I just love sitting outside my house in the springtime. The bees love our wisteria and the cats love exploring.
Bee on the Wisteria
Raku - stylized with Prisma - investigating an ancient barbecue grill
Outside in the Spring
Wisteria on the House
Taking a Break with Cats
I’ve been away from my mind my writing desk for the past few weeks. Hopefully I’ll be back soon to pick up writing here where I left off. In the meantime, I share with you pictures of my sister’s cat, wearing a delightful ruff designed by my nephew.
What We Do Today
I came across a Memory in Facebook the other day. It kind of took me back, in a good way.
I had left a job that was very stressful and taken a position as a clerk (more or less), as a way to get my foot in the door of another organization that I thought would be better for me. Barry had given me a hand-made leather-bound journal (pictured above) and I used it to help calm my nerves. I wrote in it, I did Zentangle and I drew. I more or less kept that journal with me wherever I went and sought out quiet time for myself, time to be with my journal and my thoughts.
I had begun the Zentangle a few months previous to that, as a way to help manage the stress. It works, if you approach it right. Slow, deliberate lines drawn in a small space can be very meditative. I listened to ambient music on YouTube (Chill music) and did everything I could to not have a meltdown. (It really was a rough period.) I usually spent some time each day tangling with relaxing music playing.
My new job has taken a stressful turn as we change software. Transitions are never easy, and this one is taking its toll on all of us. The other day I saw the picture above on a Facebook memory and I could feel the tingling of the physical effect of relaxing. I have spent so much time tangling and doodling that I’ve created an conditioned response for myself, without even setting out to do so.
Do you ever smell something that takes you back? Nutmeg and Christmas as a child, perhaps? Or, consider the beautiful way an old love song can make you feel the way you did twenty years ago. You’re minding your own business when a song comes on the radio and you’re suddenly in love with somebody again, feeling all the anxiety, inadequacy and elation that comes with young love. When I was a kid we always got fruit in our stockings at Christmas, so when I smell and orange or grapefruit being peeled I’m immediately a child on Christmas morning again, even if for just a moment.
It seems that in the same way I trained myself to relax by doodling, simply by repeating the exercise over and over for an extended period of time. I typically was in a coffee shop or somewhere I could be among people, but still be alone. I didn’t go into the practice with the idea of setting myself up a psychological safety net for the future; I simply wanted to learn to calm my nerves. (I still tangle and doodle, though not with the same frequency.)
When I think about it, I realize that this is not new, not even for me. I’ve read advice on how to learn conditioned responses, by rubbing your thumb on a polished stone in your pocket, for instance. Those things always made sense to me, but they were still rather foreign. Seeing this picture made it concrete. It produced a physical response in me – a relaxing of the muscles in my shoulders and a slowing of breathing.
I’m glad that I chose something that I can look at now. Meditation in any form can be relaxing, but it doesn’t really afford the visual cue that I had when I happened to see the picture. I suppose I could train myself to meditate while rubbing my polished stone and then the polished stone would give me the same cue, but the drawing seems a little stronger. The doodling and drawing were physical exercises. Meditation is physical as well, but it’s almost the opposite of doing something. I have meditated; we spent a great deal of time practicing that when I was younger. I’ve never experienced this sort of response from that time, though. I suppose, knowing what I now know, I could condition myself, but I have a lovely way to do that already that works very well for me. I think I’ll stick to my quiet doodling, but with renewed purpose.
I’ve moved on to mandalas, as well. I still tangle, but I spend more time drawing mandalas than practicing Zentangle these days. I’ll post some pictures of my mandalas when I have more of a collection. In the meantime, I’ll continue to come home, sit by myself with nice music playing and draw slow, deliberate lines, meditating and relaxing. I’ll continue to reinforce this auto-response for myself. I encourage you to try it.
And how about you? What do you do to relax? Have you found yourself at the end of your tether? If so, how did you get through it? I’d love to hear from you.
The Struggle Is Real
Sometimes it may not seem like it, but the struggle is real. I (finally) saw my doctor again today… after he cut off my prescription. That’s kind of clingy, don’t you think? I’ve tried to tell him that I need space and then he goes and does that. When I called his nurse to make the appointment she let me know that they had called and left me four voicemails, and that they had put a note on the most recent (and final) refill with my pharmacy stating that I had to make (and keep – they know my tricks) an appointment with my doctor before they would refill it again. So what? So, there’s a law that specifies that he can’t continue to refill my prescriptions without a check up every once in a while. Big deal. I was just there 14 months ago, but whatever.
I can’t say that I was altogether pleased with the blood work numbers. For the most part they were excellent. I’m not diabetic, I’m far from anemic and almost everything looked just like it was supposed to look. I had some valid questions. Why do I tend to black out when I’m laughing very, very hard? Based on those numbers, should I be having a nervous breakdown? I had thought that these things were related to being overly tired, and further thought that being overly tired had to do with my blood not being right (like anemia or something), and his presentation showing most of my numbers right where they should be – defying all logic, considering my weight and the amount of exercise I get – blew a gaping hole in my theory.
He explained a possible reason for the laughing thing and said that if it becomes a pattern then we’ll look at it again. Problem is, I don’t laugh THAT hard all that often. You know, the kind of laugh that builds and builds until you get to the point where you can’t breathe? We’ve all been there. I’ve been there more times than I can remember in my 48 years on this earth, but only recently did I actually feel that I was going to lose consciousness. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a cause for alarm, because I find it a little alarming. But then, I’ve never been 48 years old before last year.
He also confirmed, with a finger pointing to the charts, that based on those numbers I was not allowed to have a nervous breakdown from blood problems. Then, I had to tell him about last Tuesday. Tuesday was also a little alarming for me, and for my dear brother and sister who I chatted/texted with all afternoon. It was kind of a dark day in general. It began with my inability to get out of bed, and literally pulling the covers over my head. I’m as dramatic as the next guy, but I’ve never actually done that before, not in real life. I described for him a few more of the thoughts and feelings I had that morning. He labeled it an anxiety attack, which sounds just about right.
It could have to do with the prolonged stress at my job. We've launched a new software that didn’t have quite all of the bugs worked out and I’ve gotten a few phone calls. My voice mail box fills up with 50-60 voicemails by around 2 PM. That doesn’t count the emails, or the people who walk over to my desk because they have somebody on the phone. I’ll be talking to one of these people from other departments, or to one of my staff, and the phone is ringing. I glance at it and see that two numbers are calling at the same time. When the ringing goes on for what seems too long, I glance again to see that, without missing a beat, another call has come in so that three phone calls have come in in the span of about 10 seconds. While I’m talking to the person at my desk there might be four seconds in which the phone does not ring. And this goes on… All. Day. Long. Every day. I visualize myself with tears welling up in my eyes while trying to focus on what the person I’m talking to is asking. This is the end of the first month since the new software launched and it has been a little stressful. If I take anxiety medicine I get very sleepy as soon as I get home from work and am not worth much, though it does help me get through the day without completely losing my head. I’m reminded of the phrase that was used in the 80’s and 90’s for people who randomly walked into places and began shooting people. We’d say that the person had ‘Gone Postal’. And we said that because for a while, they tended to be people who worked for the United States Postal Service. I can relate to those poor souls a little more than I would like. I’m nowhere near arming myself, but I came close to raising my voice at a coworker the other day. That seems almost ludicrous when I write it, but I do EVERYTHING I can at work to maintain a positive attitude to keep morale up so that we can get through this. And we will. It’s just a little difficult at the moment.
So my doctor said that with the effects of the one tiny problem in my blood work that we are addressing with this prescription that ran out, added to the subtle stress that I’ve been enduring at a job that I otherwise love, he thinks the combined effects, along with some other possible contributing factors, could easily cause an anxiety attack, especially if the person were prone to that sort of thing anyway. (I do have a history of depression, so there’s that.) After some very serious questions asked in as light a tone as he legally could (specifically “Are you thinking of hurting yourself right now”), he said I was allowed to leave after setting down the new rules of how often we are to meet going forward. (The answer, in case you were wondering, was ‘No. I am not thinking of hurting myself, nor was I on Tuesday.’)
I was at the nurse’s desk and the doctor was giving her instructions for future blood orders for me when Barry texted me, “Did your doctor get after you?” I showed the text to my doctor and the nurse and we all laughed. He said that he wasn’t very good at that, but I assured him that he was quite stern with me. The nurse agreed that he could be when needed.
After last Tuesday I truly thought that I needed to find a way to make an appointment with a psychiatrist. Today’s visit has put my mind to rest a little. So, back to work tomorrow with my new prescription, my body getting back to where it needs to be and a closer eye on the anxiety. The doctor (who is a specialist) also told me I have to go see my General Practitioner. (These people!) If the anxiety doesn’t calm down by then I’ll discuss it with him as well. I love my GP more than life itself and I trust he’ll have a good suggestion. At work I’m beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel, so hopefully this will all soon be something that we laugh about, that we laugh so hard about that we all pass out.
Unsure How We Got Here
I stumbled across this in my drafts. Not sure why I never published it, but here it is. Dear Charlotte has left this earthly plane, but Clarice continues to amuse us with her vociferation and personality.
My sister has not had an uninterrupted phone conversation since the day her first child was born. That child is now 25 years old and Lottie has developed a habit of distracting herself while on the phone, even if there is no outside force actively vying for her attention. (There generally is.) She has a young son who has often taken the opportunity while Lottie's on the phone to stand on the back of the sofa and lick the picture window, or some other delightful exercise in self-destruction. She even stops talking to me periodically to scold her husband for something that he's about to do that will probably hurt himself or the house. Like that time there was a knife sticking up out of his leg. My sister is virtually unable to talk on the phone any more.
So there's this black cat, Clarice. At the ripe old age of 13 or so she is finding her voice, literally. It's as if the ghost of Barry's cat, Ms. Polly, were here teaching her the ropes of being a drama queen. She has her "I'm too weak to move" voice that she will use to convince the guy who cat-sits for us that he needs to bring her food to her while she sits perched on her pillow on the bed. There is the demanding scream to get our attention, and another similar one when we're being too daft to understand what she's trying to explain. She has diabetes now, and perhaps the extra coddling has encouraged this change. We give her moist food every morning and night along with a shot. The moist food is because it's lower in carbohydrates, and she doesn't seem to notice the shot, but the daily treats have made her feel the tiniest bit entitled.
The face of despondency. Alas, her moist food bowl has been empty for hours - and still no gravy.
The other day she poked her head in and meowed at me repeatedly while I was showering, much to my confusion and annoyance, and not a small amount of annoyance on her part – getting splashed in the face. We've been leaving the water dripping for her in the bathtub for a few minutes at a time, so maybe that's what was looking for. Another time I was getting undressed to shower when I heard her karate-chop the middle hinge of the bifold door that separates the bathroom from the bedroom. A moment later she was with me in the bathroom, vocally abusing me. In general cats don't like closed doors, and she's a thirsty girl these days. (There is a Very Large Bowl of Water that is changed daily.)
(In case you were wondering.)
Another cat, Charlotte, is having issues using the litter box, so Barry has isolated her in the living room. He put down a small litter box for her. He did all of this to make sure that he could tell when and if she relieved herself. (There are a number of cats inside, so it's difficult to tell which cat has used the box.) I was at work while this was going on and I had called him. There are almost no internal doors in the house aside from the bathroom, so he put a plywood board across the doorway from the bedroom to the living room.
Our call went like this: "Talk, talk, talk. Clarice! Get out of this living room. This is not your box. *sound of cat landing on the wooden floor on the other side of a piece of plywood.* Talk, Talk, Talk... *Thunk!* 'Meow!' Clarice! 'Meooow!' No, you don't need to be in here. 'Meooooowww! Errrr..' Talk, Talk, Talk... *Thunk! Rattle-rattle* Clarice, get down! 'MEOW!' Talk, Tal... Clarice!"
*Sigh* So much like talking to my sister.
When I got home there was another board screwed into the door frame on top of the piece of plywood and a very perturbed little black cat.
All of this from the cat who, when we rescued her along with several others, did her best to sink into the wallpaper and not be noticed. I'm always happy when people or animals take a chance and express themselves – as long as it's civil and respectful. Perhaps she's taken this a bit too far? She is an old lady, though, and entitled to speak her mind. And, if she's able to jump over a board set up in a doorway, or figure out how to operate a bi-fold door, then more power to her.
But, I shower alone.