Stick Me Back in the Ground

I had a busy weekend - hardly enough time to think. On Friday during the day, I felt like crying. I promised myself that I could later. I kept my promise and had a nice cry in the car.

Friday night, I chaperoned a two school 7th-8th grade dance. Enough said.

Later Friday night, Daniel arrived home from UC Riverside with four friends. The five of them made it up through the rain and wind just fine. That night they found something to do in Dublin, and in the morning, I made them pancakes and sausage. They went through two containers of juice! Good to see the guys. I had warm chocolate chip cookies ready for them when they arrived. I kept hearing something like, "This isn't like Stonehaven." (Stonehaven is the on campus apartments where they make lots of macaroni and Daniel states without embarassment houses a lot of mold.)

Saturday night Robert came over. So good to see both of the boys. I made them Cornish game hens.

Today the two boys and I got up early and went to Denica's to meet the gang. We ate and shared stories and laughed. The laughter is the best part. When I took Robert home after doing some soccer shoe shopping, Asmita showed me something in his room that she wanted to fix. We talked about it. When I looked around to Robert's bedside table, I saw some neatly laid out artifacts from his dad. I mouthed something to Asmita, and she quietly brought me into the den where there was another very carefully laid out collection of Peter's things that I had given him. Robert came in and quietly smiled. I told him how nice it was.

On the way home, I stopped off to visit some friends who have been staying at his parents where his dad has needed some caretaking lately. I'd never met them, but the mom instantly grabbed me and we looked at her garden. It has been raining madly since Friday, but there was a break. She's from Hawaii, and in her garden were beautiful orchids, succulents and other things. Before I knew it, my friend had a shovel as his mom pointed for him to "dig up this" and "dig up that". Plastic bags appeared and were filled with beautiful plants. Rose stalks were cut along with a representative flower. Succulents pulled, snails killed, lots of laughter, and soon the back of my Subaru was loaded with living things. The mom had followed Peter's struggle closely, and even though we'd never met nor talked before, I felt a closeness to her as she now experiences the declining mental and physical health of her husband.

As she ripped out plants from the ground, I said out loud how the people with the greenest thumbs seem to be the most rough with their plants. "Just stick it in the ground!" she advised. "It will grow!" When my tentativeness came through, she said, "Just think positively!" I got home and planted and planted. It was therapeutic, and "grounding".

I feel like I've been ripped from my moorings, and I'm also self conscious about the snails that have dropped from me. I think I'll survive. Just stick me in the ground, let the rain fall down, and think positively!

Pebble Beach, Again

I got an e-mail from dear friends of ours last night. Peter and Julian have had many of wonderful rounds of golf together, and Julian's wife Tarra and I have enjoyed watching. Today is Julian's 50th birthday, and he had a dream for some years to play Pebble Beach to celebrate. His plan, his wife said, had always been to have Peter play that special round at that special place with him. Tarra said last night that he was going to get a birdie in Peter's honor.

The wonderful fact is that he did, on the sixth hole. Julian, I wouldn't be surprised if Peter was down there with you anyway. He got me that hat at the Open, you remember.....

Options

At grief group tonight, our subject was difficult feelings. Grief, anger, guilt. We talked about anger, and some of the options for dealing with it. Profanity was discussed quite a bit.

Favorite places to express oneself and "let it out" ranged from the garage, shower and car. "No one can hear you from the car," one person said. "You'd be surprised," answered another. Some of us hadn't tried it, but the method was roundly supported by the ones who had. One person laughed that when she screamed "sh*t" while in the garage filling up the bowls of food for her well-trained Dobermans, they promptly sat.

We did some "multi-media" therapy tonight. There was clay, mandelas to color, sand trays, and other projects. We worked for fifteen minutes while some nice music was playing. We became engrossed in our work or play, and it was nice to escape for a bit. One well-dressed woman was working on the sand tray. She said later, "I was trying to make it smooth - I wanted to make all of us smooth." She faltered, then started crying and said, "But I couldn't do it." I told her, "Thanks for trying, though."

I always feel better after going to the group. I'm glad we're together.

Cello in the Corner

I'd been anxious about tonight's rehearsal for probably ten days. The music is hard, and I mean hard. I was anticipating the sectional rehearsal last week - just us cellos, and boy, would they know I didn't know the music. I was sick, though, last Tuesday- as sick as a dog. That was good and bad. Good because I wouldn't be exposed, and bad because I'd be that much more behind in learning the music, as well as missing out on new fingering suggestions and bowings. Also bad, because, well, I was as sick as a dog. Wednesday morning I went to San Diego - no cello practicing down there. I returned midday on Saturday, and I avoided, yes avoided practicing. So, I've been dreaming about my cello and all sorts of disasters attached to it. A little anxiety perhaps? Good to know its common in grieving people, but still not fun. (I even flirted with the thought of bowing out of this concert, but my mom is coming to visit the end of March, and is looking forward to seeing it, so that little plan wouldn't work.)

So tonight I loaded up my little cello and took it down the highway, trying to remember to give myself some positive self-talk. I arranged myself in my chair and acted cool while others were still getting settled. In an act that I'm sure he didn't realize would give me just what I needed, the conductor put his blue eyes right in front of mine and said, "You're going to feel much better after tonight. It's going to all come together - you'll see." What was that? The principal cellist when he saw me said, "This is the hardest music we've played. We're all struggling with it." More grace. One of the women cellists came in late, and sat in front of me, where we'd left two spaces. "Why aren't you sitting up here with me?" she hissed. I moved up later. We played from 9:15 to almost quarter of ten. There were parts that our conductor said, "Well, that's something for the woodshed." Driving home, I felt that familiar groundedness, like magnets had been placed inside me, drawing all of my insides into nice, parallel, elongated and organized fibers. I felt whole again.

I'm going to practice this week. I'll take this music to the woodshed and chop, chop, chop away.

A New Frontier

Someone asked if I felt like I was walking in a new frontier. "Like Star Trek," he added. Yes. I think I am.

"How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life." James Kirk - Start Trek II, The Wrath of Khan.

Peter's song

I'm home. I had a good time. How can you not have a good time with 1,300 Activities Directors from all over the state of California and beyond? You know, the people that work with youth in our high schools and middle schools running leadership, rallies, spirit days, dances, and more. They are the most inclusive and fun-loving people on the planet. Last night at the dinner/dance I was seated with people from our area. I was sitting next to one of the speakers, and he thought my answer for "are you looking forward to tonight?" was a little weak, so some of us brainstormed little challenges for our table to do during the evening to make it more interesting. One woman wanted to make a human pyramid. This was nixed by speaker and me. But later, I thought, why not? We could make the smallest pyramid possible and it would only take three. There was a open spot behind our table, so I said, "Let's go!" You don't have to ask an activity director twice to do something fun, so off we went. I think it was the highlight of my night.

Another highlight of being in San Diego was meeting up with someone who made a difference in my life as a youth worker 35 years ago. It was so great to see her. Last night we went to Ocean Beach and walked around. I had to get some salt water taffy. Yum.

On the flight home this morning I pulled out my I-pod. Recently I upgraded some things on my computer, and some of Peter's songs transferred to my I-pod. If you remember, he had assembled a playlist entitled "Sad Songs" for his Zune. He would listen and cry - when my friends were over he would have them listen and cry.... argh! But one of the songs, evidently (because I don't listen to country) made it on my I-pod, and I listened to it on the flight, three times. It is entitled "If Heaven" by Andy Griggs. The song is beautiful, and it was so rich, thinking of Peter and him listening to it. Now it is for me. The chorus is:

Don't cry a tear for me now, Baby

There comes a time we must all say good-bye

And if that's what heaven's made of

You know I ain't afraid to die.

I'll try to attach the link to the YouTube Video, but I just like hearing the music....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpIdRkfVtA8

Peter - you are something else!

Stuck in the Sand?

I'm in San Diego at a CADA conference - California Association of Directors of Activities. Fun to be in San Diego, but realizing that being out of my usual environs and out of my routine proves to be a challenge. Missing Peter again.

The weirdest thing was meeting a person here who looked very similar to Peter. I was walking up to my group of friends who were seated at a restaurant for lunch. A person the size and shape of Peter, with red, wavy hair, sort of greying under a baseball cap had his back to me. Glasses and blue eyes.... argh! In his conversation he said he was going to be 51. So was Peter. Of course he didn't have Peter's personality, but each time I see him (1300 people here, and I keep running into him!) I have to take a deep breath.

I told my sister-in-law I was struggling. Her answer gave me courage: "No getting stuck in ruts for you, girl!" Nope. That's not me. I'm going forward. Maybe slowly, but I'm not going to be stuck in a rut.

Thanks, Sis.