An Unexpected Retreat

Hi, Mariners!
Yesterday was something. A cold and cloudy day here, and I was virtually *unplugged*.  It didn't start out as my intention, but it evolved into an "acoustic" day.  It was wonderful. I would normally not describe a cold, grey day as "wonderful." There are too many of them here where I live. My husband bought me a bunch of full spectrum lightbulbs that help simulate natural light---and believe me, I use them here.  So yesterday morning, coffee in hand, I turned on the hand-shaped lamp (or, rather, a hand with five fingers) in our sunroom, had a fire, and sat. Looked out at the back yard. Sighed. Then noticed a book I read last summer, one of Stephenie Myers' Twilight series. The last one, Eclipse. The perfect item appeared and my day was created. I never changed out of my jammies, and rarely moved off the couch. And entered a world of make-believe that swooped me away for the day. I never turned on my Crackberry, let the landline go to voice mail, and didn't get online until after dinner. This may not sound like a big deal, but read on.

I've been called many things, but techno-addicted is not one of them.  Facebook "whore," yep.  Guilty. The Crackberry was an essential addition to my Odyssey equipment.  I wasn't going to lug my computer along with three seasons' worth of clothing and files up the wazoo.  The strange thing is that since my father passed away, every day has been filled with such strain, and especially after I went to CT the second time, (heretofore known as the Odyssey) I was attached to the Crackberry---the reality of my father's death unfolded like a weeping peony: all the estate info was rolling in, appointments made and kept, contacts with charities for the delivery of items from my father's house,  arrangements for stops along the east coast for sabbatical research, blessed emails and texts from my husband, and facebook encouragement from all of my friends. I clung to that thing like the crutch it was.

So, back to yesterday. A retreat.  Jammies. Coffee. Hundreds of pages of delightful storytelling. Quiet mind.  The thing really worth mentioning is that my mind was quiet. I was comfortable, content. Not isolated, but cozy. And happy. Happy. HAPPY. First time since, really, October, that I felt carefree.  I never even paused to question whether or not I deserved it.  I did wonder what Karl would think when he came home, through the back door, to see the nest on the couch, me in jammies, still with bed head. That didn't bother me either. :o)

Naturally, the one day I retreated, I missed things that I used to do on Tuesdays, before the Odyssey, and I also missed a lunch date with friends. About six months ago, a friend turned me on to something called "Haikusday," during which everyone communicates in the structure of Haiku poetry. I have taken up the torch among my many friends and usually begin every Tuesday morning with a Haiku, and then we all geek speak in Haiku throughout the rest of the day.  We are all pretty good at it by now. So I missed this. Not a huge loss, but a marker that is usually part of my day.  I also missed both of my yoga classes. And then the lunch with my friends.  Had I logged on, as I usually do, I would have slid toward a regular Tuesday-0n-Sabbatical. With one small change, the whole day changed shape. I didn't skip anything purposely, the day just melted away. However, with this change, my heart was light for the first time in a long time. So, I'm not perfect. And my friends gave me shit for missing lunch, and of course, my evening yoga class was "orgasmic," as my friend put it.  That's okay. I can be perfectly imperfect.

Today was different. Sunny and definitely spring-like. But I stumbled around, getting caught up in movements that should not be challenging--I bumped into walls, spilled vitamins on the counter...just generally klutzy things that pissed me off.  And I saw the estate work I had to get done today, and just looked at it. Yup. Okay. Will do.  An email to the estate attorney with questions, correspondence with the real estate agent, more phone calls to investments... shit.  Hitting the shower, I knocked over almost all of the bottles on the ledge. Okay. Breathe, Catherine. This is not a portend of the day to come. I'd come to believe things like that determined my day, or that something bad was coming down the phone line from my father.  Okay. That's not possible.  As I got dressed, I noticed again how much weight I'd lost this fall/winter. Then my brain took me through that time, in super fast forward motion, everything that's happened. Those fucking boxes still staring at me. The sun didn't matter, the spring didn't matter, even my sweet little daffodil--my only one, so far--didn't matter.

I scurried out of the house as quickly as possible, vowing to make a change. Once I came back from errands and estate stuff, which I prefer to do in a coffee shop, I went upstairs and glared at my bedroom. Glared. UP came the clothes off the floor,  and into the laundry they went. Even into the dryer! Now, the BIG accomplishment will be folding and putting them away. Breaking the cycle of Grey Gardens. Maybe even getting real with the clothes I can't bear to wear. Someone will use them. I will give them away to a local charity, where no one has to pay for them. I'll say a brief blessing over them so that the sadness associated with them is lessened, and ask that they bring people joy in wearing them.  "The Shire has been saved, Sam, but not for me," Frodo said. That's kind of how I feel about these clothes.  I still have the dress I wore at my mother's funeral three years ago, and know I will never wear it again. That may have to go as well.

But, honestly, it's yesterday that stays with me. I had choreographed this huge Odyssey to cover much ground on many levels, and even added a touch of retreat at the end--I rented a house on Sanibel Island, Florida for a week of monastic-like solitude. It didn't work nearly as well as I'd hoped, because I had that damned Crackberry attached to me. (In my defense, I did create a photo diary of the whole Odyssey, of which I am very proud, and it was good to touch base with my husband a few times, too.)  But, Yesterday, the cardigan sweater grey day, at home under blankets, with my cats sleeping on the couch, and a good book, has been the best day I've had in many months. I wish that for everyone. And I didn't even plan it. And it was free. Hmm.  "The best laid plans...."

I'm struggling with the mental clutter that has become legitimate anxiety. Walking gingerly, slowly, in baby steps, seems the only way I'll get through this. If I let this happen in its own time, maybe I'll have more unexpected retreats. That would be good.