Homeless

This morning I woke up even earlier than the previous two, on this long-weekend sojourn to Vancouver. The air was crisp, despite the blue sky and waking sun. I lazily walked the thirty feet that separated the hotel from the Starbucks. I sat, invisibly tethered to my computer, watching and waiting, as words sporadically appeared on the screen. Situated at the corner of Denman and Davie, I could gaze out the window and see the ocean. The cars passing by, along with walkers and joggers provided a rhythmic backdrop to my morning. 

Suddenly, I noticed a man standing on the other side of the window, in front of me, but slightly off to the right. Though I didn’t look up immediately, I could see that he was gesturing. With an uneasy feeling, I took off my glasses, and looked up. He touched his heart with his hand and then pointed it toward me, palm open. My initial thought was that this was a “pick up” gesture. I smirked uncomfortably and looked away. He did not leave. And then, in my mind’s eye, I visualized his face and realized that he was familiar to me. 

Yesterday, my daughter Faven and I got a late start to the day.  Well, truly, she got a late start. I had been up early and writing at Starbucks for a couple of hours when she joined me around 9:30. I got her some breakfast, and we returned to the hotel room to gather our things for the day. By the time we set off, I was hungry for lunch. We left the hotel and headed north on Davie, toward the ocean. We turned right at Denman, knowing that there was a plethora of food vendors on that street. As I rounded the corner, I was passing by a large, curbside tree, and was momentarily spooked when something large moved, right next to my planted foot. I realized it was a man huddled there; I kept walking, taking occasional glances over my shoulder. 

Within the next block, we stopped to enjoy a shwarma, while sitting outside.  I continued to glance down the street to see if the person by the tree was—perhaps just an apparition. He wasn’t. I felt an inner tug to do some small thing to make his day a bit better. After we had eaten, we went back inside and ordered another shwarma; I chose a bottle of juice from the cooler to complete the lunch. We walked back the half-block and I bent down and simply said, “We brought you some lunch”. The man held my hand, and said “Thank you.” He had a vague expression in his eyes that stayed with me for most of the day. 

Faven was moved by the experience, and as she linked her arm through mine, she said, “Thank you Mom”. I thought I could hear tears hanging on her voice, but I could not be certain. I told her that we could not feed everyone in the world who is hungry, but we can feed one person at a time.

This morning, as the man at the window lingered, I realized that it was our lunch guest from yesterday. I looked up again, he pointed to the tree around the corner and then placed his hands in prayer position and bowed ever so gently forward. I sat in awe and humility. He walked on, and so did I; I think we were both standing a little bit taller.

Bent But Not Broken

I recently injured my back.  It turns out to be a fairly significant injury to my disc at L4-5 (low back).  I am not supposed to do any lifting, bending, or twisting and I need to minimize the time that I stand, sit and drive.  I do not care what your job is—these restrictions would make any job difficult.  Mine has come to a grinding halt.

I was setting up some in-house help, so that things wouldn’t completely fall apart, and the woman who I called was very sympathetic to my plight.  During our conversation, she said, “Well, at least you have children.” (pause) I also have pets, but I would hardly call them an asset at this particular juncture.  I had a sneaking suspicion that she did not have any children, so I could hardly fault her for making the assumption that anyone would make. 

Well, it is true, I do have kids!  I am blessed! It is also true that I would not be in this situation IF I did not have kids.  For the injury that I have is a bending-over-and-picking-up-my-kids-crap, kind of injury!! It is a strain of parenting that you cannot anticipate.  And truly, it can be something like a shoe or a sock that “takes you down”. My kids shed their garments like a snake sheds it’s skin—but with greater frequency!  Our floor is looking like the grounds after a day at the Calgary Stampede.  The best I can do is to kick the wayward articles into one heaping pile.  If I can pile it high enough, I can ju-ust reach it without bending over.

In the initial days after the injury, I carried on and did the best that I could given the circumstances.  That only made things worse for me.  I broke the news to the kids that they would now have to pitch in and do the lion’s share of my job – you can imagine their elation.  The one child, who you think would be the most helpful and understanding, began a sulk that has rivaled Ghandi’s hunger strike!  Another child follows me around as if I am no longer able to perform the most basic tasks, like going to the bathroom – “Mom, are you okay in there?  Do you need any help? Remember not to bend down.” And thank goodness for the third child, as that one is blessed with the characteristic of being a natural helper.  When he was in pre-school, he used to help all the “little” kids with their buttons and zippers in the coatroom. (That has sure come in handy, as he can now help me!)

However, it has not been smooth; the first morning that the kids were “on-duty”, I told them of the chores that needed to be done before school.  If this were stand-up comedy, it would have been hilarious.  One child was asked to wash the few dishes soaking in the sink.  Another one was asked to scoop the kitty litter.  Awhile later, they asked me to drive them to school.  I asked them how the chores went (while convalescing in an anti-gravity lawn chair, in the front room).  One of them said, “Oh, I forgot, and I don’t have time to do it now”, and the other one said, “You wanted me to do that now?”  I reminded them through gritted teeth that these daily chores were NOT optional!

I would be remiss if I did not mention my husband, who goes into over-drive during these kinds of circumstances.  That is a blessing indeed! It is unfortunate that he has also had to manage being on-call at the hospital.  Our community has also been a great support in taking kids to and from soccer.

We all know that we are more than our physical symptoms.  My life has been stressful (by times), and I have no doubt that this has played into the injury, even if only because my muscles were so tight.  According to author Louise Hay,  “Ignoring your body just makes it try harder to get your attention—your body is asking for your help.” Further, she says, the back “represents the support of life”; so what better way for me to heal than to ask my family members to be the support in my life.  

Flummoxed

“Hey guys, I would personally like to thank the member of my family who knocked over the jar of olives in the fridge, and left it to ooze over three shelves of food and containers.”

“Oh, what was that?.... You didn’t mean to do it. Unh huh, I see.  Oh, well then, never mind.  I was just wondering what I was going to do with all my free time today– between the laundry, pumping up your bike tires, fixing your rear brakes, gathering the garbage from the van, cleaning the house, feeding the pets, picking up groceries, mowing the lawn, walking the dog, cooking, planning your summer camps and checking into the hospital for a lobotomy!”

Do you ever have one of those days?  The kind that is overwhelming from the minute you get up?  The kind where you are so flummoxed that you water the near-dead plants, and then a minute later – while talking to the dentist on the phone, opening a can of beans to pour in the crock pot, and taking your sick child’s temperature – you water the same plants again, and water pours through as if the plant is a mirage?

Do you ever want to run, full steam ahead, into a brick wall – thinking that you can actually run right through it? Imagine how good that would feel.  Bricks and mortar flying in all directions, a hole the size of… of an elephant, and you standing on the other side, victorious (and free)!  Or, quite possibly, lying on the ground amidst the rubble, with broken wrists, shoulders and collar bones, with blood gushing down your forehead as if you are the centre piece in an elaborate water fountain.  

Okay, I'm not going to do that!

But truly, I don’t know what I AM going to do. I am running a three-ring circus without a safety net.  I am training circus animals who would rather not eat than perform.  I am a juggler incapable of keeping the balls in the air – and the moment I bend down to pick one ball up, several more fly in from all directions; I feel like I have tripped a trap in a paintball battle field.  The bruises are beyond the depth of my skin. 

There is only one thing left to do…… 

Better a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy. :)

Enjoy the audio version here:  http://snd.sc/12LpWxF