Counting Grace Backwards

One Month Of Rest

Hillsdale Farmer's Market

Reprieve is a beautiful word to both criminals and me. I've had a very long 30 months without any mental rest. From the moment Philip came home and told me he lost his job, and we sat out on our front stoop smelling the soft California evening summer air drift past us while we tried to imagine what our future might hold. What should we do? How to proceed? I could not have imagined at that quiet moment what a precious hell was waiting for us.

I've been over it a thousand times. The broken bones, busted cars, falling fillings, joblessness, debt, huge move, loss, adjustment, shut store, more debt, bloody noses, fat spilling out of my clothes like something from another planet. For a long time I still believed that somehow it would all work out. I believed in my ability to make good decisions. I trusted that if I worked hard enough and was humble enough that we would come through it in better shape than ever, that the experience would have made us richer. I tried to keep up a good attitude.

But some time right after the store closed, I realized I had stopped believing. I felt abandoned by the only things I trusted: my own inner compass, and that our weird misfortune couldn't last forever. I realized that I trusted nothing and was very very tired. Tired right through the marrow in my bones. And angry.

I have never believed nor hoped that life has anything to do with being fair or not fair. I have believed that we bring on the lives we lead ourselves. How we face adversity says a great deal about who we are at the core. People couldn't believe how well we dealt with the attic fire that forced us out of our house for five months. We took the philosophical road. Stuff is just stuff. Some of our stuff was destroyed, but none of us were hurt. That seemed to indicate that we were lucky. Many people aren't so lucky.

I have not faced our current adversity with the grace I would like to encourage in myself. I have felt betrayed and have let myself build a rigid anger against the vagaries of fortune, against the randomness of the universe that total pig-people can be filthy rich and never have to worry about whether they will be able to feed their children or fix their teeth when all I want is to be able to stay home and keep my chickens.

I try not to hang onto things like anger but to release anger you have to acknowledge it. All along the road people have pointed out to us how lucky we are, how lucky we should feel, because it could always be worse. While this "wisdom" can hardly be denied, it isn't a wisdom I want to go to bed with. It's cold, and it takes away my right to throw my fists to the sky and damn the moon for moving the ocean.

Here we are. January 2008. My life right now is a bizarre dichotomy between this intense excitement and inspiration for life which makes me want to shout from the rooftops and this deflated body that wants to crawl under the bed where all the giant drifts of dust hang out. I'm afraid to move forward. To let go of the anger. Because it feels like being defeated. If I let go then bad luck wins and I shrivel into a being I can't recognize. No one ever wants to let go of their righteous indignation, do they?

But I don't think my indignation is actually righteous. Don't bother reminding me how easy I have it compared to others because this isn't about others. This is about me. This is about how I have not acted with grace nor recognized that all these things that have happened have brought me a greater sense of clarity. I know what life I want to live. I know who I want to become. I know what changes I want to make. Without the calamities I would not be back in Oregon. The state I gave my heart to at the age of eight. I would not have started my blog which has given me better discipline and the responsibility to reach for something better and finer with my writing every day. Some days it really couldn't be more stupid, but I am improving all the time. Moving here has restored me to my life with chickens.

I have been so wrapped up in the pain that I have forgotten to see where all this change has been taking us. We may not be able to afford to make many phone calls or visit friends and family who don't live here, but we are becoming better versions of ourselves.

Life isn't a race or a contest. If it is, you aren't doing it right. I have finally come to realize that until I clean out my head and stand up and count my blessings backwards, I will not move forward. I have a lot to learn right now. Like how to regain my trust in myself. I also have to ask myself what I'm so afraid of? That we will lose our house? That we will have to get rid of our flock of chickens? That we will have to live in a mobile home park while working minimum wage jobs and losing our teeth?

So? So what? I see it now: if it all goes away I rebuild. Like spiders who have to rewrite their web every single morning after the dew has ripped yesterday's web to tatters. I just rebuild. In everything there is an unlooked for adventure.

Counting your grace isn't as easy as saying "Ah, the blessings!" and sitting back and feeling complete just because you said so. It's a process. A conscious process in which every day you look for what is good, you say out loud to yourself what is good, and you let the gratitude inform your heart. You go to sleep knowing that if you are just lucky enough to have anyone truly love you, you are capable of rebuilding whatever life throws you. Especially if you have the love of your own self.

I have had no time to rest for 30 months. To release myself from the worry of money, of ruination, of losing everything I have, and to meditate, which for me means taking care of my home, my garden, my family, and myself. If I am going to let this anger go then I need to give myself enough space to do it. Philip and I have agreed that I can take a month to rest. To adjust my attitude. To find my center again. To prepare for whatever is coming. To face it with equanimity and grace. I will not engage in any panic over what the future holds. If I feel it coming (and it will come) I will stop, and I will iron it out.

I will live deliberately during this reprieve, but probably not quietly.

The First Snow

It is snowing right now. This picture is from last year because I can't get a good picture of the snow coming down this morning, it isn't heavy enough yet. But believe me, I was out there in my ratty old bathrobe with my camera, grinning the big grin and I'm pretty sure that all of my neighbors think it's weird beyond words that every time it snows I run outside to dance around and laugh and take pictures and try to catch the flakes...

I know this is a terrible picture-but it just goes to show you that I'm not the only one in this family who loves snow. This is also from last year. This morning when I saw the first flake fall (I'm pretty sure it was the first flake because I have an interior snow monitor and it has been on snow alert for days now) I told Max to come see. I said "You have to look really carefully because there are only a few flakes coming down and they are hard to see." He stood at the window with me and just like snow deprived Californians*, we pointed out each ethereal swiftly falling flake with great fan fare. Max loves snow almost as much as I do.

I wish it would fall all day. I hope it will be falling when my mom comes today to celebrate her sixty second year on the planet. Her birthday was actually this past Tuesday but we can't get together on the week-days. She's just found out she won't have a job after next month (the grant that pays her salary was not renewed) so she's feeling a little low. She loves snow too so wouldn't it be great if we could all watch the snow coming down together?

Just as a little segue: is there any territory on earth that does not have ticks? I want to know how come I spent a lot of time romping around in the woods as a kid and I never got a tick, yet they seem to be everywhere now to the point where it seems like a miracle that I have never gotten one. I wonder about this frequently but it just now came back into my head because I know that it's never going to snow here enough to my satisfaction and I keep thinking that if we're ever not poor, maybe we could buy ourselves a little cabin in the hills where it snows more and go stay there often in the winter. However, I don't really want to go where there are ticks. That's one way in which suburbia kicks butt. If I had a farm somewhere I'd probably have to be twisting ticks out of our skin all the time. I'm not sure I'd ever be able to feel blase about that.

So looked at from the tick perspective I think urban homesteading is really the best of all worlds. Creating a little bit of the farm experience on a very small scale is quite appealing. It means not having to manage a large piece of property. It means being able to take care of what I have. It means being within walking distance of downtown which is something I really like.

Maybe I don't need anything else besides what I have. Being able to come to this conclusion again and again is very rewarding. Not longing for the impossible is soothing. I don't think it's asking the Universe for too much to be allowed to just keep what I've got which is pretty damn good. See how snow lays a veil of contentedness all over me? It's like magic.

This is a great day for baking. I have zucchini that needs to be made into bread or muffins and pumpkin which needs to be made into pie. I must make the pie because there's also whipping cream in the fridge which needs to be whipped before it goes sour. I think I'll also be making pasta for my mom's birthday lunch and open up a frozen pesto. I think we'll have a side of carrots with that; steamed first then lightly sauteed in butter, mustard, and honey.

We are supposed to be getting a very fierce storm this week-end. Especially tomorrow. The Oregonian was making a really big noise about it: two typhoons are crashing together over the PNW and unleashing 100 mile an hour winds on the coast, wind and torrential rains everywhere else. I love a good storm but I have to say that if our electricity goes out we're screwed. We'll freeze to death because I haven't finished my quilt yet and we are not amply supplied with decent extra blankets. Although, I take that back, we have three down comforters (one for each of us) and I don't think anyone needs more than that.

I bought some emergency candles yesterday, plus matches, propane lighters, "DD" batteries for the Mag lite flashlight, and plenty of Max food. We didn't have a single candle in the house because we stopped burning them after we had a house fire back in 2003. (The snow is really coming down right now. I keep stopping to gaze at it.) So we didn't have a single match or candle. I think it's wise to have them for emergencies.

This whole notion of being happy with what I have is something kind of different for me. All of my life (for as long as I can remember) I have imagined every endeavor on a large scale. I have spent my life reaching and plotting for the next move, the next moment, the next beverage, the next meal, the next triumph, the next job, the next project... I have found it intensely challenging to sit back and enjoy the moment at hand, or to say "This is perfect. This is exactly what I want." The point in life, to my mind, was to conquer it, not to live it. It's all about conquering the work force, powering through all of life's opposition, and never settling for less than everything in my imagination.

Thus, in my imagination, I have always been very successful...the best fashion designer (one with world wide recognition), or the chicest costume designer (one who works on all the best period movies and is obviously on Ang Lee's rolodex), or the founder of a wildly successful empire (whether it be an empire built around bath products, greeting cards, aprons, food, t-shirts, whatever), but I never imagined what it might be like to be done reaching. To find what I want without so much striving. To live a satisfying life without riches or fame or recognition.

That's not strictly true. I did once. One time in my life I looked around me and I felt that queer sense of calm that must come to everyone who has built the perfect life for themselves and allows themselves to acknowledge it. I felt my chest unhinge. I felt deep gratitude for my good fortune. My mind was at rest; no longer searching for the next level in life. I had found the right place, the right role for myself, and the right community. I had all the elements necessary to feel I was living richly without being rich. It was a moment when I realized that everything in my house actually fit in my house. It was all in balance. Even my nasty tiny bachelor style brassed out eighties bathroom had been transformed into a sweet small bathroom that was charming and not ugly.

I wonder...are we not supposed to actually acknowledge it when we're really content? Are we not supposed to notice when everything, even the little imperfections of our lives, are just the way we want them? I am superficially superstitious, which is to say that I am a skeptic and don't really hold that knocking on wood will ward off the evil eye, yet I do it anyway. You know, just in case. Common wisdom, (and also a lot of religious people) indicates that acknowledging our gratitude for our good fortune is by way of thanking the universe (or god) for our blessings. The idea being, I suppose, that if you appreciate it when you have it, perhaps you will be blessed with more.

I'm not convinced. Why? What could possibly be wrong with feeling gratitude and expressing it? Indeed, it seems a benign thing to recognize good fortune. To be happy with one's life as it is. Yet, the last time I felt it in my bones, the last time I looked around and knew that I was living a life that was perfect for me, that was just perfect- it vanished within one month.

One month. All of it-that good fortune, the happy life, the contentedness, the realization that I didn't have to reach anymore- all of it was ripped out from under my feet and we've been treading deep cold waters ever since. Two years running now. Still treading the deep cold dark waters.

I always believed that expressing real love, gratitude, appreciation for the little things, and being thankful for what you have help you keep those very things you're thankful for. I always believed that those who never see their good fortune are the most likely to lose it. I believed it mostly because of an unintentional belief in karma. The more good you generate, the more good you reap. The more bad you create, the more bad you attract to yourself.

I don't know if I believe any of that anymore. The proof is in the pudding, people who like proverbs are fond of saying. All my pudding has proved is that if you love something too much, if you are too happy, life will suck your marrow dry, and leave you with plenty to cry about. My defense mode says that you may as well beat life to the punch and be sure to always provide yourself with plenty to cry about, at least that way you can choose your own pain. That's also why I hurt myself so much when I was younger. If you imagine all the hurt and violence that others could inflict on you, and just go ahead and do it to yourself before they do, you really take the wind out of other people's sails. Once you've taken a steak knife to your own arm, there is pretty much nothing worse anyone can do to you.

Keep anticipating pain and arrive there first to ease the blow.

I don't actually consider that a positive or healthy philosophy.

Don't let other people, God, or the Universe choose your pain for you.

Now I'm caught between philosophies. I'm not actually sure what I believe anymore. I refuse to let myself sink back into that place where I must anticipate pain and provide it for myself so no one else can have the power to burn me, yet I don't believe in God so I can't blithely leave it all to "him" as many people in my community do. (I've been working with lots of religious people this week). In talking to other people (at work) about life's twists and turns, especially the ones we don't see coming and that leave us emotionally hydroplaning, I hear people saying "God gets me through it." Or "I just trust in God." Or "God loves me and that's all I really need."

I'm happy for people who can turn to a spiritual entity to take care of them when things fall apart. Though I always feel a little shock hearing people mention God, because where I used to live I didn't know a single religious person. No one I knew ever mentioned "God" in that familiar believing kind of way. It sometimes sounds more like a person has just told me that they believe in leprechauns. I imagine it must be just as shocking to them that I don't turn to God in moments of trouble. I also wonder if some of the people I've been working with feel that my misfortunes are the result of not letting Jesus in my life. It's not a question I plan on asking anyone of firm Christian faith.

I only bring all this up because the snow has got me in a meditative frame of mind. I feel calm inside. I have zero faith that my life is going to be smooth, or that I will get to keep the things I have now that I love. Nor do I believe that if I am a good enough person I will attract mostly good to my life. The only thing I really do have faith in is the irrefutable. Weather happens. People are born. People die. These are the things I can really know for sure. Everything is ephemeral, shifting endlessly, and there is almost nothing I can count on besides the irrefutable.

Maybe next month things will seem brighter-maybe I won't have to give up my health care and get a minimum wage job, maybe good fortune will find us again-but I think the only sure course for me to follow right now is to enjoy the minute pleasures as they come. The tiniest bits of joy are maybe all we'll get. I wanted snow this winter and if no more comes, at least I had this beautiful morning with the quiet, quiet snow. It's stopped now but I think I got the best out of it. Writing here in my office gives me a wonderful view of the sky and I missed very little of it.

That feels a lot like joy.

My plan right now is to be happy with what I have. To be thankful. To hope that our life will smooth out and get a little bit less sketchy. However, I won't be feeling these feelings or cherishing these hopes, or allowing contentedness to blossom in my heart as a part of any faith or karmic plan. I will cultivate this little bit of happiness and hope because it feels a lot better than the alternative. I will cultivate happiness against a backdrop of uncertainty because that's what life is demanding of me. To count on nothing but feel hope anyway.

Is it some kind of sign that a blue Heron just glided past my house in an elegant line?

*Ha. But we're not Californians anymore, AND I have been an Oregonian at heart since I was eight years old.