to walk every day.

But today, I decided to walk at the metro park beach near our home. I pretty much had the beach to myself – surprising really. And invigorating, and exhilarating, and oh my – I don’t have words to describe it. I had my Mp3 player on, listening to a mix of favorites. I was so alone there that I could actually sing and do a few little dance steps while I walked. What a rush! I walked about three miles. I sang, I laughed, I smiled at the sky and the birds and the water and the sun and God. I said thank you a whole bunch of times. It was awesome and in stark contrast to my mood when I came home from work today.

I felt free. I don’t know how long it has been since the last time I really experienced that feeling but it must have been a long time ago because it was foreign, and yet kind of familiar and it was good. I’m not even sure what I mean by free. It's not like I'm talking about slavery vs. freedom or religious oppression vs. freedom or anything huge like that. It's freedom in a personal sense - a feeling that I remember, maybe from my youth but it was long ago and far away. It was delicious and I want more. So, when I got home, I researched freedom, trying to tie it to something tangible, real, something I can describe.

The French philosopher, Jean-Jacques Rousseau said, “Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains.” The funny thing is, that it seems that one may not miss freedom until one experiences it after a long period of chains. So my mission, if I choose to accept it (wry smile) is to find out what freedom is; what that feeling is and how I can get it in everyday life. Can I?

Will it require giving up my job, or my home which keeps me tied to my job? Then I'd be free to live under the bridge... Shall I take off on an irresponsible trip to wherever my heart leads – perhaps become a modern day hobo. I'd miss my blow dryer and AC. Maybe pull away from family relationships that tie me down? That won't work...I'm kind of hooked on the fam. The possibilities are endless.

According to Wikipedia, freedom can also mean “inner autonomy or mastery over one’s inner condition.” Ah...sounds a bit more like it. And, a lot more work. What exactly is my “inner condition?” Yeah, loaded question and not for this post. Let’s just say it involves less sugar, less wine, less of lots of other things and more of many others. Still, that doesn’t explain that familiar long lost exhilaration I felt today that I equated with freedom.

Perhaps freedom, at least that fleeting and exhilarating sense of it, is an illusion meant only for small interludes of sanity in an insane and constantly moving world. Or, maybe it is something personal that means something different to each soul.

I've noticed that when I blog, I always try to come to a resolution at the end of the post. I don't have one today. But that's okay. I'll keep looking to recreate that glorius feeling more often. See you at the beach!