Reflections in Fur: Part Deux

     Okay.  I succumbed to feline mind control.  Larry decided he'd had it with outdoor living, so he just barged into my house one day and wouldn't leave.  He is endearing, affectionate, and absolutely infatuated with me, but he's gunning for Bucky.  As I feared, Larry is an unneutered male.  Territorial with a capital "T."  It has been a trying three weeks as I attempt to keep the two at bay.  When I took Larry to the vet for his shots, it was discovered that he has the feline version of HIV.  While Bucky has had his shot for this, it is not 100% effective against the disease, especially since it is transmitted by blood.  And what better way to transmit blood than by fighting tooth and claw?  So not only must I keep the two of them apart for Bucky's sake, I cannot let Larry outdoors anymore.  He is forever under quarantine.
     The vet suggested I put Larry up for adoption with someone who might take a special-needs cat.  I called animal rescue shelters and sent out gobs of emails, but to no avail.  Thankfully Bucky loves the outdoors and is being a good sport about this, but it's getting cold and wet out there.  So I put Larry in the laundry room when I go to sleep or leave for a few hours so that Bucky can sneak in, eat, drink, and relax a bit.
     So what was Larry reflecting for me?  Trust.  When faced with intractable problems, I send up a prayer:  "Make a way out of no way."  I was having major fears.  Would I need to give Bucky up for adoption for his health's sake?  Would I make myself crazy trying to keep two cats apart for the rest of their lives?  Could I afford his upkeep?  But through it all, the Still Small Voice just said, "Wait.  Give this time.  There's a solution."  And so, I put my fears aside and trusted; what else was I to do?
     A few days later my vet called to inquire if I had found a placement for Larry.  I told her no.  "Well, I just had a client come in who's looking for a companion for his quarantined FIV cat.  Here's his number.  He'd like to talk to you."  Colin and I spoke for a good long time.  This man is serious about cats; he has eight!  And his home is set up to accommodate each of them with their varying needs.  After his family visited here, they all decided that Larry would be a good match for Skittles.  To top it off, they graciously offered to take the neutering responsibility off my hands, saving me a bundle of money!
     Larry will go to his new home November 2nd.  Bucky can return to the comfort of his home, and I can relax...with some tears to be sure.  Larry is a dear and I do love him.  But I know two things:  he'll be in good hands, and I can trust a Loving Power greater than my fears and limited resources to bring about a perfect solution.  I hope this inspires you to trust more, too.

Pax tecum.
    

Pray to the Moon

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb

Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, II,ii 

 

     Poor Juliet.  Not wanting Romeo to swear on what is changeable she insists on the certainty of her new-found love lest she feel betrayed and broken if he prove fickle.  It is a lovely and understandable wish, especially when we are young and untempered.  As we grow older, we discover that  change is the only constant in life.  Change is life.  And while it can hold sorrows, so can living in stagnation.  When we risk our hearts and egos, we have so much to learn and share.

     During the summer I had an inspiration to teach a course called "I'm No Pigeon: A Career Workshop for the Unconventional," the namesake of this blog.  I imagined that, like me, there were others out there who were pursuing unconventional lives or desired to follow an unconventional career path.  I spent hours developing the curriculum, loving every minute of it, believing it would be useful and inspiring.  Our Adult Education program accepted the proposal, and it was launched.

     Imagine my surprise when one student wanted to learn how to start dating again and another wanted to stay in his current line of work but move to a new company.  This is not what I had planned.  I could have gotten annoyed if I believed they were not giving me what I wanted (the satisfaction of seeing my opus come to life).  Instead I chose to change the curriculum.  I had a few hours of doubt and anxiety; would this be anywhere near as good as my other program?  Would it be helpful?  Can I make this change successfully in my own mind--which is code for can I check my ego at the door and make this course about them instead of me?  But I listened for the common thread in their three goals.  Fear of change!  Well, whaddya know?  With this in mind, I pulled out a trusted book on the subject (Barbara Sher's Wishcraft.  Get it!), sent them pertinent chapters, and hoped for the best when the class met again.

     Fascinating commonalities surfaced for all of us.  Change is terrifying, but being stuck in paralysis is no longer tenable.  We must acknowledge our fears with deep compassion, a lot of good humor, and supportive companions.  My participants were inspired, reluctant, confused, pensive, on fire, laughing--anything but passive.  They were alive!  These good people are helping and inspiring each other--and me--to take more risks.  The course is not yet over, neither are their endeavors.  This is a continuing story, but one that is so satisfying to be a part of. 

     We all want the constancy of happiness and comfort, or at least the constancy of what we are accustomed to.  "The devil you know...." It is also the potential for a rut.  And when we change internally, what may once have been comfortable now makes us chafe.  Change can be sweet, challenging, breathtaking, heartbreaking.  But it engages us all the time.  So what better goddess to invoke than the Moon?  She changes but is constantly there, even if she is obscured by clouds or dips below our vision.  Pray to the Moon that you may face change with an open heart, an open mind, and open hands. 

Pax tecum.

Struggling with Easy

     Given my proclivity for self-improvement, I see what is difficult in my life and use it as a means to work through issues that are holding me back.  My body pain, my stressful jobs, my failed relationships, my financial uncertainty, it's all useful.  Well either I make it useful or I'll just curl up into the fetal position and cry, which on occasion I have done.  Living alone for 14 years has afforded me the freedom to explore all this, and my life is wonderful as a result since I've learned some powerful lessons about solitude and self-reliance. 
     Two months ago, a man entered my life.  We'll call him John--because that's his name.  It took only one afternoon together for us to realize we were very comfortable with each other.  We had so much in common--interests, values, humor--that it was like reconnecting with a long lost best friend.  And as I had always hoped it would happen, we each fell in love with our best friend.  Cue the lush music.
     Those of you who know me know I am living a highly unconventional life of existential exploration. And without a life's partner, I can just live it, no questions asked.  Now John is in my life.  We spend a lot of time together sharing households, meals, ideas, delights and frustrations.  We are negotiating how and when we do things.  He is getting to know my family.  Then I started to talk about my lifestyle and aspirations.  With no small amount of anxiety, I described how I wanted to live with more occupational freedom so I could make a contribution to the world on my own terms.  I braced myself for the moment when I would look into his eyes and see him pull away from me.  I would have felt hurt and lost.  And that would have been easy because it would have been another opportunity to learn something.  I know that drill by heart.
     Instead this man looked me in the eyes with empathy and respect, saying he understood what I was trying to do.  He said he really admired me and thought this was fabulous.  He put his arm around me and encouraged me to keep going.  He offered help and support.  Then I panicked.  This is not the way it's supposed to go.  Where's the pain?  Where's the struggle?  This is too easy!  I started to invent all kinds of worst-case scenarios in my mind.  I doubted my ability to remain self-reliant as I began to feel I needed him.  I created imaginary arguments in order to defend myself against...against...what?  Love.  I was actually resisting love.  How weird is that?
     So now I have new lessons to learn.  Relaxation.  Partnering.  Sharing.  Happiness.  Trust. Surrender.  I've always wanted a partner like this.  He's here.  I hope I can handle this.  How about you?  When did you finally get an unmixed blessing?  How did you react to it?  How's it going for you?  What did you learn?  And how have you changed? 
      I wish you joy of the easy in your life.

Pax tecum.

Saving a Life

     I'm sitting here typing with the tell-tale signs of an apheresis donor:  two red plastic bandages wrapped around my two elbows.  In this process platelets are separated from the rest of your blood.  Why platelet donations?  They are desperately needed for people undergoing chemotherapy for one reason.   It takes three pints of whole blood to make one donation of platelets.  And because this process is so complex, fewer people take the time or make the drive to the center to do it.
     The procedure is a little freaky.  You sit in a recliner with a syringe in one arm sucking out blood.  It goes through a machine that looks like something out of Lost in Space where the platelets are separated out.  Platelets are collected in a plastic bag where they take on the distinct look of egg drop soup.  The blood is then infused with saline solution to make up the volume, and pumped back into your other arm through another syringe.  For me the whole process takes 100 minutes, and I can donate two servings. 
     During this time you cannot close your eyes because the staff needs to know you are awake and activating your squeeze toy to keep your vein open.  To pass the time you watch a movie.  If I'm lucky I watch one of my choice, a comedy.  If I'm not lucky, I watch what some guy requested which usually includes evil doings, violence, and a woman dressed in little more than lingerie.  I don't like being upset during a donation, preferring that my blood is as free from adrenaline as possible.  When I'm faced with the movies I dread, I just stare at the walls and try to meditate with my eyes open.
     Since you can't use your arms, you can't read, write, or even scratch your nose.  But the wonderful staff is very accommodating and will rub your nose with a piece of gauze if you need it.  Or, as in my case today, dry your eyes as you sit there weeping over some happy ending in a feel-good flick.  You don't get to eat or drink.  However, the chemical in the needle that is used to keep your blood from clotting can cause side effects:  itchy nose, dry mouth, numb lips, sleepiness, or nausea.  The cure?  Tums!  Just ask for them--regular or sugar-free--and you can have all you want.  They work like a charm.
     When it's all over you get to have a free lunch of your choice, beverages, snacks, and sometimes a thank you gift like a free oil change or gallon of ice cream.  I dread the T shirts though.  I had waaaaaay too many of those, and I rarely wear them.
     Does all of this seem really arduous to you?  It is.  Add to that the 45 minute drive up to the donation center, and I can devote half a day to this appointment.  It can be tedious as all heck.  Your arms ache, you fight drowsiness, and you are immobilized for almost two hours.  But then I think of a child undergoing chemotherapy who can't go out and play.  Or the middle-aged man who can't work because his cancer treatments make him too sick.  Then it doesn't seem so bad after all, and I remember why I'm doing this.  My first blood donation.  I was giving the standard pint of blood when a staff member asked what my type was.  "A positive. " "Good!"  she said.  "We were really low on that.  You're going to save someone's life today."  Her words hit me like a falling piano.  No amount of money, legislation, or good intentions can take the place of blood.  You have to open up a vein and share part of who you are with a total stranger.  Frankly, I can't think of anything more awesome than that.
     If you ever feel like you aren't doing much to save the world, let me invite you to come with me to the apheresis center in Farmington, CT.  And over the course of half a day, attached to freaky medical equipment, while snacking on Tums and watching a movie, you can actually save a life.  SAVE A LIFE!  Think about it.  How often do we get the chance to be brave and save a life?  This offer is real.  Contact me.  I'll get you through it.

Pax tecum