I don't feel like telling you how crappy I feel. I've had my MRI. It hurt. I have a new doctor that I will see in two an a half days. Everything else is the same. I'm waiting.
So, I struggle to find beautiful things like the things I am used to finding all around me on my walks. I decided that if I have to lie on the couch, that I'd have to work to find things around my own house that I hadn't noticed. Oh, maybe I'd noticed them, but I didn't really work at seeing them. I came up with a few things. I did. It seemed to ease the pain.
The frogs often sit at the bottom of their tank, looking at each other the same way I do when someone sits on my couch with me. What would they say to each other after three years together in the same three-quarter gallon tank on a shelf by the shower?
What do Mike and I talk about?
Maybe they talk about the weather, squalls that never leave raindrops in their pond. Maybe they argue about what's for dinner yet again. One of them doesn't have fingers on his left paw. Maybe they talk about how that happened. Maybe they talk about their aches and pains and how yoga and meditation doesn't always help. Maybe they talk about viruses that are going around in the wild ponds.
Mike and I have never run out of things to say. And he's the only one with which I can share a companionable silence, the only one. Maybe that's my problem with Nick, that I haven't learned to be quiet with him. Maybe I could work to listen more carefully. It's hard to listen to a fourteen year old boy who doesn't quite want to tell you stuff anyway, but he does. Quiet would help. I could learn from my frogs.
I found leaves that had fallen on my deck and in my driveway. I may be one of the few that thinks that fall's leaves may not be sad for my trees. It might be nice for them to drop all that weight for a while and sit quietly. It might be nice not to have to work so hard to be green all of the time. It might be nice to show the beauty of your bones, the elegant way your branches reach out. It might be good to focus on your roots.
I think about my Japanese tree by my front door. She has grown at least fifteen feet taller than the nursery employee said she would. I look at the robe of leaves that have fallen at her feet. I see her grace, nearly naked to the clouds.
Even when I look for beauty at my house, it is in what is living, breathing, and growing around me that stands out. It is in the quiet. It helps.
Thank you for listening, jb
So, I struggle to find beautiful things like the things I am used to finding all around me on my walks. I decided that if I have to lie on the couch, that I'd have to work to find things around my own house that I hadn't noticed. Oh, maybe I'd noticed them, but I didn't really work at seeing them. I came up with a few things. I did. It seemed to ease the pain.
The frogs often sit at the bottom of their tank, looking at each other the same way I do when someone sits on my couch with me. What would they say to each other after three years together in the same three-quarter gallon tank on a shelf by the shower?
What do Mike and I talk about?
Maybe they talk about the weather, squalls that never leave raindrops in their pond. Maybe they argue about what's for dinner yet again. One of them doesn't have fingers on his left paw. Maybe they talk about how that happened. Maybe they talk about their aches and pains and how yoga and meditation doesn't always help. Maybe they talk about viruses that are going around in the wild ponds.
Mike and I have never run out of things to say. And he's the only one with which I can share a companionable silence, the only one. Maybe that's my problem with Nick, that I haven't learned to be quiet with him. Maybe I could work to listen more carefully. It's hard to listen to a fourteen year old boy who doesn't quite want to tell you stuff anyway, but he does. Quiet would help. I could learn from my frogs.
I found leaves that had fallen on my deck and in my driveway. I may be one of the few that thinks that fall's leaves may not be sad for my trees. It might be nice for them to drop all that weight for a while and sit quietly. It might be nice not to have to work so hard to be green all of the time. It might be nice to show the beauty of your bones, the elegant way your branches reach out. It might be good to focus on your roots.
I think about my Japanese tree by my front door. She has grown at least fifteen feet taller than the nursery employee said she would. I look at the robe of leaves that have fallen at her feet. I see her grace, nearly naked to the clouds.
Even when I look for beauty at my house, it is in what is living, breathing, and growing around me that stands out. It is in the quiet. It helps.
Thank you for listening, jb
Hope you are feeling better now.Never had an MRI so don't know how i feels but wish you a speedy recovery so that you can enjoy things you like to do so much :) That was a nice and funny observation about your frogs! Sometimes I can relate to you so much...I also enjoy company of Manik, my husband of 16 years.We take long walks on weekends,watch telly together and usually we still have things to talk about. Arjun is 15 now, and I try to keep up with him..but its hard. He usually outsmarts me in any conversation and eventually I retreat when I run out of 'intelligent things to say"!:) Nice listening to you.
ReplyDeleteArti, the MRI itself doesn't hurt, but they needed me to be in a painful position to get the shots. I know what you mean about verbal sparring with a teenager. Ours is so very disappointed because he's discovered that we're not perfect. Hugs, Julie
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