Elouise

March 20, 2017

Crazy Happy Lady

For several weeks I’ve been thinking about end of life issues, wondering what my daily ‘plan’ is for getting from here to there. How will I order my life each day? I don’t own the time my Creator has entrusted to me. So how will I invest it?

Whatever chaos is, it’s the way I’ve experienced most of my life. A chaos of competing priorities, demands, expectations (yours and mine), rules and regulations, political realities….

I’ve spent years trying to get through and beyond chaos. Yet here’s what happened this past weekend.

From my journal:

It’s 3:30pm, Saturday afternoon. I’m not exercising in the house, not cleaning up the kitchen, not vacuuming, not playing music, not reading a book, not writing a poem, not going through files and piles, or anything else except this—showing up and writing this journal entry.

How I feel right now: weary, unmotivated, discouraged, somber….terrible. Wasting time. Trying to practice centering prayer yet falling asleep. Watching time slip away.

Do I enjoy this? I don’t think so, but sometimes I wonder. Perhaps this is more enjoyable to me than changing my habits.

…My most lethal enemy seems to be lethargy. A kind of glue that keeps me from having an active agenda of things I love to do.

My mind goes through tricks like these:

If I read a novel, I’m wasting time. If I play the piano, I’m wasting time. Can’t I see how much work needs to be done in the kitchen, the house, the attic, my office?

If I walk in the house or ride on my recumbent bike or bounce on the rebounder, it isn’t ‘real’ exercise—so why bother?

There’s a crazy logic here—if I do this, I won’t be able to do that. (Or it won’t count anyway.)

And then there are all those other good things I’m not doing that haunt me—

Sending notes and cards to friends who need encouragement

Vacuuming the house

Cleaning the curtains and windows

Weeding out unneeded kitchen utensils

Taking things to the Salvation Army or some other charity

Like I said in my last entry, I don’t have a plan for organizing my life. It seems all I do is make sure my food needs are met, wash laundry when absolutely necessary, rest and sleep enough, and do other maintenance work that demands my attention.

Later that same day (Saturday evening now), I was back to my journal. Here’s what finally broke through the chaos and lethargy and made me crazy happy.

From my evening journal:

The best part of today: posting this morning and getting tomorrow’s post ready to go. I can’t begin to express how important blogging has become for my growth and enjoyment. I’d even put it on the same level as walking out of doors. Even ahead of playing the piano…and reading.

Which led to my Crazy Happy Lady List of Priorities – things that top my list of things I love to do just for myself.

Writing – if not for my blog, in my journal
Walking – outside if possible, with no agenda but enjoying nature
Music – playing the piano or listening to music I love
Reading – poetry, novels, books that help me navigate my life
Meditating — wherever I am, day and night

As for other activities,

As little as possible
As efficiently as possible
On an as-needed basis

Thanks for listening, and Happy Spring!

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 March 2017
Elegant Photo of Woman Writer found at salon.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Label

21 Comments

March 19, 2017

Strange Visitors

Unplanned events
Crash into my life
Force change and create confusion

Chaos
Leers at me
Foils attempts to ‘sort things out’

Indecision
Haunts my behavior
Especially on days without sunshine

Lethargy
Creeps from head to toe
Lulls me into dreary gray oblivion

Dare I welcome
These strangers in
For tea and conversation?

I fight the urge
To show them the door
As though they didn’t exist

I want them to disappear
Like the unrealities
I want them to be

***

As a girl child I was instructed at home, in school and in church to avoid or get rid of all things negative. That included lying, cheating, pouting, complaining to my parents or fighting with my sisters.

Though this was supposed to make me good and happy, this negative approach seemed to border on magical thinking.

Avoid this or stop doing that, and you’ll win the Good Girl Lottery! It might not always be fun right now, but it will be spectacular later on—especially after you die and wake up in heaven.

And yet, with all that goodness drummed into me, I wasn’t protected then or now from difficult situations. Instead, my upbringing instilled voices and unhelpful habits that drive my behavior more than I like to admit. They kept me from exploring and celebrating my voice, and the woman I was becoming then and now.

I’m just beginning to recognize the way these drivers work in me, and let them go. They’re named in the litany I wrote about here:

My desire for security and survival
My desire for esteem and affection
My desire for power and control
My desire to change the situation

Saying I’m letting go is relatively easy. Living it out is difficult. It’s difficult to let go of what I’m not willing to understand. I want to welcome these desires as the realities they are, capable of supporting life or of putting it at risk. I don’t want to slam the door in their faces. They might be my best coaches—or at least helpful visitors I dare not silence or ignore.

So how do I welcome these strangers and listen to them? How and why did they become powerful and controlling in me? Who put their insistent, insinuating voices in me, and why? And how does this affect my responses to unplanned events, chaos, indecision and lethargy?

More fodder for self-reflection during and beyond this Lent season. Thanks for reading!

Elouise ♥

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March 18, 2017

bleak building revisited

Who would have guessed this photo and my haiku would lead to bigtime self-reflection? For those who missed it, here’s the haiku–a comment on the photo above.

massive bleak building
harbors untold histories –
I quicken my pace

From the day I laid eyes on the photo, it freaked me out. I didn’t want to look at it; yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

It wasn’t just the building’s condition, it was its size. Looking at it, I felt small and helpless, as though I’d wandered into a nightmare that was closing in on me.

Yet the more I looked at the building, the less afraid I was. I noticed renovations on the adjoining building, clotheslines, and a carpet hanging over the balcony rail. Also how close neighbors were to each other.

When I wrote the last line of the haiku I wasn’t sure what I meant. Was I speeding up to get past the building, or was I quickening my pace to get closer? Perhaps to discover clues about the families who lived there, and what happened to bring about massive abandonment of these apartments.

I don’t have answers to any of that. Nor do I know in what city or country this bleak building stands. I do, however, know I’m drawn to it, especially at this time of my life.

These days I’m thinking about end of life issues. Not because I have a terminal disease, but because I’m terminal as the woman I now am. Figuratively as well as literally.

I don’t want to keep mopping up the now defunct quarters passed on to me by my parents and their parents. Especially quarters that served to reinforce ways I was shamed and blamed a thousand times over.

No way.

Yet some of this is still housed in my female body, soul and emotions. No, it doesn’t torment me now the way it did in the past. It does, however, come back to haunt me from time to time. Seeping up through the cracks. A looming presence that erupts when I freak out—as I fall over the cliff yet again into panic, anxiety, and the urge to fight back against anyone and everything.

I’ve spent years identifying and letting go of pieces of my past and my desire to change it. It’s been a life-changing reclamation project. A project that began in my childhood, despite what was beaten into me in a misguided effort to beat things out of me.

What would it be like to live as though that never happened? I’ll never know. Not in this life.

I do, however, know there were and are things no one can ever beat out of me. Things I love. Things that make me happy. Things that bring me joy and peace. Things that connect me to my Creator and to my family and neighbors. Things no one can beat out of me no matter how diligently or brutally they try.

I also know there are gems in that old building. They’re waiting for me to discover and own them. Treasures I don’t yet know belong to me. Parts of life envisioned for me by my Creator who knows and longs to give me my true name.

So yes, I’m quickening my pace as I move forward into unexplored territory and beyond.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 March 2017
Photo found at pixabay.com
WordPress Daily Prompt: Massive

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March 16, 2017

bleak building

massive bleak building
harbors untold histories –
I quicken my pace

***

13 Comments

March 15, 2017

Upside down and inside out

The glories of being intuitive do not include being correct. As I’ve noted before, intuition is as flawed as any other remarkable gift. My intuition is prone to wander, prone to read things wrong, prone to finding a way to make it all work out so I’m still on the ‘right’ side of things.

I didn’t choose this. It’s how I survived childhood and youth as the first-born daughter of a clergyman who believed he was right and I was wrong.

My instincts back then were correct: I was NOT always wrong. Not that I could do much about it back then except pray for the day when I would be an Adult Woman. An Independent Agent living by her own instincts, not yours or anyone else’s. And, of course, with God’s blessing.

I had no idea what it would mean to live according to instincts and intuitions shaped by years of resistance to homegrown and social trauma. Even so, I was often on target, especially when I was dealing with other people and their situations.

Going through old notes from 1994, I recently discovered a small phrase I used in a forum. The phrase is simple: ‘upside down and inside out.’

The notes referred to Karl Barth, German theologian of the mid-20th century. He wrote and taught during Hitler’s reign, the Holocaust, and in the aftermath of World War II. Plenty of trauma going on there, don’t you think?

In the 1980s, when I was a graduate student, Barth invited me to turn my mind ‘upside down and inside out.’ Not to play tricks on reality, but to discover a different way of discovering and naming truth.

He argued that because of human confusion in and around us, we cannot trust our instincts. His theology is a grand effort to show how this works—turning our minds upside down and inside out. So that what we call good or even ‘normal’ is not necessarily that.

So today I’m back to thinking about my instincts. Instincts honed and shaped by what we now call childhood PTSD.

Back then it was all about survival. Getting through without falling apart (even though I fell apart regularly, especially on the inside). I dreamed of arriving at the magic moment when I could live without threat of imminent punishment or humiliation.

I left home at 16 years of age to go to college, never dreaming what my lifetime learning agenda would be. Especially about myself and my instincts. I thought thriving meant living on my own, having a job and maybe even a boyfriend.

Yet thriving isn’t about having a life or even letting go of things programmed into me as a child. It’s about welcoming, affirming and living as the woman I already am.

Put another way, it’s about living on the other side of letting go. I want to name and own what I love about myself and about life. I welcome this opportunity to turn my let-go thoughts and feelings upside down and inside out. I have much to put to rest, and much to bring back to life. Just like those beautifully upside down, inside out flowers and plants in the artwork above.

Elouise ♥

7 Comments

March 14, 2017

What will they say about me?

I was late getting to bed last night. In the evening we’d attended a memorial service at our church for a long-time member. Kathleen made a difference in the lives of uncounted family, friends, neighbors and strangers. The sanctuary was filled with witnesses.

Kathleen’s life was long and lively. Always full of energy, joy, encouragement of others and raucous support for our local baseball team—the Philadelphia Phillies. Her husband died suddenly 17 years ago, a grief-fed love she carried with her every day of her remaining years on this earth.

The memorial service was outstanding. A collage of shared memories, a meditation on life and death, several of her favorite hymns, and multiple genres of music performed by visitors and members whose lives she touched.

I knew Kathleen, but not from way back. Until last night I had no idea how deeply she had immersed herself in the lives of others—via music, Phillies baseball games, family relationships, her neighborhood, and of course, the life of our church. Even though she had officially retired as music director years ago.

When I got home I felt sad and teary. I wondered what people might say about me when I’m gone. And how full the sanctuary would be for my memorial service.

Without intending to, I began comparing myself with my friend. The kind of comparison that leads to unhappiness. That gnawing sense of being ‘less-than.’ Feeling shame and even regret for my life and what I have and have not accomplished. Wandering around, trying to find myself, trying things on, wanting desperately to be somebody. And to be loved.

It’s Lent. Time to practice letting go my desire for affection and esteem…among other things.

Here’s what I wrote down before I went to sleep last night.

Remember the white stone! Your white stone! The one God will give you, with your new name. Not comparable to anyone else’s distinct new name. This isn’t a competition. Yet (comparison) has been a source of much discontent in my life.

Last night I was painfully aware of my desire for esteem and affection. I don’t want to fall off the cliff into a thicket of jealousy or envy. And I don’t want to be left hanging. I believe there’s another side of this practice.

Letting go isn’t about going away empty-handed. It’s about keeping my hands open, ready to receive my white stone and new name. My one-of-a-kind name. Inscribed by my Creator on the white stone. My one-of-a-kind ‘well done, beloved daughter.’

Plus any other gifts my Creator wants to give me before I receive the white stone. So long as my hands are open and receptive.

19 Comments

March 13, 2017

women’s work | Women’s History Month

Here’s a post that’s gotten some traffic in the last few weeks! Women’s History Month is upon us. I wonder what today’s contract for women in the workplace (not just teachers) would look like? The USA, for all its rhetoric about supporting women, has lost ground yet again in a key area–women of any color in elected and appointed positions of leadership. Especially political leadership.

Telling the Truth

women’s work
is never done
sign here

* * *

Even though this is called a Teacher’s Contract, you’ll see it’s for women only.

View original post 280 more words

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March 12, 2017

What I’m giving up

I didn’t grow up in a church tradition that required me to give things up for Lent. Yet today I’m asking what I’m giving up for Lent.

Why now? I think it’s related to my health, my age, my ability to live as an independent woman, my need to have things go my way at this time in my life.

I feel quite well most of the time. Perhaps weary and a bit stressed out now and then, but not awful. Yet sometimes I fall over the edge–into anger or fear. It’s usually triggered when something doesn’t go the way I anticipated it would. It’s like throwing a lighted match into a dry haystack. Or going over a cliff. Too late to step back and do something different.

So what to do? I don’t have a magic formula. However, I’ve been reading a wonderful book about prayer. It’s Cynthia Bourgeault’s book called Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening. It seems connected to what’s happening.

Her book is helping me reconsider these episodes. They flare up when I hit moments of extreme frustration. Sometimes they’re about my health and wellbeing. Other times they’re triggered by memories of things that happened to me as a professional woman.

The goal I’m after is this: to learn ways of interrupting what’s about to happen before I go over the cliff. I know I won’t learn this overnight. Still, I want to recognize, welcome and listen to those small signs before I go over the cliff or say things I’ll regret. Sometimes that’s not possible. Other times, it is.

As part of this discipline, Cynthia offers a litany written by a friend. It’s a prayer to be offered as often as needed, without having to make it up myself. It’s for the moment I realize my frustration and anger are escalating, ready to overflow. It won’t work if I’ve already exploded.

I grew up believing everything unwelcome in me needed to be ‘fixed’ if not denounced and forsaken. Slam the door in its face! Send it packing! Or at least keep it hidden in a closet. It’s not the ‘real me.’

This, however, is about the real me. The person I am in God’s presence. Just as I am. Especially when I’m unhappy about the way things are going. What’s happening in me has something to tell me. Instead of slamming the door in its face or denying its presence, perhaps I could welcome it. Listen, and learn from it. After all, it’s part of me whether I like it or not.

So here’s the litany, an active giving up of something. Not just for Lent.

I let go my desire for security and survival.
I let go my desire for esteem and affection.
I let go my desire for power and control.
I let go my desire to change the situation.

Quoted by Cynthia Bourgeault in Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening, p. 147 (Cowley Publications 2004)

I long to stay fully present to God and, so far as possible, to the truth about myself. No matter what rises to the surface or comes at me without warning. Whether it’s anger, fear, pain or death itself.

12 Comments

March 10, 2017

Kinderdijk Favorites | Viking Cruise

It’s Friday and it’s snowing outside. Time for photos that catch my eye before we leave Kinderdijk. In no particular order, here they are, beginning with barge traffic. A reminder that these inland rivers are major highways. Not primarily for the tourist industry, but for transport of goods.

The distant tower isn’t an ancient lookout for detecting the enemy, but a water tower nicely disguised to blend in with the scenery. Up close on this side of the river are wildflowers and an empty dock waiting for another cruise ship to arrive.

Below is a more colorful barge than most. That’s the city of Kinderdijk across the river from the UNESCO World Heritage Site. Note the two automobiles on the back deck of the barge–transportation for barge personnel when docked.

Back to the UNESCO World Heritage Site. Here’s another set of photos with beautiful colors. The first two are, I think, rental cabins for vacationers. The third is a bench outside a snack bar near the windmills we visited.

Speaking of color, how about these? Don’t miss the little sparrow on the grass. A little sense of proportion there.

Here’s a rare big bird not usually captured in photos! That’s my pocket watch peeking out from my magenta shirt. Note the wires going from my sunshirt pocket to my left ear. It’s my audio tour guide, so I can hear about stuff no matter where the real live guide is standing. I’m probably giving the photographer last-minute instructions too late. The sun was blazing hot, even though the air was comfortably cool.

Time for ducks and other water lovers hanging around the canal.

This roof caught my eye, as did the blooming plants that follow. Ordinary beauty waiting to be noticed.

Hoping all you beauties have a spectacular weekend! It’s still snowing here. Definitely a spectacle after an unusually warm winter.

17 Comments

March 9, 2017

If ever we meet

If ever we meet
I will milk
every drop
and then some
from your demeanor
tone of voice
and eyes

Agonizing
Calculating
Weighing the odds
Whether to respond
and how

Experience—
my best friend
and my enemy
Trust—
a roll of the dice
until proven over time

I shiver inside
Is it worth the effort
at this age
putting myself out there
in full view
of myself
not just of you?

***

The agony of being attentive to nuance—not a characteristic I willfully chose, but a survival skill I learned on the ground. It served me well, though it didn’t always deliver the safety I sought or the safety I was promised.

My trust of another human being isn’t a gift to be given on demand. It’s a reward to be earned over time. Giving away unearned trust is not a sign of approval. It’s a gamble that often leads to sorrow if not disaster. One of the most difficult lessons of my life.

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