Life

One breath at a time

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When I arrive at my pulmonologist’s office I am thrilled to see my doctor who has been treating my chronic bronchitis and Kartagener’s Syndrome since I was 21. Thirty-one years. We greet each other behind our masked faces, eyes light up in recognition it has been nearly seven years since we’ve seen each other. My bad. I think I have a handle on my disease and then I land in the ER with pain from a lung infection gone awry. But seven years is a good run with no hospital visits as I’ve gotten much better at taking care of myself, until I stop.

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Life

Poems from the past

 

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I’m looking for a notebook to set out the plans for my new routine. The step by step guide to take back my old life and fix this messy house. I’m home from Florida where my thirteen-year-old and I spent several weeks social distancing in nicer weather and where there wasn’t much to do other than read, tidy, and enjoy the outdoors (and school for him). It was the best place to be in this time of quarantine. Reality hits hard now as I scan the house which is in a great deal of upheaval with the contents of the thirteen-year-old’s bedroom strewn across several rooms as the project of turning it into a teenage room looms before us. Deep breath.

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Life

Backyard Observation

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My son’s last seventh grade science assignment for the school year was to keenly observe an area of our backyard over a four week period. He was to look beyond the grass and the weeds and the crisp brown leaves that never made it to the compost bin to see what is living in our backyard. This meant sitting still and turning over rocks. It meant patience and curiosity. It meant listening and learning and sometimes typing a long, descriptive summary of his questions about the plant’s outward appearance on Google.com. He was excited there’s an app that will zoom in on a plant and tell you it’s perfect and difficult to pronounce proper name along with it’s history, origin story, expected size range and how to treat them to get the absolute best results from the plant for your garden or yard. Yes, there’s always an app for that. This is a perfect experiment for a seventh grader who is still so full of curiousity and wonder, especially if it means getting dirty.

As I watched him watch the yard, I couldn’t help but think this is a good metaphor for where we find ourselves today. How many of us have keenly observed our own backyard to the microscopic extent that was asked of my seventh grader? How many of us have turned over rocks to find out what’s living underneath them? Checking our prejudices and stereotypes for what is the whole truth. It’s hard to do this kind of excavation because for so long it’s been in the background, happening to other people, and sometimes we think, but it happened so long ago. That wasn’t us.

It’s kind of like when I’m working my recovery and think about what I need to make amends for in my own life. When have I sugar coated or said, well, it wasn’t that bad? What have I forgotten or swept under the rug, away from prying eyes, making my home look nice and tidy? Yes, this is a period of excavation for our country and ourselves. A period to sit and listen without saying BUT or HOWEVER or interupting at all. Listen to what is being said. Listen and observe and (re)learn. And sometimes Google. There is not an app for this.

 

Life

Listening to the World

Some days are harder to write than others. Some days the world becomes too much, full of harsh truth. This isn’t a time for me to write about a world gone mad, still mad after hundreds of years. I am a white woman, trying to understand how to fix it. This is how I was born and so I am listening.

Poetry is a vehicle of the truth I am looking for and so I visit Poetry Foundation’s web site each day to tune into what’s being said. I am always blown over by the words I need to hear. Today’s poem is Stay Safe by Luther Hughes and here are some of the words that hit my core:

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Why indeed does the world seem normal outside my back door, the birds singing as if no wrong exists in the world. Only the crows scream that something is amiss.

MC