Fall towards night 

Heavy eyes,

dragging down towards sleep,

Iron fillings towards the magnet

Memories of elementary school  science,

chasing  brown  pieces of metal,

Dancing against their will

Limbs heavy, 

Morpheus descending,

Playing a song of serenity,

Clouds drifting across my consciousness,

Drawing back  the night,

Twilight pulls its curtain back, 

pins it with a star, 

memories of my grandmother 

Though she has travelled far

In dreams anything is true

The impossible is real,

One last horizon before dawn,

Fade to slumber

 peace descends 

Operation day

Today was an interesting, dichotomous experience. 

It was a sunny day with rain clouds filling the sky,  but sprinkling only a dash of rain in the afternoon, hardly enough to call it rain in the end.

My day reflected the weather. 

A little rain fell, but the sun broke through the clouds and reminded me of all the wonders in the world. 

Today was another day of surgery, one year and one month since the first time I brought my precious baby to have her tonsils removed. 

I was flooded by memories of the last time I spent in the short stay unit, 

sleeping in the narrow cot, curled around my small, pale child, providing warmth and all the love a mother can to will her back to health.

 Not a doctor in that moment, just a fragile woman praying for their heart to stay whole.

Today was different. 

She was vibrant and bouncy, and completely bored and hungry by the time they wheeled us into the OR.

 A short and easy procedure, only a few minutes to endure before she woke up, drugged and as irritable as a teenager.

Many videos of small baby animals later, the smell of the gas finally fading from her breath, we were allowed to leave.

She ate an entire container of sushi from the cafeteria, a jello, and a cookie within an hour after surgery. My little child who weighs 36 pounds ate more than I did, post op, and without any issues. 

She was well, and happy, and the day to her was a glorious one at her favourite place that has video games and toys. 

She has no bad memories of the place and was comfortable with blood pressures and nurses and protocols. 

I marvelled at the resilience of childhood, 

how they can experience the ultimate in complications and bounce back with a smile, while I still shake thinking about it. 

It reminded me again that, 

though rain may fall, the sun will return, and dry up all the rain. 

Maybe that silly spider knows something after all

The wheel 

I’ve been torn in many directions today, 

wondering about life in all it’s mysteries.

Thinking about the giant wheel that goes around, 

leading us unerringly from beginning to end and back again

I think of people on the bottom of Maslows hierarchy, 

struggling to make ends meet,

To get enough warmth, shelter, and food to eat.

So many of us so lucky 

while others struggle to meet their basic needs. 

Determination based on chance, fate or happenstance 

To think you worked to get where you are and did it completely alone is folly,

 or ego

No man is an island,

 as John Donne once philosophized, 

we are small archipelagos of dirt, held together by our births, 

our cultures, 

our languages,

Interconnected, 

like the roots of a tree, 

or cleaner fish in the ocean

We play our part in the larger act, part of the whole, 

important but not the star 

Together we move forwards, 

the wheel continues to roll

Knowing the score

Today I felt a deep pit in my stomach. 

It swelled and grew, full of certainty and acceptance, 

with a side of sadness 

Every day I deal with people on the worst days of their lives, 

breaking bad news 

I hope I’m kind, 

and I hope my presence helps them walk through the mine field of uncertainty and despair.

I hope my words give comfort

But sometimes, I’m on the other side of the words,

A little too local for my liking

In one heartbeat, you hear the words you’ve been worrying about, 

Acknowledge you weren’t being silly, 

the symptoms were really there. 

Your pain tolerance is just fine, but something else wasn’t. 

Feeling that sinking feeling in my gut, 

I thought about everyone I’ve given bad news, 

And I’m grateful it wasn’t worse,

That I know now, that I can do something, that I have answers and a plan. 

I’ve never been on this side, and the ground feels weird,

But I’ll keep on walking

What the what

I’m not technologically gifted. So every now and then WordPress is beyond me, and stops posting to Facebook.  I then spend an irritating half an hour, or longer, attempting to figure it out,

 again.

And this is after my two year old deleted the first post I had done tonight. 

So, a short couple of paragraphs thought ends up taking an hour or longer, leading to a rant which may or may not be published on Facebook as well. It is difficult to decide whether or not this is one of those cringe worthy moments, but I’m going with no, because the warmth I’m feeling is not embarrassment, but irritation. 

Will this post? We’ll find out. Either way, it’s all true. I’m really not a tech wizard, and I think my brain’s too full at this stage of life to attempt to get there. Plus I don’t really want to, so there’s that.

 I’ll just keep trudging along, doing the best I can to write and get it out so it can be read.

Memories, acid, and social media

Do you have memories that make you cringe?

 I do. 

They stay hidden away in the attic, rattling around in the dark until something causes them to wake up and come back, 

awkward with their presence.

Most of these memories are small, but some are doozies. 

Many are what I call my “Bridget Jones moments”, the type of situation that would be funny if it were happening in a movie, or better yet, to someone else. 

The kind of moment that leaves you praying no one saw it.

I remember these times with a grateful heart that Social media wasn’t around when I was creating them. I see others today, with their dirty laundry spread out on the clothes line of Facebook or instagram and watch their mortification become viral, 

their lives destroyed for the enjoyment of others.

I am happy my life isn’t something that is fascinating to anyone other than possibly my loved ones, depending on the day.

 I have no famous friends, no luxurious wealth or fame to draw the eyes of the uncaring,

 the individuals who enjoy schadenfreude and the destruction of others.

But I also worry when I see these moments arrayed like the bon bons of Peg Bundy for mass consumption. Is the world a worse place now, or do we just see the indifference and the spite of others towards those they have no connection to on a larger forum? 

Strangers in a strange land?

Are embarrassing moments among friends and family part of the fabric that makes us feel close to each other? Is it possible that the moments that make us cringe also glue us together with shared experiences, for good or bad?

And if so, why does this glue become deadly when spread out over the world? Instead of glue, a corrosive acid that tears strangers apart? Destroys far beyond the nature of the transgression?

The dose makes the poison 

I keep this in mind as I mindlessly scroll, watching the moments of others with a kind heart and justifications.

Do unto others includes social media, even if you never see them in reality. 

Kindness costs nothing, but the effects are priceless 

Fork in the road 

I’ve been on the phone a lot this week, dealing with uncertainty. We have the illusion of control in life, easily shattered by the questions you can’t answer, or the things you can’t control.

I don’t play God, I play Russian roulette. 

Is this the right choice? I ask myself this question multiple times every day. Is it my fault? Did I mess up? What if I’d chosen door number 2? Would the outcome have been any different? 

We don’t know, and that’s the crux. We can never see all the paths not taken. We can glimpse the start of the path as the road forks, but it remains hidden out of sight as we walk the path of our choosing. 

Sometimes the path is the right one, and things are smooth. Sometimes the path is bumpy and we regret our choice, certain we’ve chosen badly until the path opens into the meadow and we realize it was just the journey that was hard, but the road got us to our destination after all.

And sometimes the path we are certain of lets us down. 

Life is tricky like that. 

At the end of the day, I still don’t know. I get older but feel less wise with the passing of time, as though the hourglass has drained my certainty away, one grain of sand at a time. 

 I keep choosing my way, blindly trusting that my choices are right, and they will take me where I need to go. 

Realistically optimistic, I keep walking, with sturdy boots and a coat, in case the storm finds me

Commit

Some words feel like home, 

tucked into your heart, 

the way you see the world, 

the way it falls apart.

I’ve lived a few years now,

And I’ve learned a thing 

or two,

But the word commit 

keeps finding me,

Making me come through

I was raised to stay the course,

Don’t give in,

Never quit.

Sometimes against impossible odds,

Sometimes  I’m an idiot 

Wind or rain, or dark of night,

I’m the freakin’ pony express,

Always up for a fight.

When the week has been long and hard

I remind myself of this fact, 

Get back in my saddle again, 

Turn and don’t look back

Paper

Pressed sheets of tree, purpose aplenty. 

My day was full of paper in all its incarnations.

 Paper of news, work, and page after page of addresses and notifications as I attempt to notify the world of my new endeavour in the appropriate, college sanctioned way.

But after spending nine hours on paper for work purposes, my favourite paper came with smiles and cheers. 

My Princess Samantha finished preschool, making it through without a single tear, 

proudly holding her preschool certificate high for the world to see. 

A paper achievement, but so much more.

The circle 

It continues eternally, smooth and perfect,

 a loop unending

We struggle to understand it from the moment of our arrival, 

stunned and blinded by the light of the world

Continually striving, 

climbing,

 growing and changing,

Becoming, unceasing,

 perpetual in the nature of the transformation we undertake.

Until the last minute, we are in a constant state of metamorphosis, 

undeniable,

immutable.

The circle of life both beautiful and tragic, 

the joy of birth,

The devastation of death, 

the moment the light enters and leaves the world.

 Neither created nor destroyed, 

The loop continues, everlasting and unbroken.