Holding Still

AAAHHHH!!!!

I just posted that last bit, and now I am SO ANGRY! It is very difficult to keep my heart quiet when my FIL will NOT. STOP. CALLING.

Encapsulation time. FIL and MIL are both alternative health adherents. Which has been great in a lot of ways for us. Especially in terms of my MIL, who is a gifted homeopath. But the FIL. Well, he had his heyday and has since become a real pain in my arse. I should also tell you that they are divorced. Bitterly. He has obsessive-compulsive tendencies, he is narcissistic, he DOES NOT listen, and he is determined to have me take some experimental (illegal in this country), medicine he helped develop. Which I will not.

He also thinks I need to be educated about my own condition, that I should go "look it up" at a library of medicine in NYC, and has called THREE times to ask if I've had silicone breast implants. Yes, he did.

I humored him at first, saying I would talk to his immunologist friend, because his intentions were good. But now it all returns to being about him. HIS medicine, HIS expertise, HIS schedule. What kind of a person calls the home of someone at 10:30pm the night before she is going into surgery? What kind of person doesn't get the hint when the phone is not picked up and proceeds to talk into the answering machine for 10 minutes? After getting no answer on the cell? And then when angry DIL unplugs answering machine, lets the phone ring endlessly? Twice?

The phone has been unplugged (we have no mute on the phone. Kmart special).

I feel a bit better now. Thank you, blog, for letting me vent. Beckmann is sleeping, and I don't want to wake him to shout about what a big fat jerk his dad is. Though he would agree.

This has obviously been a test. A test of the emergency "quiet your heart" broadcasting system.

Geez, can't a girl Hold Still in peace?

Keeping Still

First of all, thank you to everyone for your feedback on the doll. It has given me the confidence to go make a bunch more. I'm hoping that during my time off after the surgery I will actually be able to do some sewing. I might be totally delusional, but I've got to dream, right?

The surgery is tomorrow morning. I report to the hospital at 8:45, they gas me and operate at 10:30, and all the while I will be STARVING. I can't eat or drink anything after midnight, so I will be crazy hungry tomorrow morning. I like to eat very soon after I awaken. But, don't want to aspirate into my mask like in The Verdict, do I? For some reason that movie keeps resurfacing as I think about the surgery: A routine surgery, the patient has eaten an hour before, aspirates and becomes a vegetable. the doctor tries to hide his incompetence at not catching this by having a nurse fake the paperwork... enter has-been lawyer played by the devastatingly handsome Paul Newman...

I also go back to one of the other two times I've been under anesthesia. It was for a minor surgery I had in '93. Before I lost consciousness, one of the doctors asked if I was an athelete, because my heart rate was so low. Hopefully I'll achieve that sort of calm tomorrow. I've been meditating in preparation for the surgery, and I'll resort to counting my breaths probably as soon as I enter the hospital.

This bleeds into a post I started a few days ago about the title of my blog, Holding Still It is actually a mis-remembering of an I Ching throw called Keeping Still, Mountain.

If you're not familiar with it, The I Ching: or Book of Changes is a Chinese oracle compiled by many wise minds, Confucious among them. It is an endlessly rich book, with references to Taoist and Buddhist thought, as well as poetic nature imagery which helps one to interpret the hexagrams. There is a rather dated (but still informative) introduction by Carl Jung which describes the history of the book, the oracle's relation to the subconscious, and how each of the 64 hexagrams is a possible life condition shared by all us humans. When you wish to consult the I Ching, you either throw three coins or 49 yarrow stalks. I do the former, the latter takes a loooong time. Not to mention that collecting 49 yarrow stalks is not an easy task. You throw three coins six times to achieve a hexagram of moving and/or static lines. The moving lines (when you throw either a 6 or a 9), change to their opposite, and you then have a second hexagram to read.

I know I'm not explaining it that well, and I apologize. I'm certainly not an I Ching scholar. In fact, the way I was introduced to the book has a shady backstory. I went to a good friend's dorm room in college to buy an illegal substance. I had never done this before, and I haven't done it since. It was an experimental package for myself and my roommate, cough, cough. Anyway, he asked if I wanted to throw the I Ching, which of course, I did. And I threw the hexagram #1 -- "The Creative." Almost all 9's. My friend was jealous, because HE wanted to throw "The Creative." We were both art students, and I was poised to go to a summer painting program. It was an appropriate throw for me and the adventure I was about to go on.

This experience with the I Ching blossomed into a relationship with the book I still have today. Beckmann and I threw it together upon our "reunion" in 1996 and both threw the SAME THROW. It was #31 -- "Wooing." That's right, there is a hexagram about wooing. Hexagram #52, "Keeping Still, Mountain," is one of my favorites. When I throw it, I barely need to read it, but I do anyway. It's main gist is "the problem of achieving a quiet heart." It is about rest and movement as complements, and signifies the end and the beginning of all movement. One way I read it is as that infinitesimal moment between rest and motion. Like the moment between thinking and speaking -- it is a split second, but if you're mindful of it, you can prolong it, and maybe you'll wait to speak. Or maybe you'll say something differently. I certainly need to do that more often.

The lines that always get me are, "The heart thinks constantly. This cannot be changed, but the movements of the heart -- that is, a man's thoughts -- should restrict themselves to the immediate situation. All thinking that goes beyond this only makes the heart sore."

I think that the in-your-face nature of surgery (no matter how routine, which mine is), has made it clear that I need to concentrate more on quieting my heart. I've been allowing it to flip-flop all over the place, keeping me up at night. And I'm enjoying it! Worry and uncertainty provide me with a strange exhileration. It's a little like daydreaming on high doses of caffeine, except I do it all day and all night.

There is a lot about to happen in my, Beckmann's, and Chauncy's lives, so my spinning thoughts and whirling dervish heart aren't surprising. But I need to take care of myself, and my heart, (and my nose!), so I will attempt to go to sleep now, and breathe. With a little crossword puzzle action to increase the yawnage.

Oh, and Holding Still will hold, even though it was a mistake.

doll

Here is the doll I've been working on.


The second view includes a bored Chauncey, with more dress view. I made the shirt out of two linen hankies from a thrift store. The dark orange print dress is from a Balinese sarong I bought about 12 years ago which served as a curtain in the one window I had in my bedroom in Baltimore. I've used little bits of this favorite fabric over the years in quilts, and when I was looking for a dress fabric, it was the best, by far.

We just got a new camera, so I am still experimenting with the various settings. Forgot the flash on the second, as you can probably tell.

I'm mostly happy with the way the doll came out, but I wish I hadn't made her head separate from her body. I'm glad I did so with the arms and legs, so that they can move about. But her head flops back and forth a lot, so I think the next doll I attempt will have the head and trunk as one piece. Although now that I think about it, my Raggedy Anne's head flopped. Unless I'm mis-remembering...

I have two other dolls I made a while back I will photograph soon. And I plan to make more dolls. I have lots of friends with young kids, so I'll give them as gifts. Hopefully I'll get faster as I make more of them.

pretty polyps

I'm going to have nasal polyp surgery this Wednesday. I'm sort of in denial about it. It is something I've been thinking about doing for a while now, and after a particuarly uncomfortable autumn/early winter, I've made the plunge. My mom had it done, my aunt, friends of friends, and even one of the nurses who interviewed me at the hospital. They all are very glad they did, and said it cut back dramatically on the number of sinus infections they suffer from each winter.

If that is a result, I will be happy. We're also all hoping it will mean less antibiotic consumption and not needing to increase my old pal prenisone as often.

Apparently, the pain and discomfort after the surgery are intense, and the length of time of recuperation varies. I'm sure I'll be one of the slow-healing ones. ACK!

I must make soup, and buy more crackers so I can eat crackers in bed with Chauncey. He is a good home therapy dog, and he does appreciate a good saltine.

Sometimes I wonder if my nose were bigger, would I have more room for polyps to cohabitate peacefully?

journal sifting

Today I was rummaging around for an old journal of mine, looking for poems by May Sarton. I can't remember why I thought of her. But I wanted to reread a late poem of hers about getting dressed. Well, I found it, and I started rereading the entire journal. It started in June of 2002 (that is the spring/summer after I was diagnosed with Wegener's and began treatment/convalescence). The last date is November 11th of the same year. I also found notes about a septum in my uterus and that my left ovary was bigger than my right. I wasn't in any condition to consider pregnancy, but I guess I was talking about it future-wise with my gyno.

I was pleasantly surprised by some of the clarity I found within the journal, then alternatively embarrassed when I read my desperate rantings about how awful I felt and how I wanted to chop my head off (one aspect of my illness is INTENSE sinus/head pain). Mostly, I was glad to read it again, and the parts that stuck out the most were the small moments. Beckmann and I were still living in NYC, but I had moved out to the "country" for the summer, and he was shuttling back and forth between the two places. I spent a lot of time alone, which I craved. I was on a heavy dosage of prednisone at the time, and if any of you have ever had the pleasure, you might know how MOODY one can become on this magical steroid. Boy was I bitchy! That on top of not feeling well most of the time makes for someone who should be given a wide berth.

Back to small moments. I listened to catbirds. I saw beauty and appreciated it. I was grateful for my tea (still am!). What I sensed from the entries was that gratefulness people have after a crisis. Like being happy that walking a block to the park didn't wind me anymore. Stuff like that. I discovered May Sarton that summer, and read every book our little library had by her. I liked some of her poems, but I especially identified with her journals.

Sarton was very ill at the end of her life, suffering from lung, heart and stomach ailments. She was interviewed about that time, and here's part of what she said:

* "At the end I talk about -- or she asks me -- what this time of illness has meant, whether it has been all negative. I'm sorry to say that I answer yes, it has been. There is no point in pretending that it has been a lesson in anything except endurance and trying to believe that someday I can get better. But when illness goes on so long and there is apparently no hope, it is hard to believe. I've been a very depressed person."

Now that I'm feeling better, it's easier for me to find the positives from that time. But I felt exactly like Sarton for a good time afterwards. I still do have flashes of depression and anger about it. But they happen less and less. I think I forced myself to look for the "silver lining," because I had to move on past my anger at not ever being the same again. Plus, I prefer the way I feel when I'm being grateful. Or even the way I feel when I remember having been grateful.

I'll end with the poem I was looking for. I empathized with this a ton at the time, because I was so frail and unsteady, too:

**Getting Dressed

These days
Everything is an effort,
Getting dressed
An adventure.
I may lose my balance
Pulling on jeans,
Buttoning my shirt
A trial of patience,
Pulling on a sweater
I get lost inside it.
When I am dressed
At last
It is a small triumph
And I am rather tired
At the very start of the day.

* didn't note where quote came from, but maybe Endgame
** from Coming into Eighty

Preparation

I talk to an astrologer about once a year -- yes, I'm one of those people. I think I mentioned him in another post. But I'm not going to apologize, nor try to convince anyone else to give it a chance. My admittance of this is mostly as an intro to a subject that's been, predictably, on my mind -- mothering.

I spoke to said astrologer in November and decided not to tell him about the adoption right off -- I wanted to see what he would say. Within the first 5 minutes he began talking about significant, life-altering change in the year ahead, and repeated the word "mothering" a couple hundred times -- "you will be thinking about how you were mothered, you will consider different ways of mothering" -- you get the idea.

We had a good talk, I became clearer about some things, and we tried to guestimate when we'd get a referral, based on full-moon eclipses and the like. I'll let you know how he did.

Preparing to be a mother is something I've dived into wholeheartedly. Of course, it's not free of panic attacks, anxiety and fear of the unknown -- I'm not insane, after all. There are innumerable levels and types of preparation. There is the material one -- buying stuff that kids need. I have done almost none of that. Partly because I don't want to jinx us, partly because I have no idea of the ages or genders of the children, and finally because I'm trying not to spend too much money these days. We also have many friends and family who desperately want to give us their kids' outgrown clothes, cribs, toys, you name it.

Everyone in my family is a natural researcher. My mom and sister are both librarians, so it's in the blood. We like to look stuff up and read everything about it. I've been reading about adoption, of course. Specifically about toddler adoption, transracial adoption, and attachment. I've been learning about Ethiopian culture, and having a great time reading children's reference books about the country and culture. I found two at the library, both published in 2005, which are quite good. One is Ethiopia in Pictures, the other Ethiopia: Enchantment of the World. I've spent more time on the latter, and have found it to flow well, have great photos, and have a good mix of history, mythology, and factual info. It also describes examples of kids' day-to-day lives. I still need to spend time on the other book. From a quick scan it seems more suitable for slightly older children, and to be more textbooky. They are both textbooks, and both are from a series about other countries of the world. The second is from Scholastic.

Talking has become an important form of preparation for me. I tend to be quiet, but I like to communicate at the same time. This paradox can make for a lot of stuttering and stammering and wishing I had said something ENTIRELY different than what came out of my mouth. Blogging is helping me organize my thoughts, and so has talking about the adoption with different people. It's practice. It's not unlike when I prepare for tours at the museum. I take a little while to become acquainted with the artwork, I talk about it with colleagues, I become more intimate with the art, and then it's like we're old friends, and I'm introducing one of them to a group of students. The more comfortable I feel talking about international, transracial adoption, the reasons why children are relinquished for adoption in Ethiopia -- the more comfortable our kids will feel when they hear me speak. At least I hope so.

And then there are the practical preparations. Our children will have hair as different from ours as can be. I've been reading some great blogs about AA hair, have found sources for natural haircare products, as well as skin care info.

Been thinking about which school our kids will go to. Finding afterschool programs with significantly more diverse populations. Thinking about church.

I know that all of this preparation won't ensure a seamless transition from married, childless life to suddenly-a-family life. I will sputter and feel frustrated by people's comments as I realize that we have become a conspicuous family. At times I will forget everything I have read.

But this is how I prepare for things. I read, I talk, and I dream.

randomness

And now for something very important and what I'm sure you've all been waiting for... What I got with our gift certificate to the MOMA store. First, this and then two of these. Neither of the Ugly Dolls I got are in this picture. I picked Chuckanucka and Moxie. I liked their "personalities." Chuckanucka worries about everything, like, "what if they stop making cd players? How will I play all of my cds?" Moxie seems like the opposite, trying to stir up activity and trouble. Always on the go. They actually remind me of Chauncey and Sammy, respectively.

These ugly dudes go well with our "Scary Story" pets. Scary Story pets are all based on animals the creator has met in her life, AND I kind of know her. She's a friend of a friend, I taught her daughter once in an art class, and she is tres cool. As are the pets. They make dog toys, too, which are mighty sturdy.

Not that anyone needs more stuffed animals.

In my own craft life, I've been working on dolls. I should finish one soon, and I have two more I made a couple of years ago. Actually one I made 10 years ago(!) when Beckmann and I re-kindled our looovvve. I'm going to post pictures soon, but I need to finish the latest one and work out our camera issues. Which are that since we upgraded our computer, our ancient camera is no longer compatible. The only computer in my life that is compatible to this sad piece of obsolete technology is at my workplace, and it isn't my computer. It is a colleague's. She very nicely allows me to upload pictures when she's not using it, but I think we really need to work out a better solution -- like maybe buying a new camera?

Sorry for the shallow blogpost. I'm working on a few posts in my head, and will get to writing soon. I feel the juice returning as the student art opening I'm working on nears.
An old picture of Chauncey and Sammy displaying their dysfunctional relationship for all to see. They've been having a sleepover here for the past two nights. I'm tellin' ya, once I get a new camera...

Poor Chauncey...

Work has been tiring me out the last couple of days. I won't get into details, but we're hanging an exhibition, and between going up and down ladders, and the usual "museum sickness" or "museum legs" one can experience when spending inordinate amounts of time IN a museum's galleries, I have been too tuckered to write.

So I'm getting my butt off the couch/bed/floor and putting it into the computer chair.

First bit of news: Chauncey has injured himself. Again. I haven't written too much about C-dog, but I should tell you that neither me nor Beckmann has ever had a dog with more physical and emotional "issues." We're crazy about him, but really! Last evening Beckmann and Chauncey went out to the fields to bring his girlfriend back to her own house. (C-dog's girl is a tiny, aggressive Jack Russell who lives next door. She is the love of his life). Sometimes he comes back without any trouble, but often he catches the scent of a deer or a rabbit, and will run like the wind and not come back for several minutes. This is what happened last night, and after about 25 minutes he returned. Limping. His back right leg lifted pathetically, needing to be lifted himself, into bed, barely lifting his head to respond to us.

If this were any other dog, I would worry. But it's Chauncey. I used to worry about his many mishaps, heatstrokes, unexplained under-the-bed forays for hours at a time, anxiety after having rolled in pheasant poop. He can look more pathetic than any other dog you have seen. Ears down, amber gaze rolling pathetically away from us, limp body.

So very sad. And then the phone rings. It's his girlfriend's owner. He can hear his voice. Ears up! Jump into the air! Race around the house like it's Christmas -- AGAIN!!! OMG, OMG, OMG!!! Is it her? Will I get to see HER?

And it's as if nothing ever happened. Beckmann did NOT take him over to see her today,(her name is Sammy, btw), because he knew that C-dog would reinjure himself. But we have evidence that his injury seems to have improved. He mostly only limps when he just gets up from a nap, or when he forgets and jumps up to take off Beckmann's hat (from his head. And Beckmann is 6' tall), and lands on his arse.

After his last depressive episode we took him to the vet who checked all of his vitals, his blood, his joints, his whole little doggie self. "I don't think there is anything PHYSICALLY wrong with him. I think it's anxiety." Said with a look of bewilderment.

And the story of C-dog continues. So please don't worry, he'll be ok. You hear that Chaunce? You're gonna be okay!

*All of my pix of Chauncey jumping need to be rotated. I will get to that soon. It is something to behold.

faith

Thanks for commenting on my "talk" post. It's good to hear others' experiences, and it helped me realize that I may be a bit of a baby. I mentioned to one commenter that I was a middle child, and maybe those "ignored" feelings were rearing up. Don't get me wrong -- being a middle has served me well in the long run. After an early childhood of clinginess and clamouring for my parents' attention, I struck out and found an amazing circle of friends whom I still have (since elementary school!), and I continue to find spectacular friends as I go on in life.

These friends are great and interested and supportive, so along with my mom, I've got plenty of bases covered. My MIL also likes to talk about the adoption with me, though she's a bit more of a challenge. For example, she wants us to ask for a boy and a girl. And I don't want to. Not that there is anything wrong with wanting one of each -- I'd be thrilled. But I know I will be thrilled by any combination of siblings. I've got friends with every combination, and they're all pretty neat. Just imagine missing out on experiencing the greatest pair of boys/girls, because we were being picky?

Changing subjects, I've been considering attending the local Baptist Church here in town. It is predominatly black, and I've heard it's got a great acting pastor. Beckmann has participated in a choir sing including the choir from this church, and he said it blew every other church choir out of the water. A friend of mine says she wants to start attending with her family, so that would be a wonderful way for us to make the foray into faith.

Religion inhabits a complicated place in my psyche, as I'm sure it does for a lot of people. I was raised Catholic, and after being disappointed numerous times by my church, I refused to consider returning to ANY church. It took me several years to be able to sit in a church and not feel angry. My experiences are my own, so I don't mean to degrade anyone's religion. My life experiences coupled with the churches I was raised in didn't do very much to encourage tolerance or compassion, nor a sense of belonging to a greater whole. Once again, my experience.

Working in art museums did more for my grasp of what faith is than attending church. I certainly have an almost religious passion for art. I learned (and still do) about wildly different religions, the impetus for their art-making, the stories their arts told to their faithful. From the curvy, voluptuous and many-armed Hindu deities, to the Shinto nature deities, to Osiris, to Mary, I ate it all up. And, of course, when I compared the different religions, I found that they weren't that different after all. They share the qualities of providing comfort, community, contemplation, and trying to understand "why?"

I've lately found Buddhism to be the most helpful for coping with the day-to-day and the unusual. This has been a very personal inquiry, and mostly solitary (though it doesn't have to be). I am excited to visit the Baptist church, as well as the local Unitarian church where the wife of a colleague of mine is a minister. It'll be fun to take part in a group faith experience again, and I think it will be a good resource for our kids.

Of course, there is the getting up on Sunday morning and spending a couple of hours at church. That will be difficult. Beckmann is very protective of his mornings for painting -- but he is the bass voice in the family. He may be wooed. I am the lazy Sunday person. I'll let you know how it goes. Now for some religious art to get you inspired. Most of the pieces are from my favorite church museum, the Met. The seated Buddha and the Ethiopian manuscript are from the net.

get your craft on

Shelba* at Bionic Valentine is having a craft-a-month project.  I had just happened to make a sack-like bag for myself based on another bag given to me by a friend.  It is roomy and fits a small Jack Russell, if you have such a need. 

I actually made 5 more of these, as gifts and to sell at a friend's store.  Sold one so far.  Must apologize for goofy photo of bag-lady. 

*I'm having trouble linking to her, so check her out on the china adoption blogroll.