Good Medicine

"Laughter is the shortest distance between two people." - Victor Borge

Do not think for a moment that we stop being silly when we are older.  Heck, sillier just gets more real.  We certainly have to have a sense of humor.

Balance can be the joke of the day, maybe days, depending on how you fell over and on the gate and what ribs the spikes hit.  I laid there, frozen, paralyzed, seriously for a few minutes because none of my arms or legs would work.  My body was in shock.  Well, it let me down so it can stay there, I was thinking.  Then, after a few seconds, I got really worried because they still would not work to get me up.  I could hear the shower going in the master bathroom.  No one was coming to my aid.  I climbed up like a hundred year old woman, giving my head a shake...Then starting laughing.  It had to be the shock.  I laughed til I peed.  And... there is no sense bending over to pick up stuff because you just keep[ going.  Even sitting down and bending over can be a challenge.  Ask me how I get my shoes off or my ankle-fitting jeans.  There is a family's funniest video take there.  Tim Conway has nothing on me.

Body has turned against me too.  Did you know you can sleep the wrong way?  Did you know that you cannot reach into the backseat to grab something without a screeching muscle cramp in places you never knew you had.  I have.  I do.  That is why old people don't have kids in the back seat any more...cannot reach to swat them.  And, yes, the body does not even like sneezing any more.  I am now calling it peezle.. I peezle.  You get the run of this, right?  There are so many new ways to hurt yourself... and....  I used to be able to put my feet up behind my head.  I did.  Honest.  I did.  ... I was even a ballerina, once, 60 odd years ago.  Now I cannot lift my one leg up to put on my socks because my hip seizes.  Want to know how I hurt my hip?  Well, I am going to tell you.  It was in bed.  Yeah, sounds racy, I know.  Was kinky alrighty!  Well, the duvet was wrapped around me funny.  I used my leg to kick it off.  Had to lift my leg pretty high to get it all off...was frustrating me.  I lifted that leg higher with the duvet and boom... hip seized like I had a pinched nerve.  Yeah, that's how.  It has hurt for a month now.  That kink is not giving in.

Brain overload is a huge problem.  I do not know when it happened, exactly, but I can only concentrate on one thing at a time.  "You didn't hear what I said," says he who would be heard while I am on my hands and knees under the desk trying to find the usb port to plug my usb mouse thingie in.  I pretend that I am being funny about a word I say, that makes no sense, but, in reality, that name does not come to me,  Thingie is a new word.  Following a recipe.. omg, I have to add oen thing at a time, while I am looking at ipad, CopyThat program.  For the life of me I cannot remember the next ingredient.  And, I lose my place so the Christmas Cake, that was the too boozy one, is rock hard for some reason.  I pretended I meant to do that, as I do with lots of things, and soaked cheesecloth in rum and wrapped it up good.  Lord knows how I am going to fake the taste tests.  Yeah, multitasking skills gone haywire.  I, once upon a time, could plan, organize, clean, eat, schedule, keep kids in order, brush hair, put on makeup, and listen for anything sounding like crashing from the playroom, all at the same time.  Now I can hardly follow through on brushing hair.  I get distracted.  And, heaven help me if I had to sit and listen to a speaker for ten minutes.  I can barely keep my proverbial chite together to play bingo. 

Frustration levels.  Yes, frustration levels.   is a huge thing, too.  And levels of ability to deal with simple tasks.  Ok, so, I cannot deal with scotch tape.  I have had it wrapped around fingers and up my arm and on the wrong papers.  Scotch tape is no longer my friend.  And, lord, do not ask me to tear plastic wrap and get it on anything other than itself.  Can't do it.  I drop things that should never be dropped.  I put things where things should never be put.  I spill hot coffee..ok, I actually POURED hot soup in my hand..did not even have the bowl.  I have tripped over something that has been there for years.  All of this in about ten minutes.  It makes me so mad at myself.  Little ordinary things, we automatically do, like lifting our foot the right height to step up a step.. yeah, misjudging it is a common thing.  Our heads are full of, "don't fall...don't fall", and "remember that there is a signal to walk", and "first put the sugar in the coffee, then put only one tsp of creamer, not the whole container...".  Yeah, stuff like that.

And, you may think that we get less raunchy as we age.  Nah!  We don't necessarily.  We have nothing to lose.  We'll say it if we think it.  In fact, some of the funniest things, ever, have happened outside the bingo hall, with my best friends.  Yes, we all pee a little.  The things we talk about out there... omg, if our kids knew.  And things get confusing.  I was a bit slow on the uptake of raunchy jokes so that my daughter has to explain to me.  Well, now even a clean joke can be dirty.  I have learned to quietly chuckle to myself instead of blurting out what I thought.  Yes, we have done a lot of living.  Like a joke I saw:  "Dr says to patient, "How long have you been bedridden?"  Woman, astonished, says, "well, my husband has been dead ten years!"...lol  see.. I get that right away.  lol

Acceptance of all this is tough.  We know what is happening.  We are trying to fool ourselves and others.  That takes a lot of energy. 

As the hostess at the casino buffet showed me to my table, I asked her to keep an eye out for my husband, who would be joining me 
momentarily. I started to describe him: “He has gray hair, wears glasses, has a potbelly ...”  She stopped me there. “Honey,” she said, “today is senior day. They all look like that.”

One of the funniest things is when we go to Yuma, with all the snowbirds, and we go into bingo, he and I, and as soon as we start getting in lien to get cards, it becomes a fiasco.  By the time we are headed to find a seat, we pass table after table of couples sitting all white-haired and ready to play, and as I pass, every one of those wives will roll their eyes.  Yes, we get good at that , too. 

It truly is a good thing we keep our sense of humor.  I thought I lost mine.  I missed it, for three years after I lost my sweetheart.  I truly missed it.  But, it is coming back and I love it.  It helps me get through the spilled milk, the missed toilet, the heavy covers and the "oh, my god, I cannot drive at night" panic, which turned out to be I clicked the wrong thing for a ten minute drive.  I wondered why cars were flashing their lights at me.    I have gotten so I tell dear ones I am on the road.. so they don't come too.  There are challenges and obstacles we never dreamed of. 

Something has to reduce the stress.  Something has to be good amidst the not good.  As long as I laugh, I won't give up.  Laughter is good medicine.

©Carol Desjarlais 12.5.18

Stinkin' Thinkin'

(or What to do when the whole world pisses you off.)

Sometimes you are so po'd that you are even po'd at self... wait... that is it.  First, I am po'd at Self. - CD 

Sometimes, rarely so, everything in the world pmo.  Everything is annoying.  I feel grump and irritated inside.  I cannot quite pin down what is pmo, but something is.  And, the next person that pmo is getting a verbal blast.  I have to fix that reaction in myself.  How do I do it?

I do not handle much stress any more.  I understand why the elderly really try hard to find peace and why some fail.  Sometimes I am so frustrated with myself and others and there is no vent that is appropriate.  Stuff can add up and eventually I am a complete dork as I snap back at someone.  I have to remember that I am projecting what I am feeling inside, they may have nothing to do with it.  My tolerance level is less as I age.  I have to catch my crappy attitude before I get bitter:  Always looking for my triggers.  It is my reactions I have to work on.  Some of those danged things are embedded deep.

When something triggers me, I respond from the deepest most hurt place in me.  I am absolutely no fun, not nice, a miserable thing when I am hurting;  physically, intellectually, emotionally or spiritually.  I am not good to be around.  I am everything I do not want to be. 

Hurt and fear, and anger being the easiest response, is my downfall.  I can only take being put down for so long and then I am going to say something, and usually add an expletive just to get that point across.  Yes, there is some depression involved.  Yes, there is high blood pressure that puts my whole being in an agitated state, yes, sometimes I just feel what I define as anger inside, but have no reason for it.  My problem is not digging down deep enough to know why. 

When I am trying to explain something and it is not getting across, I trip into defensiveness.  Immediately I am in fight mode.  I have learned to walk away from a lot of things, but it seems to save up inside and it is there ...all....there... when I react to something or someone who will be stunned at my response.  I know this.  Why can't I just change it, for crying out loud?  I work hard on self and healing.  Will I ever heal?

I am not entitled to be angry.  I cannot be a bully, even verbally.  I give away my power the minute I react with anger.  I come across like that when I vent.  Man, I still have some inner Evil Inner Witch things.  She shows up less and less often, but she does still show up.    

I am tired of asking for forgiveness for it.  I need a women's group to talk this stuff out with.  I need sweats.  I need smudging.  I need to get my proverbial chite together.  I need a padded room.  I need a pillow to bat.  I need to go out into some forest and scream as loud as I can scream just to get this out of me. 

I have to figure out why my Ego is so sensitive.  No, it does not belong to anyone else.  I am the only one who is feeling this.  No one else is to blame.  I am to blame.  I choose this response.  I have to learn to stop, define the real feeling, and respond appropriately.  Am I so new to authentic expressions?  No, I am not.  This is just simply kneejerk from old chite.  I have no reason to defend myself.  I have no reason to feel attacked.  I have no reason to be afraid. 

Hmmmm..

Just had a bit of epiphany.  I have always hated to cry.  I refuse to cry.  I feel weak when I cry, so.. when something makes me feel sad, I react with the only response I am still allowing myself.  OM G...  I should just cry, for goodness sakes.  I am giving away my power by responding angrily, so why am I so afraid to respond by crying?  How desperate I have been to not cry.  I am fragile.  I hate being fragile.  OMG, I am getting it.

Did I suppose feeling sad means I am not good?  OMG, it does.  So, my Ego resorts to an easier reaction.  Hmmm..  Soemtimes I feel devalued by a comment or an action.  It releases some kind of chemical in my brain that says to stand and fight, and so I get diarrhea of the mouth... geez. 

I think that my angry outbursts validate me and invalidate another.  There is no comfort to that.  I have used anger at medication.  If made to feel any of the things I have written on the painting, I begin to feel helpless and somehow, some sick how, I feel empowered.  Holy crow!  As I quickly type all this, after doing the painting, I am still in the epiphany stage.  Creativity is healing, is a way to dig deep and come to knowing. 

In my way, I think, I was rejecting the other person in some way;  rejecting their criticism, rejecting their ( perceived by me) abandonment, rejecting being devalued, etc.  So, a key trigger for me, for one, is rejection.  And I become angry with them to push them away, push their (my perceiving) negation.  Also, I am very aware that I reject authority by those who do not deserve my acquiesce.  I refuse to respect anyone who does not deserve my respect.  I reject those who try to control me.  But, if I show my anger, or any negative response, then I have just allowed them to control me.  Now, that makes me mad at Self.  I know this stuff.  Geez!

A fear.  Yes, a fear of being disapproved of, of being vulnerable, these are part of my lizard brain triggers.  I know them intimately.  My anger has been a way to disengage with others who I feel threatened by...by those I PERCEIVE to be threatening in whatever way.  My anger has been a way to self-insulate self from thinking what others think or feel about me matters.  This is a childhood thing, I know, because I was always told, "What would _____/others think?"  This is embedded deeply and why I feel guilt and shame and remorse, and all the bad bad bad person thoughts about self afterwards.  This comes from childhood rejection of the little girl I was who was never good enough.  I am 71 years old.  You would think I had worked on this... I HAVE worked on this.  Am I, 'til my dying breath, going to feel never good enough?

So, for the rest of this month, I am going to look at my anger, when it comes.  Stop, pause, think of what trigger this new anger is connected to and then walk away and mull over it.  It is the best I can do.

I refuse to walk around a bitter person waiting for someone to get over my threshold.  I can no longer numb the real feelings.  It must be worked on in private.  I need to sit down, by myself, and give myself a good thinking!

©Carol Desjarlais 12/4/18

Mary, Did You Know?

"Mary Did You Know"
(originally by Mark Lowry (lyrics) and Buddy Greene (melody))

Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy would one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know
that your Baby Boy has come to make you new?
This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you.

Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy will give sight to a blind man?
Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy will calm the storm with His hand?
Did you know
that your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?
When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?

Mary did you know.. Ooo Ooo Ooo

The blind will see.
The deaf will hear.
The dead will live again.
The lame will leap.
The dumb will speak
The praises of The Lamb.

Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy is Lord of all creation?
Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy would one day rule the nations?
Did you know
that your Baby Boy is heaven's perfect Lamb?
The sleeping Child you're holding is the great "I am"

Anyone who has birthed their first baby knows how close to death we come delivering a baby.  And, not many of us were in our early teens, away from home, most likely a cave, no drugs to give ease to it.  No mother or aunties or grandmothers to comfort her.  Joseph was old, and although he was told, did he remind her, during the labor and birthing, that she could do this, that she was giving birth to some Savior who would save the world?  Would it have mattered in the throes of birthing?  Did it matter that an angel told her this child was special?  Did that ease the fear and pain?  I, as a mother who has birthed the hard 33 hours of hard labor, cannot imagine riding a donkey right into the first stages of labor.  I was nineteen and the specialist said that I and my child would have died if I had had him in the olden days.  I was too young to even try to be sane during that time.  She was just a baby girl, yet, herself.  Did Whoever not have the power to ease her labor and make it not be the near-death experience?    Perhaps I am making hr too ordinary.  Maybe she was not a typical early teenage girl at the time.  But, the mother in me thinks that she knew who she was giving birth to, to some degree.  Gosh, an angel told her for goodness sakes.  But did she know it all?  

Did she nourish the baby from her breast and know she was nourishing who they say he was?  Did she count his fingers and toes and savor the ecstasy of newly giving birth?  Did she know, every time she changed his swaddling, whom he was going to be?  Did she grieve even watching him crawl for the first time, to take that first step, knowing every day brought them closer to unconscionable sorrow.  

Did she know those little fingers that curled around hers were the hands of God?  Did she know, with every tender touch, that this baby was never going to be hers and what he was going to have to do, how the swords would pierce her heart, how nails would be driven into his wrists?  Was she aware that, when she kissed that beautiful new born face that she was kissing the face of God's son?  I think she knew:  How incredibly horrible.  I think she knew.

Even in your early teens, you would know if an angel came (imagine how scary that was in the first place).  An angel told Joseph and he was a widowed man, older than her, for sure, and he would have talked to her.  In that time, in that place, she would have been an obedient girl to the will of men.  When she went to visit her cousin, Elizabeth, Elizabeth knew.  The wise men were on their way.  They knew.  She had to know something special was up because they took off to Nazareth.  Heck, even the shepherds are supposed to have known.  How could she not have? 

Was Mary a prodigy child, a child groomed for such?  Was she always told she had some special purpose?  Did she not play dolls with her little girl friends?  Was she kept from ordinary girls?  Was she mature enough to be able to keep the faith, of any kind knowing, she was delivering a child to crucifixion? There had to be incredible sorrow all the days of his life... all the days of her life. 

Giving birth matures a girl.  We all think our children are born for great things.  But, we are surprised when it happens, nonetheless.  Did she continue to believe that it was just a bad dream she had and that things would not turn out as they did?  In the end, she was the first to hold him at his birth and she was the last to embrace him before he died on the cross.  Could she ever reconcile such a vile act to this special child?  

Perhaps she did not truly know until he was resurrected.  This painting is inspired by my thoughts about that little girl.  What incredible sorrow if she did not know.  What incredible suffering if she did.  I cannot get past why she had to suffer so.

©Carol Desjarlais 12/1/18