Fate

Tick tock, tick tock

How many minutes does a heart hold?

Each cell born with a predestined number, the end at the beginning already decided

Do we influence fate? Or bow to its will? 

How much of what I do matters? Would the path be the same without my involvement? I like to think I help, even heal sometimes. Bring joy and comfort to the lives of those around me.

But it all stays a mystery, wrapped inside our DNA. Written in the sand that washes away on the shores of life.

Unable to be known or seen, precognition not a gift I possess

Tick tick, tick tock.

Timely

Everything has a season,

a time to be

the grass grows when it ought

the moon moves the sea

Each spring the birds lay their young

alone in the nest

love from the heart is sung

an gift that’s their best

a child grows as they should

beautiful and unique

impossible to change,

even if you could

treasure each moment,

they are fleeting and rare

remembering the good with the bad

a quality each of us share

 

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Timely

Becoming me

Once again it’s five am. A bunch of songs run through my head about early mornings but I can’t catch most of them. Thankfully today isn’t starting out as an ear worm day. 

Instead, I’m soaking in the feeling of coziness with my coffee and my TENS machine on my bad foot. It’s my bad foot because it slows me down when I don’t want it to. We’ve talked about it before, but apparently, the foot gets to hurt whenever it wants to, no matter what I feel about it.

So, enforced rest this morning gives me time to sit and think instead of running. It’s not a bad thing, but sometimes it’s less comfortable than running a marathon, depending on what needs to be dealt with.

I think we all have those times where our brain gets too full of what needs to be done, and the thoughts start to get jumbled together. I’m trying to declutter my life at the moment, inspired by the KonMarie technique of tidying. (I haven’t actually started tidying yet, but I am considering it, which is further than I usually get)

Part of that decluttering for me includes getting all the extra thoughts out of my head that are adding to the weight we all carry around with us. On any given moment, I can be simultaneously worrying about the kids, work, my foot, my diet, my weight, am I being lazy? Being late, getting time to write, will I ever get published? That looks yummy but I don’t want diabetes so I’m not going to eat it.

Ok, reading that list exhausts me and that was only what’s currently in my head. I think I’m getting to the age where people used to have a midlife crisis. I’m not sure if they are still calling it that though- it sounds very 80s in my head. I think people call it a life change or reawakening or some other fancy term now.

For me, I think my life shifted the second I found out I was pregnant with my first. Not so much a midlife crisis as a ‘giving life’ change in my priorities. We all think we know what to expect, and from a medical perspective there wasn’t any surprises. But my emotional capacity changed overnight, becoming so much more than I imagined. It wasn’t about me and my feelings now, it was about this amazing miracle of nature, and how was I going to keep them safe, which in turn opened up all of my emotions to everyone around me as well.

Pregnancy shifted everything. It was around five months pregnant when I realized that I couldn’t work the way I had been. I wanted to be part of my kids lives and raise them, try to be there for bedtimes and mornings. So work had to change. I wasn’t interested in working shifts, or doing a week of call, and I wanted a safer home where our kids could play outside. (Not where they would learn about the birds and bees in the backyard, which happened once in our driveway. But that’s another story) 

So we decided to move provinces, to a place 12 hours away that I didn’t know much about. 

This was a huge undertaking in so many ways. It’s taken me several years but I finally feel that I’m home. We’ve made some friends, and I finally feel more settled into work, and felt happy.

But then I began to get that restless feeling again. The feeling telling me that things aren’t finished yet, something was missing.

I used to get almost the same feeling when it was time to have another baby, but this time I was completely content on that front. I’ve hit the maximum number I can cope with and the biological clock has had its batteries removed, thank you very much.

It took me awhile to figure it out. It came in a whim to buy a writing magazine at Chapters, and seeing the add for nanowrimo to realize what the feeling was. I’d been spending all of my time on kids and work and the mechanics of the day that I hadn’t noticed that the creative part of my soul had been locked away in storage.

November 2015 was when I started to become a writer. I’ve always loved reading and could easily read up to ten books a week when I was younger. This hasn’t been the case since having children, as they won’t let me while they are awake and I’m too tired when they go to bed, but I’m still working on it. 

I’ve also always loved writing. Since I learned how to read I’ve loved creating my own worlds and trying to make them real for myself and others. In university my favourite course was creative writing, but it never seemed practical to do it for a living. 

(Seriously, it was like telling people I was going to be a rock star or a famous race car driver. Some people do that, but most can’t pay their rent, and that wasn’t logical for me.)

 So as life got busier with medical school and then work, then family, that dream was tucked away.

Until it came bursting out again in the form of a book, then two, then three and now I’m working on my fourth.  Not published, but starting to try. And finally I feel I have started to feed that piece of my soul that has been hungry.

 I’m in the process of becoming and I love it, and hope that I continue, that I not only get published someday but that I continue to create for the rest of my life. 

All of the pieces finally coming together. And I like what I see so far. 

The disappearance of weekend

It’s a sad thing really, how fast two free days get filled up and disappear in a puff of smoke, like someone in a souped up hot rod laying rubber through an intersection.

Don’t get me wrong- I had a great weekend, it just never seems quite long enough. I get all these great plans, and it always feels like I’ve got so much time- TWO WHOLE DAYS!- and then I’m left confused, wondering where it went and why it never calls like it said it would.

We spent the weekend basically housecleaning. We had to get our house clean so that we could leave it overnight, and then when we got up to the lake, we spent the next 24 hours cleaning that one too.

The kids of course had a blast and no idea that work was happening. They just rode their bikes up and down the deserted road in front while I watched them, keeping them out of their Dads (shaved) hair while he built their bed.

I enjoyed watching them, even though I made them go inside in half hour intervals. They likely could have stayed out forever, but I was freezing. Plus one Celsius isn’t exactly my idea of outside fun time weather.  But they are kids, with more brown fat than their mommy has. (Mommy has the useless white fat now that makes her want to sleep and read books)

I still remember playing outside in minus thirty for hours, wrapped up in a red staypuff snowsuit and home made mitts and scarf and toque. As long as you wore two pairs of mitts you stayed toasty, but woe to the kid who forgot the second pair.

My almost six year old has finally mastered her bike, as we could tell by her glee spinning tires in water that she wasn’t really stuck. The four year old is still cautious but doing ok, singing her bike song tunelessly over and over and over…

But my favourite, that cracked me up endlessly, was my little dude motoring around on his Harley plastic tricycle. He can’t reach the pedals yet so he pushes with his feet. He gets going so fast he will sometimes run them into a tire, which frustrates him. I don’t think it hurts though because he never cried, just yelled at the tires. He started to get the timing right and would lift them so he glided. He was so pleased when that happened, it was like he’d invented a new form of travel.

By the time lunch rolled around on Sunday, I was done. The kids were getting hungry, the little one hadn’t napped so was getting grouchy, and the four year wanted a new family but didn’t know how to drive so was stuck with us- in her own words.

It was time to go home. And so the weekend vanished and I am left with some good family memories, wishing that I could have more time for that. I’ll add it to my memory bank, and keep looking for more time to make others.

Heal

To cut is to cure, the Surgeons motto

surgeon means person who heals by hand

Doctor means teacher

physician means practitioner of the natural sciences, of medicine.

These words are ubiquitous today, and everyone knows what they mean.

But what does it mean to heal?

Is it merely a conversion from a dis-ease, or is  true health the goal or the cure?

Is it an easy physical task? many would believe it is, both the healer and the healed.

But there is more to it that what we see.

more than just the tangible

Healing involves the soul,

the transfer of energy and light between individuals.

The person who sits beside the bed worrying,

the person who changes the linen

cleans up the trays

the person who sits and asks questions, finding out where the problem is, and what to do about it.

but some illness can not be healed,

some paths we all must walk eventually

But on a good day, the soul is complete, and the dis-ease abates

and even though the body may struggle and falter

even when the only healing to be done

is that of those left behind after the illness has won.

 

 

 

Ouroboros 

This week has worn me down. I find the days go so fast, and yet they seem to all repeat the same thing over and over.

In my little cubicle in the world I deal with microcosms, and have only small windows into the world of others. I really do like being able to help, but it can be so draining emotionally at times, 

like water wearing down the bank of a river.

And then the news- oh god, I read the news. And I weep. So many children and innocents dying across the ocean and I wonder why.

Is it a lack of communication? It’s hard for humans to get along, because we can’t be in another persons head. But such large scale genocide, because it is a genocide, begs the question- how? Why? Who decided that this is the appropriate action to take? 

Choking to death on gases that horrified the world a century earlier 

Watching while your loved ones die.

Holding babies, trying to protect your patients,

Succumbing 

The world watches and holds its breath, this I know. Everyone is frightened of what this means for them

It’s like watching a kid a school being bullied. Some may participate but most slink away, scared of being noticed and being next. 

And if someone stands up, defends? Then the risk shifts. They too may be injured, defeated. Or if they emerge victorious, then what?

Violence begets violence. We all are motivated by the same emotions.

Love, hate, fear, hunger, fatigue,revenge, desire. Basic needs, but we think we are above, that we think, reason

How can we make this neverending ouroboros stop eating its tail?

I want to hold the world in my arms, and tell it everything will be ok, I’m here, 

But I can’t. 

And the news of atrocities pours in, more drops in the bucket of mans evil to man.

I turn away, overwhelmed, and go back to my corner. Do my job, love my people, and try not to think this could happen here, guilty at my lack of action, 

slinking away before the bully

10 minutes a day

I’ve been thinking about ways to make my days meaningful, every day, not just occasionally. I find so often we walk around being busy- get up, pour coffee down to wake up, exercise, get the kids going, go to work, come home, grab a kid for an activity, feed kids, put to bed, pass out.

Repeat.

We all do this, with a variation on a theme. This is why I’m so jealous of people who come back all tan from vacation. It’s not the tan (ok, mostly not the tan, but I’m pretty white so there may be jealousy there)

No, I’m mostly jealous because I can smell the freedom on them. It’s a funny thing- the look of relaxation on people’s faces when they come home. Even when the kids were awful or they lost their luggage or whatever, they come home less tight. It’s in he face and shoulders mostly, but everyone can smell the freedom on them.

Now, I doubt I’ll be going on vacation anytime soon- 3 kids in car seats do not travel well unless in our own mini van (with a glorious DVD player. Sometimes we drive around so they are contained and quiet, I kid you not), but I want to have that feeling of relaxation at least at some part of the day.  

So, inspired by another smart person I’ve been reading lately, I’m going to focus on doing things for just ten minutes a day. Things that make me take a deep relaxing sigh and help recharge me. 

These things include- exercise, writing, reflecting, and talking to people around me. I want to add reading in but I’m probably going to run out of time, and I don’t want this to be more stressful.

For the month of April, that means I’m going to write on my novel 10 minutes a day, write here for 10 minutes as part of my reflecting, and try to stay in touch with friends and family better. (I’m already doing the exercise, see how I’m cheating? Success!!)

Think about your own life and what you would like to accomplish. Ten minutes a day doesn’t seem like much but it adds up- 300 minutes in a month could be the difference to not only accomplishing something but also feeling like you just got back from a beach vacation. (I hope)

Let the ten minutes a day begin!

Morning review

Sitting with my coffee I review the day before and the day ahead. I wake up at the usual time, but decide not to exercise- my cold has made my sluggish and sore. 

I sit on the couch with my little love, who coughs harshly then smiles at me, happy with something a puppy on his show has done. Clearly we are sharing an illness and yet- he stays more fixed on the cartoon than on his feelings. 

Yesterday was a blur at work. Not full of any major tragedy thankfully, instead the slow accumulation of layers of sadness.  Those who are not coping well, those who are injured, those who are dying.

We are all in this process, every day. While I sit and feel sorry for myself, congested and headachy, someone else deals with the pain of bones full of Swiss cheese holes. Another with the devasting loss of a child or a spouse, 

others with the slow indignant dwindle of age. 

Watching my son in his innocent joy at paw patrol while I wonder if this time he’ll get through it without steroids, I feel  temporarily blessed. 

My minor struggles remind me I’m part of this human condition. It reminds me as always that our bodies are frail miracles, and to appreciate the times we feel alive and healthy.

Maybe today will be “busy”, and maybe I’ll return home with a headache again. But I get to come home to my family to complain. And that makes me feel like a lottery winner in my own life. 

Even while I wish for a cure for the common cold.

Prudence

I wonder if life would have been different if I hadn’t been in the middle.

growing up, worrying about being on time, getting everything done on time. feeling guilty if I didn’t do what I was supposed to.

Being responsible.

sensible

prudent

I was always dependable. The designated driver, the worker who would pick up the extra shift.

taking sciences in university instead of the arts, as it was more logical to get into medicine

if you understood the sciences.

but what if?

my soul never sang to microbiology the way it did in history or english.

never crooned in chemistry as it did in psychology.

people have always intrigued me so much more than physics.

and now that I’m a responsible adult with a family and a job and a house and 3 cats and a dog,

I’m playing at being myself again,

writing in the early morning hours, free of the dogma of doing the right thing

finally letting my dreams fly free of prudence. Snipping the ties to the tether of shoulds and dreaming into the sky instead.

via Daily Prompt: Prudent