Midwest Gypsy

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Who’s got time for that?

Posted on November 19, 2015 by Maria Russell

I never, ever thought that, 1) I would turn out like her, or 2) I would readily–and maybe even proudly–admit that I have become my mother. Martha shunned modern-day technology that gave the world things like cable television and computers and cell telephones and really knew the meaning of ‘boundaries.’ If something didn’t impact her world directly, or if she didn’t think of it as being any use to her, she just didn’t put forth the time or effort to learn about it. And the older I get, I understand why. I just don’t care about certain things anymore, and I’m OK with that.

On every level, our world is a really messed up place. Horrific things are occurring all over and innocent people are suffering unimaginable cruelties. Planes are crashing and natural disasters are happening almost regularly. Ask my friend, George, who has been ‘working disasters’ for the Small Business Administration ever since Hurricane Katrina in 2005. The poor guy is always on the road; he’s been in Summerville, SC since October 21st. Compounding each tragedy are the journalists, each one eager for his story to be read and shared by people all over the world. Because it can be. All of this, and more, can enter our lives with a simple click.

That’s why I don’t read about the news anymore.

It’s just too depressing, and the bottom line is this: whatever ‘it’ is really doesn’t affect me right here, right now. I believe it’s OK, even healthy, to be selfish–in a good way–by being mindful of how we spend our time with positive experiences, relationships, and interactions. Time really is precious, after all. Each of us, no matter who we are, only gets 24 hours each day, and when today’s gone, it becomes a memory. Grandma Moses declared that, “Life is what you make it. Always has been, always will be.” It’s up to us to make the most of our time because it is fleeting. And anyone who’s getting older knows that it only goes by faster.

Coincidentally, as I was writing this, a notification from the Associated Press (AP) app popped up on my device, alerting me that the cousin of one of the monsters responsible for last week’s Paris attack was killed in a raid. Good riddance! But did I need that tidbit of information? No. The notification setting has since been turned off. Now, off to more important matters!

Safety net.

Posted on November 18, 2015 by Maria Russell

Chronicling certain episodes as I traipse through life not only gives me writing practice; it forces me to notice and become aware of seemingly unimportant details that heretofore simply blended in with the day-to-day mix. For example, just yesterday, a special friend and I had a heart-to-heart talk about the safety net that is AA…and how reliance on the program, especially in times of greatest need–like when life especially sucks–can be a life saver. And what do you know? One of my morning readings this morning was about that “safety net.” That’s not coincidence. It’s reinforcement.

Now, dear reader, you probably don’t have an issue with pride and ego, but I do (thank you for pointing that out, AA) and I used to think that me/myself/I could handle most anything, just as long as power tools weren’t involved. After all, there were some accomplishments that I was pretty darn proud of. But the reality is that just recently, my disease reared its ugly head…and I’ve been sober more than four years! It was starting to affect my relationships, which was causing me to isolate, which in turn was fueling a growing reliance on self, which was causing even more isolation. Like a tsunami, it started inconspicuously and was becoming very scary. Loved ones kept their distance.

What I didn’t realize was that I was like a tightrope walker whose balance was compromised; I was unbalanced, off kilter. I tried managing the situation myself (damn you, pride and ego!), but of course, it was inevitable that I would eventually fall. I had to; after all, the situation could not be sustained indefinitely. It all came down to this: At what point was I willing to let go and let God?

When I couldn’t hang on anymore.

Thank God for my safety net! In a moment of clarity–or maybe it was desperation–I did what has been repeated over and over in meetings: Pick up the phone and call someone. Rather than letting the situation spiral out of control (either internally or externally), call someone. There really is safety in numbers, and all I had to do was let go of my pride reach for it.

All of this taught me an important lesson. Being vulnerable isn’t a sign of weakness. In fact, vulnerability allows for multiple streams of strength to flow my way. Hopefully, next time the tsunami threatens, it won’t take me so long to reach for my safety net. ?

Southern Fried Gypsy

Posted on November 17, 2015 by Maria Russell

After nearly twenty years of living in the South in places like Newton, Alabama, Bay Saint Louis, Mississippi, and now Hopkinsville, Kentucky, some mannerisms specific to this region were bound to become woven in my personality. Distant objects are ‘over yonder.’ I’m fixin’ to send out some Thanksgiving cards today. And though the term “redneck” conjures up certain stereotypical images, it really does reference the color of one’s neck after spending a lot of time in the sun. With that in mind and given the amount of time I spend outdoors working, I reckon I am one.

Southern cuisine, especially Cajun and Creole, was very easy to learn to love, especially where we lived in Mississippi. With many of the restaurants owned by former New Orleans’ chefs, there was no such thing as a bad one; it wouldn’t have been able to survive. Other Southern staples soon became absolute favorites of mine–especially fried anything–though I had to learn how to eat in moderation lest I become one of those people seen wandering around in pajama pants. Eating Southern cuisine is easy; cooking Southern cuisine is not. It doesn’t stop me from trying though.

I decided to make hush puppies for dinner last night, something I rarely eat and have never made. But there was a box of mix in the pantry and I figured I’d give it a shot. It seemed easy enough; I just needed to add an egg and a little water to the mix, heat up the oil, and wait ten minutes for the batter to rest.

I don’t have a deep fat fryer, and according to the directions I didn’t have nearly enough oil, but I’m used to making do with what I have (living with boat- and RV-size kitchens will make a McGyver out of any cook.) Having never made them, I was dubious about dropping batter in extremely hot oil; cooking shouldn’t be dangerous and the simple act of frying makes it so. Extreme caution advised.

The batter expanded as expected, but I questioned just how big these puppies were supposed to be. The box said that the yield would be six, but if I used a tablespoon to measure as was suggested, there would be way more. I decided to error on the side of caution since hot oil was involved and since smaller puppies would be easier to manage.

I realize that boxed mixes border on being sacreligious here in the South and that “made from scratch” is a badge of honor in these parts. But for this Midwestern gypsy who is very likely to keep wandering, simply putting forth a good effort should count for something. Besides, the pups actually were pretty good, even though the shape of my pan made them look like wantons. I’m chalking it up as a success!

Growing concern.

Posted on November 15, 2015 by Maria Russell

My foray into the supposed golden years of my life is forcing me out of my comfort zone in a myriad of ways, and it doesn’t always feel good. As if looking in the mirror every morning isn’t enough of a reminder that time is marching on, other parts of my body occasionally signal that things just aren’t what they used to be. Case in point: my feet.

It began rather abruptly a little more than four years ago when I was vacationing in Gatlinburg. While walking up the stairs to our condo, a sudden, excruciating pain literally brought me to my knees. The pain eventually passed, but walking was so uncomfortable. As though sent from heaven above, an orthotics shop happened to be housed on Gatlinburg’s main strip, alongside the typical tourist traps one usually sees, and I was fitted for a pair. They made all the difference in the world and, therefore, wearing them was easy to accept, particularly since the orthotics were virtually unnoticeable.

Since then I’ve had to consider these orthotics whenever I need to shop for shoes, and I’ve accepted it as a part of getting older. What I’m having a difficult time accepting, though, is that my feet are growing well past the point of coinciding with my short/petite frame. To put it in perspective, I am less than five feet tall, and I wear and I currently wear a size 8 shoe. I feel like the clown in a circus wearing those oversized, red shoes.

Throughout my adult life, I’ve been aware that my feet are growing; indeed, they grew half a size with the birth of each of my two children (something that I noticed, researched, and found to be ‘normal.’) I really thought that it would plateau somewhere around the 7-7.5 mark. But apparently that is not the case; in fact, it’s only going to get worse.

The fact is that the tendons and ligaments in our feet lose their elasticity over time and don’t hold the bones and ligaments as neatly as they used to. That, combined with gravity and the thinning of the fat pads that cushion the bottoms, contributes to the flattening of our feet, necessitating larger shoes. Furthermore, the pattern will continues throughout one’s life, increasing one’s foot size every ten years by half a size. That means my shoe can potentially skyrocket to a size 9 by the time I’m 80.

All of this is to say I’m replacing my shoes, one pair at a time. It’s hardly an effort, since I’ve always had a penchant for shoes and shopping for them online is opening my eyes to the number of companies specializing in comfort without sacrificing style. The journey through the golden years continues, one step at a time.

One mouth, two ears. There’s a reason for that.

Posted on November 13, 2015 by Maria Russell

The best writers write about what they know, and the easiest way for me to blog daily is to recount my days. That’s what I do when I journal every morning, and it has worked well for many years. Lately, a pervasive theme has been ‘listening.’

At least three close friends of mine are struggling, the kind of struggling that makes one want to crawl into bed and hide underneath the sheets. One has escaped an emotionally abusive relationship and is trying to discover herself. Another is frustrated beyond measure with the judicial system and is in real fear of financial insecurity. Still another is dealing with the consequenc s of a DUI that might include the loss of custody of her two sons as well as the loss of the teaching position she’s had for 18 years, which impacts her health insurance and her retirement.

All heavy stuff. Absolutely none of which I’ve experienced. And yet they are pouring out their hearts to me.

That is something that was almost hard to accept, since my initial inclination always is to help, or fix, or advise, or something. It’s hard, and it makes me feel really powerless.

Just when I was starting to feeling down about it, it occured to me that I was starting to make it about ME, and how *I* didn’t know what to say to them about their situations. That was pretty selfish to make it about me, don’t you think?

But then a profound thought crossed my mind: all I had to do is listen. Nothing more was being asked of me. I began to relax. Actually, the feeling was quite liberating.

I treasure the trust my friends have placed in me. They know that whatever they tell me goes no further. So I do what I can for my friends: I listen, and I pray for them. I know that that’s enough.

Today’s reminder: Be Yourself

Posted on November 12, 2015 by Maria Russell

Even though I haven’t been able to eek out a piece every day during this 30-day writing challenge, I have written most days, and I consider that a success, considering I had stopped writing altogether for a few months. On the days I don’t write, like yesterday, I really have to work at not admonishing myself. I’ve always set the bar high as far as my own goals are concerned, and though they’re realistic for the most part, the fact remains that there are a certain number of hours in the day and only so much can be accomplished.

So when a former ESL student emailed, asking if I could tutor her in English so that she might be able to get a job, one of the first thoughts I had was, “Now when am I going to fit this in?” My mind was off to the races! I thought of the time involved in planning; for every 3-hour class at the community college, I spent at least that much time preparing. And then there was the time spent afterwards reviewing the writing journals I asked my students to keep. I have a tendency to over-do.

That is evident in my daily routine; though I consider myself on sabbatical, I do not lack for things to do to occupy my days. My have/want “to do” is never ending, ensuring that being bored is never an issue. So, after my mind crunched the numbers of “time involved,” it went on to obsess on trivial things like what day/days we should meet and how much compensation I’d ask for. After all, she did say that she’d pay for lessons.

And that is when I had to stop and think. Really think. What was my time worth? When I viewed time in terms of money, that threw an almost distasteful aspect to the basic request of, “Please help me with my English.” I almost felt ashamed…

And that’s when the mind-shift happened.

I thought about the best way to learn a language; it’s through conversation. Something that’s effortless for me. Something I do on a daily basis, on a myriad of subjects, with an assortment of characters. I have been blessed with the gift of gab, after all. When I looked at it like that, just meeting with Dora at a certain time each week and simply talking was all that needed to happen. It would be simple.

As of this is to say that my mind can take me to places I don’t have to go. I made a mountain out of a molehill and I hadn’t even met with the woman to find out her needs. I’m so grateful for the mind-shift and especially for the awareness that I can so easily backslide into selfish, self-centered thinking, something I’m trying to correct.

I’m actually looking forward to our meeting this afternoon. I have no plans, no script. It will be enough.

Surprise

Posted on November 10, 2015 by Maria Russell

Something really amazing happened yesterday, but I didn’t realize it at the time. A woman whom I had previously met months ago at my support group meeting showed up again yesterday, and when our eyes met, we smiled and nodded. The meeting was already well underway, and any pleasantries would have to wait until it ended.

When it did, Ali and I hugged as though we were old friends. We have The Keys in common, and that’s quite unusual for two relative strangers in Hopkinsville. I lived on a sailboat in Key West in the late 1970’s and she currently lives in Marathon. She’s from here originally and is back for a visit. We made small talk for awhile, and since she’ll be here for another week, I figured I’d see her again. I went home, not giving her much more thought.

…until this morning when I opened my journal to write. Exactly one year ago yesterday, I wrote about meeting a woman at my meeting who was from Marathon and with whom I had connected, even so far as to exchange phone numbers. It was Ali. I couldn’t believe it was a year to the day! What are the chances of that? I immediately chalked it up to being a God-thing; that’s how I look at seeming coincidences. Chance has nothing to do with it.

I believe that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Ali’s path along her life’s journey has serendipitously intersected with mine, and even if ‘the reason’ is never revealed, I have complete trust in the process. I’m just so grateful for having the awareness of recognizing how special this blessing is.

Something similar to this happened years ago outside the restrooms at the Dismal Swamp Canal Visitors Center in North Carolina. As I was about to open the door to walk inside, a woman I met at the Capital Yacht Club months earlier in Washington, DC walked out. Our eyes met, and again, it was a magical reunion! Almost twenty years later, I still remember her name, where she was from, and even the name of her boat (Janet, California, Windfall.) I’m smiling just remembering this event!

I can’t explain why memories such as these remain so vivid when I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning. I’m sure the feeling of connection is integral. That it’s fleeting doesn’t matter; what does is that it feels good. I love surprises like that!

When the student is ready, the teacher appears.

Posted on November 9, 2015 by Maria Russell

One of my many character defects is that I nurse grudges. It’s something I can remember doing even as a young child, particularly with people who loved me the most, like my mother. Today I am appalled at how hurtful that must have been. What’s even more appalling is that I do it still. I know it must have a lot to do with forgiveness and I have a hard time with that.

Call it holistic, or metaphysical, or New Age or woo-woo, but the method to combat emotional conflict that’s intrigued me the most is Emotional Freedom Technique, otherwise known as EFT. It is a two-part process: psychology combined with the stimulation of meridian points (think ‘acupuncture’) that brings about release from the emotional trauma that’s causing one pain. I love that EFT is all-natural. Not that my boycott of it will affect the pharmaceutical industry, but I have a fundamental aversion to supporting it. Besides, let’s face it: a pill will not fix my problem.

In my intro I mentioned “blindly delving” into my Golden Years, and this is one of those cases where I believe an old dog can learn new tricks. God willing, I have many more years ahead, so it’s to my benefit to finally address why forgiving is so hard for me. With this is mind, I enrolled in the 12-week course, EFT Deep Intimacy, taught by Dawson Church. Though I was hesitant for a number of reasons, the bottom line is that I must change my behavior.

The answer I seek is buried deep in my subconscious, and finding it is going to require unbridled honesty on my part. I don’t expect it to be pretty, and I expect that some things that come to light to be very painful to come to terms with. At the very least, the journey ought to be interesting; I’m just hoping that in the end (January 2016) the pleasure will be worth all the pain. I’ll keep you posted ?

Conscious direction

Posted on November 8, 2015 by Maria Russell

Well, what do you know? It’s the eighth day of the month as well as the eighth day of my self-imposed 30-day writing challenge–a commitment intended to push me back into writing, something I’ve always loved to do but for one reason or another had not done for months–so I am on schedule. Amazingly. I’ve already almost given up a couple of times because of writer’s block. And I feel as though I have to apologize for the blogs I’ve written this past week; I’m extremely self-critical and know I can do better.

Marston’s quote is appropriate for this month-long exercise because it emphasizes the importance of today’s actions affecting tomorrow. Sometimes when I set goals for myself, I want perfection immediately, and that is a recipe for disaster. I have to be realistic about my expectations and about what I am capable of doing now. In this case, just getting back into the habit of writing takes conscious effort to incorporate it into my daily routine. It takes time to build a good foundation, but it will be well worth it.

One of my goals is to find out more about WordPress and its capabilities and eventually have a really dynamite website, full of worthwhile content–except I haven’t decided on any particular subject yet. No matter. Learning all what WordPress can do is a bit intimidating, but blogging everyday should acquaint me with some of the whistles and bells that will help build a much better website than what I currently have.

For now I just want to get in the habit of blogging daily. I’ve journaled daily for years, so I know it’s doable. I know that a change of attitude from thinking that I have to write to wanting to write will have a positive influence on my daily goal, which in turn should improve the quality of my writing. Time will tell, one day at a time.

Step by Step

Posted on November 7, 2015 by Maria Russell

When New York Yankees pitcher CC Sabathia publicly announced that he was an alcoholic and that he was entering rehab, a lot of thoughts ran through my mind. Empathy mostly…for I am an alcoholic, too.

I wish him the best. No doubt, going to Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings will be a part of his routine in rehab, and I hope he realizes that his recovery–and his life–will depend on continued maintenance and vigilance. The program of Alcoholics Anonymous is simple, but it isn’t easy. It requires working the 12 Steps, the cornerstone of which is honesty, something most alcoholics know nothing about. But we’re told to “keep coming back,” and to get a sponsor…a guide of sorts for the journey ahead. Even that goes against the grain of alcoholics, most of whom are stubborn and not at all accustomed to asking for help.

I’ve been sober for a little more than four years, and that’s because I go to a lot of AA meetings. While I was never court-ordered to go, I didn’t enjoy it at first. I felt I had nothing in common with ‘those people,’ but I kept going back so that my husband would get off my back and see that I was trying to stop drinking, something I’d been doing since I was fourteen years old.

It wasn’t long before I realized that I was amongst people who really, really understood me. They knew why one drink was too many and a hundred drinks weren’t enough. It was almost comforting to know that there were others who were as crazy as I was! I finally had found my tribe.

Alcoholism is a disease that is devastating to not only the one who is sick, but the people who are closest to them. It’s incurable and it can be fatal, but thank God it’s treatable. One day at a time.