YOU GET WHAT YOU NEED

 "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..."  Mick Jagger.

I decided to try to fit my neighborhood walk in before the predicted showers hit this later this morning.  I left at 10:00 a.m.  By 10:10 it was raining.  At first I thought, "Damn! I gotta get  home!"  But then I remembered I am actually not the Wicked Witch of West in danger of melting in the rain, nor did I have her troop of winged monkeys to carry me back up the steep hill I'd just descended.  So, I decided something uncharacteristic of me; I decided I'd carry on.

I'm a fair weather outdoors-woman.  I like to be warm, dry, and comfortable at all times.  I'm more of an indoors-woman during the cold, wet, gray NW fall/winter/spring.   I do not purposely go out in the rain, especially if it's accompanied by wind.  It wasn't windy today, so that likely played into my radical decision to keep to my walking route, even in the rain.

About the time I felt the first sprinkles, I stopped at a bench at the bottom of my hill to gather my thoughts.   I looked out at the slate gray sky merging with the slate gray water and regretted I had not gone on my usual Marina walk.  It's got postcard perfect views. But I decided to stop wishing for something other than what was right in front of me.  

Here, at the bottom of my hill, is the urban, industrial water view.  The working waterfront, the unpretty one, the one that challenges and frustrates. I saw the Navy base, the shipping piers, the big cranes.  And out beyond, the islands and cloud-obscured Olympic Mountain range.  This has a certain beauty too, often harder to see.  I also heard the sea lions barking, even if I couldn't see them.  I knew they'd thrown their big bodies, so unwieldy on land and so sleek and sure in water, up onto a buoy or pier calling out to each other in their distinctive deep-throated "harrh-harrh-harrh".  We were so charmed to hear this sound from our house when we moved here long ago.  It seems so strange and wild.  I heard  the gulls overhead cawing, the Pileated Woodpecker going to town on the nearby wooden utility pole.  I watched robins pecking at the wet soil and noticed three crows keeping watch lined up on an overhead wire.  I closed my eyes and heard the patter of rain against my quilted jacket as it came down more insistently.  I was grateful I'd chosen the winter coat and not the lighter windbreaker I almost grabbed.  

I got up and started walking again, my usual neighborhood route, deciding not to hurry, but to keep a moderate, steady pace no matter the weather.  When I got to the intersection of my street where I would normally turn back home, I kept going up, up, up the gradual incline I'd already been climbing for two blocks.  My hair was wet. My fingers were cold in spite of my gloves.  I don't know why I decided to do another part of the route that I only do occasionally, a few blocks further on to a pocket subdivision near our home with its meandering, cul-de-sac streets lined with well-kept homes and generally not a soul in sight.  

It was quiet today too.  I noticed the rain dripping down my forehead, the wet fabric of my pants against my thighs, a little twinge in my left knee, the way my right foot seems to swell if I walk a long ways, as if the top of my foot rises up to hit the laces inside.  A slight pain shot down my low back to my butt and I reminded myself to do some yoga for sciatica when I got home.  I was aware of my body.  Aware of being wet, but not cold, not miserable -- just persevering.  

When I came out of the subdivision I turned right instead of left leading me to a footbridge over the roadway to access a huge forested park near us.  I went to the bridge, then turned back toward home, but again did not take the most direct route, but a longer one, one that put me two blocks further away and would require a short but steep uphill climb to my street.  All of this seemed like the most logical thing in the world to do.  (Plus my Fitbit registered 4.3 miles and 10,128 steps!)

I realized I was challenging my comfort zone.  I was building resilience muscles in my body.  I have tackled enormous emotional challenges lately, but this felt different and good.   I was learning lessons with my body that I've been trying to learn only in my mind.  

It's not like I was running a marathon or scaling Mt. Everest, but it was practice in allowing for discomfort, for accepting the "is-ness" of the moment, for realizing what we want and what we get are often very different things.  It was a lesson in perseverance and acceptance.  It was a lesson in no matter how much I wanted the sun to shine, what I was going to get was rain.  So, I decided to be in the rain, with all my awareness, and find my life there, alone, making my way.   It's what I need.

At least that's the view from here...©

I AM MY SUNSHINE

One does not want to sound ungrateful.  I am grateful, believe me.  The opportunity to spend 2-1/2 weeks in Hawaii at the end of January and beginning of February is not something to take for granted.  I am blessed beyond belief.

But does that mean I can't be a wee bit disappointed that this 2-1/2 weeks has been unseasonably cool and cloudy?  I was sooooo looking forward to this trip, imagining long lounges in the sun, frequent dips in the huge pool, kicking at the waves lapping the sandy shore….

Got a little bit of that -- a very little.  Mostly, it felt like home on days when we stare up at the overcast sky and try to figure out which way the clouds are moving and whether there is a sun above the thick layer of gray and when, if ever, it might break through; days when we dress in shirtsleeves and sweatshirts and spend an inordinate amount of time putting on and taking off various layers of clothing; days when we hope that "tomorrow" the sun will come out.

We are going home today; home to where snow fell last night, blanketing Puget Sound in white, which is also unusual and I wonder if the new buds and bursts of green in my garden, that were a harbinger of spring not too far off, will survive the deep freeze of last week and the snow of this weekend.

For someone who seems to need sunshine like nourishment, I have to question my decision to live in the rain-soaked Northwest and then buy a timeshare on Hawaii's wettest island.   Maybe it has to do with the green, lush, amazing beauty of both places.

Maybe it is my Higher Self hitting me over the head with the message that my narrowly defined comfort zone could use some expanding.   Other people went in the pool in spite of the wind and cloud cover and only shivered a little bit when they got out.  Other people went on cloudy, drizzly day hikes and laughed over slipping and falling onto Kauai's red dirt trails that turn to mudslides with the slightest precipitative provocation.   Other people donned rain gear and booked whale watching expeditions onto the choppy Pacific.

Sorry, Higher Self, I don't buy it; none of these things appeal to me.  I don't like being cold, covered in red mud that never washes out and leaves a stain on all it touches (voice of experience), or being seasick.

I just kept waiting for the sun:   reading several books, doing the NYT crossword each morning, journaling, blogging, posting to FB and working on some poems, watching the whales spout and breech offshore, going on "let's explore backroads" drives, savoring the most amazing Hub-grilled fish every night by candlelight in our room overlooking Kalapaki Bay, being quiet, being social, being reclusive, being 100% in connection with Hub (no disagreements, arguments, frustrations, or resentments in spite of 24/7 proximity!).

OK, maybe it wasn't such a bad trip after all; maybe all that sunshine would have distracted me from the quieter warmth that finds a way to shine from within.

At least, that's the view from here… ©

LOOKIN' FOR FUN...AND FEELIN' GRUMPY

It is the time of year when I can't believe I've lived in the Pacific Northwest for 31 years and not gone mad.

It is June-uary Eve (almost) and the hints at summer that we had in early May have been drowned out by the seemingly nearly non-stop rains of the past couple of weeks.  Oh, it is amazingly green and the rhodies are putting on a show of color that is breathtaking.  And everything is growing crazy fast (grass, weeds, vines...)  But it is WET.  And chilly (60-degrees on a warm day).  It's still sweater and socks weather...as it usually is in June.  When it is SUMMER everywhere else!  This makes me nuts.

Son-Two just got back from a long weekend with his cousins at their sunny Sedona home.  He posted many photos on Facebook of them partying on their patio, floating in their pool...  Maybe that made me colder and grumpier.

Also I have a sports injury.  Hub and I went on a 4-mile "urban nature walk" last Friday.  My plantar fasciitis flare-up necessitated getting some supportive insoles for my shoes, so I stuck them in my hiking boots, thinking I was being oh so conscientious about caring for my feet.  The insoles took up too much space and I ended up with nickel-sized blisters on the TIPS of both of my big toes!  Finally, on Monday, Hub lanced them to relieve the pressure.  So, now they are bandaged and so sore I can barely tolerate socks, let alone shoes.

The news is also overwhelming me.  Wars and rumors of wars.  Chemical fertilizers poisoning our food supply.  Violent weather patterns causing enormous tornadoes, hurricanes, droughts.  People shooting each other with stunning regularity. Short-sighted, anti-intellectual, ideologue politicians blocking any attempt at progressive legislation.  Child abuse -- some asshate put his infant daughter in the freezer because she wouldn't stop crying, then he fell asleep!  (She was found by her mother an hour later, cold, but alive).  I could go on and on.  It's too much to take in sometimes.

This is a bummer post.  But my promise is to be honest.  And honestly, sometimes grousing for a minute helps.

We used to do an exercise in my women's group called "Poor me!"where we named every frustration, irritation, and bad thing in our lives, large and small, and after each, said, "Poor me!"  Sometimes tears would flow as we acknowledged a truly rough patch of life; sometimes after a bit of "poor-me'ing", laughter would erupt as we realized it was all pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  I guess this is a "poor me" kind of morning.

So, now I'm gonna plug in some Magical Strings, read a bit of Billy Collins, sip a cup of Madagascar Vanilla Rooibos, and look forward to lunch with friends.  Poor, poor pitiful me!

At least that's the view from here....©