Sunday, 5 February 2017

thank you and please and I'm sorry

I'm sitting at the computer not knowing which key to strike. As I type with only one finger, I have time between each letter, more time between words and lots of time before a sentence is complete.  This gives time for my mind to wander ahead and sideways, discovering the Real Reason for my musings.

The last 10 days have been extremely unnerving and painful.  While I have made a pact with myself to keep this site politics free, the way that I have been impacted by political events is relevant blog material.

On January 20, Donald Trump signed the formal documents at the US Capitol to become President of the United States, minutes after vowing to give “power to the people”, “put only America first” and “eradicate Islamic terrorism from the face of the earth."

10 executive orders have followed in quick succession.

Fascination dances with fear.  Fear partners with judgement. And judgement seems to push me into a corner where I see only the wall.

I've signed petitions that may reach the Prime Minister, or not, cheered when a federal judge in Seattle suspended the President's executive order banning immigration from 7 mainly Muslim countries, and immediately wrote a loving text to  the Syrian family we are sponsoring.  

I have spent an inordinate number of hours online.

While earlier my Facebook page had been a place to share my photographs and some quotations, it now has posts that are both angry and frightened.  I'm notified by an email when Facebook Friends share these negative posts and so the chain grows longer.

It is hard to admit that finding something truly outlandish to post becomes a bit of a challenge.

The Secrets of a Fire King by Kim Edwards sits unopened since the January transfer of power in the United States.  Before that time, I had allowed myself to read only one short story a day, to stretch out this wonderful book. Why have I neglected these stories that have given me such pleasure?   I make up that I need to save the book for when I'm in a good mood so that I will appreciate it more.   hogwash! I keeping myself from feeling joy?  Does my rightful indignation feed a piece of myself?  And, if that is true, why is it so?  What happens to the loving and compassionate part of myself when the anger takes up so much room?

I have been feeling exhausted this week, pale skinned and weary.  My body and mind feel as it had when I was first diagnosed with fibromyalgia. My body hurts.  I'm not eating well. I'm at the computer too much. Today, I feel I've accomplished something when 2 loads of laundry is done...but now I realize that I need to make up my bed with these clean sheets.  I'll ask Brian to help.

Okay.  The letters the words and the sentences are typed.   And reread.

Once again I realize that my job is to touch with kindness and care those in my community: the clients at the food bank at St John the Divine, who may cherish my smile and welcome as the single gift of acceptance they experience all day and those who are experiencing homelessness and who sit on the wet corners of our downtown streets.

 I have warm socks to give and the kind courage to look directly into their eyes

On Tuesday I gave my seat to a young mother and her infant son in a crowded airport.

I said "Thank you" and "Please" and "I'm sorry," and meant it.

I'm going to cook comfort food for dinner- scrambled eggs with sautéed peppers, bitter greens and onion, alongside toasted challah that a dear young friend made for us.

Afterwards, I'm going to leave the computer in 'sleep' mode and read a short story.  I've just checked where my bookmark rests: the story is titled Balance.