Another Day, Another Walk

In this morning’s meditation circle, I find myself distracted, focusing for only two or three minutes at a time. I then spend the rest of the morning ‘cleaning up’ my office. It looks better than it did an hour into the project, but it isn’t the fantasy office of last night. But I have made a dent in the disorder.

In the early afternoon I’m ‘tech buddy’ at DBSA-Boston (Depression Bipolar Support Alliance). The facilitator directs the conversation, while I admit people from the ‘waiting room,’ watch for electronic blue hands (and lower them after the member speaks), and hang out in case there are technical problems, which there aren’t. Chuck, our president, likes to say, “We’re building the plane as we fly it.” That made someone nervous: “How about we’re building the plane in the hangar?” Doesn’t quite do it for me. Then I hear, "We’re flying the plane in the hangar." That’s exciting.

When I’m done with the Zoom group, I step out of my office and the fragrance of baking bread wafts up the stairs. Jim comes over from the coach house and soon we’re buttering fresh slices.

In the early evening, two friends from church start a conference call with me as I walk. Then R’el calls. I planned to walk an hour, but I have no desire to turn around. I walk down the Battle Road, which has become my favorite route. After about 50 minutes, it seems I really should turn around and come home. Five and a half miles. It feels so good to be outdoors and on the move.

I’ve adjusted pretty well to being at home. Being a homemaker, I’ve spent a lot of time at home. But I still haven’t adjusted to the idea that most other people are home all day. When my friends called, I had to remind myself that they’d been home all day: I just picture them at their job sites. This evening our ‘ministering brothers’ from church scheduled a meeting for 8 p.m. I came home and was in my office when Jim called at about 8:05 p.m. They were all on the video call. I was waiting for a knock on the door

Cottage Fruit

My phone alarm woke me up from a sound sleep this morning. Groggy and without my glasses, I saw the display: ‘Minuteman’. What? Patriots’ Day is past (and technically the men on Lexington Green in 1775 hadn't formed a minute company; they were militia). When I woke up enough to put on my glasses, I looked again: ‘Meditation’.

Khare had asked us to bring a small snack. Cottage fruit is my name for cottage cheese mixed with fruit cocktail. We had it several times a week while I was growing up. I often mixed it for supper, in a metal mixing bowl with a thumb ring attached. For our 30th wedding anniversary, we bought our own set of bowls. They have a beauty only objects from a childhood possess.

Khare guided us in ‘mindful eating’. Slow down. Look at the food carefully. Notice texture and color. Smell it. Feel it on your lips (hot or cold, rough or smooth). Take a mouthful and savor it. Let it rest on your tongue.

It brought up nourishing memories of childhood. My children did not grow up with this humble delicacy. Cottage cheese was much more expensive than homemade yogurt made with powdered milk. Nowadays I stock it and remember my mom every time I eat it.

I have not been practicing mindful eating. I shovel things in my mouth, desperate for some quick sensory input: a full mouth. To slow down, really taste the first food of the day filled me with delight. I hope to do more mindful eating soon.

Gratitude for Soles

I am grateful for my soles.

I wish you could hear the sleep meditations I listen to. There are five of them, each fifteen or twenty minutes long. I choose among them every night. They all include variations on the standard meditation fare: mindful breathing, an affirmation or two, visualizations, and a body scan, “I will name a body part. Focus your mind on that body part. You will remain completely still: only your mind will move.”

I wish you could hear her describe the soles of my feet, how they carry me around from place to place and bear up soooo much. She puts such empathy into describing those neglected, unappreciated feet.

I walked sixteen and a half miles yesterday. It was glorious. Around mile ten, I became aware of a rubbing on the pad of my right foot. About a mile later, my left foot developed the same slightly painful sensation. Since it had been snowing that morning when I left home, I had worn my hiking boots, instead of sneakers, and thick synthetic sox. I regretted the sox, but I don’t own woolen ones (yet.). I trudged through the woods for six miles walking more and more gingerly. By the time I made it home, I could barely walk up the exterior stairs to Jim's office.

Upon examination, I discovered that the blisters were not serious and my feet feel much better today. But last night I hobbled around, not able to put any weight on the blisters. Walking up or down my flight of stairs took several minutes. Unfortunately, I had to use the stairs several times last night. I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to go to church, since all meetings are video-conferences right now. I couldn’t imagine walking from the parking lot to the chapel.

It’s a little thing, really, soles without blisters. So easy to ignore, take for granted. How often do I think about them?  Rarely. But today I am truly grateful for them. Blisters are a minor inconvenience, even in the not-so-grand scheme of things.

I just want to say, I’m grateful for my soles.

Flagpoles and Spines

I apologize for being AWOL (absent without leave) for four months.

Today I read a ‘morning musing’ email from  FlyLady Marla Cilley: "You Might Be a Perfectionist If..." I’ve been a perfectionist about my blog. If I can’t dedicate several hours to it, I don’t post. So, here’s an experiment: I pledge to post here daily, by 9 p.m. through April. I just changed my email signature:

Blog “updated DAILY in April”.

I am a proud member of DBSA-Boston (Depression Bipolar Support Alliance). When Jim and I started self-isolation on March 13, I felt secret relief that my volunteer commitments, including facilitating at DBSA once or twice a week, would halt and I could re-set. I felt overbooked but unwilling to give anything up. To my dismay, The DBSA Board swung into action. They met in video-conference each day for over two weeks and launched online support groups for people with mood disorders and their family and friends. It was an intense experience for me, in fact, I started going hypomanic for the first time in many years. Now that the online program is in place, the time commitment has lessened (and the hypomania has receded (dang!)).

I’ve discovered, in an unexpected and deep way, that I am part of a community of generous, caring people who understand mental illness because of ‘lived experience.’ Many people have stepped up and given time and effort to maintain our connections with each other during an uncertain time when many people are experiencing anxiety and isolation.

Khare, DBSA-Boston's technical guru, works every day to improve our online experience. For years he has been our meditation specialist, generously guiding a weekly Meditation Circle. Now he offers one every weekday.

How comforting it was to  see familiar friends this morning. Khare suggested an image I've been thinking about all day: a flagpole and flag. The flag is whipped by a strong wind, then ruffled gently, then hangs limp. The experience of life can be as disruptive as strong winds, but I can be the flagpole, not the flag.

I've never bonded with the standard meditation metaphor that my thoughts are clouds to be observed dispassionately, letting them drift by without trying to prevent them or hold them. But this has possibilities. My thoughts can be like wind: coming and going, unbidden and, unpredictable. They can be benign, helpful, practical, distracting, distorted, depressed, or hypomanic. My spine can be my flagpole. My backbone gives my body structure and strength. It supports me, whether I sit, or stand, or lie down. It isn't brittle and in danger of breaking, but strong and supple. With a healthy spine, I can be solidly grounded.

I’ve never stayed with meditation; I'd get restless and bored. But this practice is different. I awoke this morning feeling anxious, fully awake but unrested, and reluctant to get out of bed and face my life. After twenty minutes with my eyes closed, I was ready to start my day afresh. Not energized, exactly, but fortified.