Holograms and Intuition

Stifled, boxed in,

no room to breathe or grow.

Looking for doorways or windows showing the 

next road or path to take.

Restless, 

searching for expansion,

not mere distraction, 

but deep rich soil to plow.

And the box?

What is it made of ?

Steel?

Cardboard?

Tissue paper?

My own thoughts of limitation and political correctness?

This last seems hard as steel,

thick as concrete till I reach out ~

my hand pushes through a noisy, frightening hologram of 

should's and shouldn’ts

do’s and don’ts

destroying the box completely

leaving me feeling lost and alone

no sign posts to direct or barriers to caution.

Is this a do or don’t issue?

Do I rely on my intuition for learning and practice,

stepping forward to gather gems along the way?

“Intuition will tell the thinking mind where to look next.”

~ Jonas Salk

A Commitment to Post

Three hundred and fourteen posts since Dec. 28, 2011.

Most of my writing this past many years has been in isolation.

I needed something more, so

setting myself a task in creativity,

with no clear vision or knowledge of my abilities, I just began to write this daily blog post.

My inspiration?  

My sister Kate and her blog ~ Moving Forward-Looking for the Joy

With no real rhyme or reason, my posts have varied from 

silly to serious,

sadness and joy with

a month devoted to my travels with epilepsy, then 

family issues,

my nursing career,

even a hint of politics.

a children’s story or two

cooking successes

vacation fun

and many more.

Challenges have been in ready supply with

numerous work schedule changes

computer glitches

travel

guests

flat, disinterested moods

birthday parties,

writing exercises and assignments from Writer’s Ink

just plain tired ~ until I begin to write then

the time falls away and words begin to flow.

This venture has been part of 

a journey into my personal life outside of 

extracurricular activities

nursing career.

Beginning slowly and uncertainly,

digging back in slush piles and archives,

I resurrected gems that had been unrecognized and forgotten,

finding my muse and letting it play.

At the beginning, posts consisted of only a few lines.

Pictures and quotations came later.

Designing as I went, 

I picked through photos, both digital and glossy paper,

many times running outside to get another,

rearranging something in the house to fit the poem or story.

My search for quotations has proved fascinating,

rereading many times what I have written to see just what it was I was saying before selecting just the right quotation.

I have had great fun, going back to the beginning

learning the art of revision on my previous posts,

learning that my attachment to words is not as important

as my attachment to an idea, story or question.

I have learned much over this past ten months with

wonderful feedback from many family and friends

and am looking forward to this next fifty days.

My next year’s blog?

I haven’t decided what changes there will be..

"It was character that got us out of bed,

commitment that moved us into action, and

discipline that enabled us to follow through."

~ Zig Ziglar

"I was so excited to be going to chicken poop bingo!"

"I was so excited to be going to chicken poop bingo!"

All of my chickens are always brushed and fluffed so they will present themselves proudly, whether running about the farmyard or in their wood framed cages. I’ve raised them all since they were fluffy yellow chicks!  

When I was a youngster in blue jeans, t-shirts and braids to my waist, I watched my mom playing chicken poop bingo. All I ever wanted was to be the owner of a chicken that was a bingo pooping champ.  

But I grew up, graduated high school and became a bank teller. My childhood dream of owning rusty brown chickens that would poop on winning numbers, faded away with all the other childhood memories, but never really went away. 

When I heard there was a chicken poop bingo game coming to town, I knew what I would do. My husband and I already had all those chickens on our hobby farm, so I first went to my husband and told him my plan. He thought I was crazy, but when I told him how much the chicken poop bingo company paid to hire chickens, he thought I should try with at least one of them.

I chose Rusty, one of my brightest and best poopers, to take to the chicken pooping auditions. There were hundreds of people lined up for that cattle - I’m mean chicken - call. Rusty and I were on the short list of only twenty to be auditioned.  Being the fifteenth person to have her chicken poop in front of the judges on a giant bingo card made me a nervous wreck. I was just about in tears. I was so sure that they wouldn’t pick my Rusty. She was amazing - pooping with such regularity and seeming to aim while she squawked!  

My Rusty won!

“To have your childhood dream realized is a really big deal.”

~ Maya Rudolph

New Beginnings for the Future

From my kitchen window on Central Ave.

New beginnings for the Future.  Sounds like the name of a treatment centre and the thinking that has to go along with recovery. However, right now it’s a writing group assignment. I’m in my kitchen, in my pyjamas, starting on my second cup of coffee. I have written my Morning pages, my writing assignments from Artist’s Way, proofed my MMDS story (That would be Mobile Medical Detox Services), read an article from my writing magazine; all in between bites of an apple and a slice of ‘plastic’ cheese. (That’s what my nephew called it when he was three. Who knows what it’s really made of? It is the colour, sort of, of cheese.)

So how does this fit with a new beginning? What is futuristic about it? Is it even a story? Well it is my story so I guess that will have to do. This new beginning is only another step in a journey I started quite sometime ago with scribbles and Dear Diary carrying me through a day at a time. It may even have started with the notes that I left on my mom’s pillow asking for some special favour! (If I left a note then I didn’t have to deal with the look that I may or may not get.)

Then there were the pen pals that I had through Explorer’s and UNICEF. Well, probably UNICEF. One of my friends in my home town on the prairies had an aunt that lived in India. In her white sari with gold trimmed edges, she would come to visit our Explorer group and tell us all about the children of the far away east. From that came the pen pals and filled an unknown desire to write.

There were times when there was no writing. Long periods of time because there had been no importance attached to it. Nothing other than the play of a child, or the work of a student – when the work actually got done. My favourites? Literature and grammar (Grammar was what it was called back then.) Once we got to high school Grammar morphed into English, giving it a loftier sound and an opportunity to write essays. Still the desire was hidden from my consciousness – and I was a teenager that was barely conscious anyway! Then there was nursing school, marriage, kids……..all that adult stuff had effectively buried any childhood excitement that accompanied the names of silliness and unnecessary play. In these long dry spells, the words would build in my head, bouncing around and becoming mere irritants in my day. How did I know they were dry spells!?

Then I was alone. Oh, there is no need to feel sorry for me. I set it up, waved the baton, and tried to have all the orchestras play to my tunes. They didn’t play well with me so I gathered my toys and, running away, decided I would try this on my own. That’s when the writing really came into play. And play it has been. There are little pieces of work that have crept in, like what I am doing now. Balancing my lap top on my knee, checking the number of words I have written, editing as I go ~ I love the keyboard! Especially the backspace or delete keys. So the new beginnings, from the many places and times of memory, are accompanied by future’s plan. The fear gremlin, or whatever name he is disguised in at the moment, insists coming along for the ride, trying to prevent any thought I may have about being creative.

I do believe that creativity is in each of us. Creation of different things, with different colours and textures born of experience. Creation only happens in each moment. Moments when I watch creation as the little black shapes that push the cursor forward on the screen. When the cursor pushes back to reshape the word or thought there is re-creation and revision right in front of me. My words come from a colour palette of memory, the place that I create my future from my past.

So if you come to my house unannounced some day in the morning anytime between dawn and noon you are most welcome. You will probably find me in my kitchen, writing tools all around me, children’s chatter at recess from the school on the other side backyard, and my ticking kitchen clock keeping time.  

“The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate

of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is.”

~ C.S.Lewis

A Conundrum - Seminar Day Two

I felt rather tiny in the midst of all the non-nursing discussion about biopsychosocial issues.

There are two branches of this sort of health care with a third tiny sprout in the middle.

The main trunk is the first branch

medicine - I think.

To the left is the next branch

psychiatry - I think.

Sheltered and tucked away is addictions medicine, 

more specifically medical detox - of that I’m sure.

Some health care providers, nurses specifically, work in Medical Detox.

What does treatment of psychiatric conditions 

have to do with them?

Well, I think that is the wrong question.

The question should be:  

What should medically trained nurses working in Medical Detox know 

about psychiatric conditions?

Seminar attendees learned about only two of these conditions:

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Borderline Personality Disorder

there are so very many more......

Have I mentioned the people that carry these conditions?

In medical detox, we care for those people who carry, not of their choosing, a dual diagnosis - Addiction and a Psychiatric Disorder.

How do I assimilate the information learned today 

so that it will inform my nursing practice?

A conundrum for sure.

“There are no extra pieces in the universe.  

Everyone is here because he or she has a place to fill, 

and every piece must fit into the big jigsaw puzzle.”

~ Deepak Chopra

Convenience - Seminar Day One

Leaves fall from trees.

We think nothing of it.

Needles turn brown and droop.

We think nothing of it.

Spring, summer and fall

landscape grows and changes

Wind and weather

wearing and eroding

When not beautiful and calm,

it is not convenient

               ***

Day one ~ seminar on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Carbohydrate overload at breaks

Power point slides

Quiet attentiveness (and a few yawns)

Out for a walk at lunch

Book purchases:

The Realm of the Hungry Ghosts ~ Gabor Mate

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy Workbook for Personality Disorders ~ Jeffery C. Wood

Listening for pieces of knowledge,

learning terms changed over decades of research

Biological changes in the brain from

Shell Shock

Post War Syndrome

Post Traumatic Syndrome Disorder

Single trauma staining life

Repetitive traumas carving scars into life

Nightmares

Emotional distortions

Another seminar day tomorrow.

Different thoughts about convenience.

“There is no reason that the universe 

should be designed for our convenience.”

~ John D. Barrow

Daring to Swim

Standing still slowly, edging into Lake Okanagan, 

dare I wade onto the stretching decline at Gyro Beach?

Polished rounds, sharp edges surround my bare feet,

grainy bits and smoothed shards nestle between my toes. 

A sliding, hesitant half step into cool water rolling up 

ankles, and knees,

hips and tummy.

Breath sucks in deeply against shocking cold water that 

seeps through skin tight, brightly flowered lycra

wrapping wetness around my waist trickling down my lower spine.

Decision time ~ rippling memories of 

deep water

colder water.

Too cold for my tender flesh.

Too deep for my abilities.

Slate blue satin, stained with 

a single dark cloud shadow, spreads before and around me.

Hotting sun throws sparklers on the water

Distant puffs and streaks of clouds edge the western mountains with lace

Freshening breeze ripples fluid glassy lake around me.

I have waded out and back before.

Do I turn back to the sandy comfort of my brilliant orange beach towel, 

warm ecru sand and my book spiriting me safely to another land?

Edging out just a bit farther,

waist deep water warms,

skin cools to deepening water.

Moving in slow motion against increasing water weight,

trickles of cold drip and slither between 

bathing suit and skin below in the chill.

Slowly and almost painfully, the beauty of this placid lake, silently encroaching mountains and homes nestling in the trees holds me in place and I want to go no further.

Yet, taking a deep breath, palms together, 

fingers gently open the water in front of me.  

Arms open, stretch to their greatest length, and push against silken water to propel me gently forward.

Diving down, bubbling swoosh in my ears,

my hair drifts like sea weed, 

eyes shutter tightly, 

breath held against water that could drown.

Twisting and turning inside the cool silver sheath of water against my skin, I am part of another world ~ weightless and must use all muscles to survive.

Opening my eyes to murky depths, no clear shapes emerge, even 

as golden sun swims with me in a wavering, watery sunbeam.

Turning over and over in bubbly somersaults,

bursting to the surface to fill empty lungs, 

I push out in a long back stretch to float, 

side vision parallel with the horizon, 

cool, wet face warmed by a dry sunbeam.

My goal bobs in the distance ~ a  white buoy, red striped, 

where my tiptoes can’t feel the sandy bottom. 

Bravely ~ because dipping back into deep cold water from warm sun does take a certain amount of bravery ~ I let go of sand and silt. 

Curling beneath the blue glassy surface, blowing  bubbles, shivering, 

I am again part of the wet coolness where the sun’s warmth doesn’t reach.

From the ball I have curled up in I push out in a forward stretch. 

A slow dog paddle takes me to my ever nearing red striped goal, 

where I rest against it's buoyant bulk before returning to shore.

“We must dare, and dare again, and go on daring. “

~ Georges Jacques Danton