Monday, February 9, 2009

An Extended Break

"Where have you been?" dear Cathy in Minnesota said over the phone today. "Kara and I check the blog everyday. You haven't written much lately. We wondered if something had happened." When I told her the story. She said, "You have to tell people, because they check in every day." So here goes.

The last 3 weeks have been a roller coaster. Two days before Inauguration, my 86 year old Mother fell just outside a local grocery store. She fractured her hip, shoulder, wrist. She did well in surgery and has made necessary steps during her stay at the hospital. It has not been easy. She is now in an area nursing home. At her entering interview, she was asked: "Are you here for a longer stay, or are you thinking about going home?" To which, she promptly replied: "I am going home." Courage comes in small packages.

The day before Ground Hog Day, I fell in the garden. You could call it any number of things. The tensions and graces of the last few weeks added to the last 3 years of marathon adjustments had put me on an auto-pilot of occasional numb. Numb is lovely place to hang out once in a while, provided you are not in a position to hurt yourself. While in the garden, a tangle of debris yanked at my right foot with slippery and squishy mud underneath. Down I went.

My hip was sore and painful, but I could walk, albeit it slowly. I thought I was OK, just not made of the rubber I had known and prided myself in as a kid. I practiced some remedies which I knew would help, thinking I definitely will go in if I need to. I got better. But then that stopped. Mostly I was without pain. Things seemed OK. I was just slow. But something was not right. So Sunday, Richard and I headed to the Emergency Room at the local hospital. To make a long story short, I had a crack in my hip.

Surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. I am told by my highly skilled Orthopedic Surgeon that it is routine and quick: 15 minutes, 3 screws, and 3 little holes in me should do the trick. I will be in overnight. Most people are without pain afterwards and can return quickly to their regular routine seemingly immediately afterwards.

I suppose you could call this little entry a "An Extended Break", but this is not about fractures. During moments of such challenges of Dear Ones close and Oneself, clarity of vision emerges. All the stuff that has intruded in on our lives which is of little importance just falls away. All of a sudden, one thinks of the little things are that so important, like: each breath that loved one takes, shared time and space doing precious little things, walking the loop on the Farm to detect subtle changes marking a turn toward yet another spring, uplifting prayers and love from that beautiful caring community of family and friends.

Last night was one of little sleep for me. I was not sure what today would bring. After my trips into the land specialists inquiries and solutions, I laid down in preparation for a delicious nap. The sky was cloudy and gray with intermittent raindrops. When I awoke, most of the clouds had been brushed away, yielding blue sky beyond. While I had not known it at the time, that blue sky was something for which I had deeply yearned.

These moments brush away distractions of "modern life". What is left behind is no less than the essence of what life is supposed to be.

As I type away at these keys, I hear the first of the season's Snow Geese migrating from east to west. Richard and I head outside, he with his usual strong footsteps which I love, me stepping slowly and tenderly within the protection of the walker. Out on the deck, Richard says: "That's a lot of Snow Geese, my Dear." He explains the patterns of Geese are called "Wavies". That's just what they look like, waves pulsing against the western sky. The Sun has exited leaving a Rosy Glow. The Full Moon is rising to the East through clouds. That delicious peachy pink radiant yellow emergence among clouds looks almost like a large Saturn with rings.

Life: Don't miss it. Why would we even consider being distracted by anything less?

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