beautiful absence

I had a conversation yesterday with a friend about how quickly we forget being sick once we're feeling better, how quickly we go back to taking our health for granted. I'm over the pneumonia that plagued me a few weeks ago, but I'm not saying hourly prayers of thanks for the fact that I'm no longer coughing up a lung with every other breath. Instead, I breathe in and out and don't pay much attention to the miracle that this action represents. This is less the case with depression. Though it may be because it's still lingering to some extent, I do stand in awe at the fact that it's lifted and I'm enjoying life again and I am deeply thankful for the relief, moment by moment. I'm aware of its continued presence like I might be aware of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe-- it's there, it's sticky and unpleasant, but I can still walk. I don't feel maimed by depression right now. My soul is no longer made of lead. I can breathe.

I've worked hard at beating it back. Very hard. And I've had great support from several corners. I'm thankful for the courage to fight, the tools I've been given, the tools I've earned and honed and mastered (some of the time, anyway), and the grace. Ah, yes, the grace. Gracious meals, gracious counsel, gracious TLC, gracious time, gracious space. But sneaking around the corner of all this courage and effort and grace comes the nagging fear that the black dogs of depression will come marauding at the door of my soul again, and I fear they'll come before I've had time to build up my resources for another fight.

This is how I walk with gum stuck to my shoe, with the awareness that depression is still there, always there, though not always dominant. I would prefer to live without this sticky awareness. I would prefer to fly with the wind beneath my wings rather than stumble about all gummed up and muddled by gravity. But there's an awfully good chance that I'd forget to be thankful for the moments of joy, for the moments when I'm acutely and profoundly aware of the beautiful absence of intolerable pain.

Billy's swatch

I had a distinctly lovely Truth and Beauty moment at church this morning. It was unrelated to the liturgy or sermon or readings or music or any of the usual sources of spiritual inspiration on a Sunday morning, but it was no less profound for me. It came in the form of a handmade jewel, a gem whose colour and texture and source struck me as deeply beautiful. This is the handiwork of my dear friend, Billy:



Now you think you're seeing a wee knitted swatch, but to me it's a testament to resourcefulness, dedication, creativity, and sensual pleasure. It's made of soy silk yarn, yarn which Billy spun by hand. He used fibres that are produced from tofu manufacturing waste. Tofu never looked so good! Then he died the freshly spun yarn using lime KoolAid™ and his microwave. To test his efforts, he then knitted this swatch, using the smallest knitting needles you can find (2mm, US size 0, UK size 14). The swatch is about 2.5 by 3 inches in size. For three weeks, Billy carried around this fabulous jewel of a swatch to show off to friends who- like me- appreciate such things.

It blew me away that this was:
a) tofu
b) so lovingly made entirely from scratch
c) both delicate and strong
d) soft as a baby's bottom
e) the colour of the early green of the rice paddies of Viet Nam

I don't particularly like the term "eye candy" but this may be a fitting expression for how I felt about this delicately crafted piece. It made me hungry, somehow. I wanted to be wrapped head to toe in it, to swim in the jewel green of it, to hold it and behold it without interruption. Billy was sufficiently pleased with my adulation that he offered me the swatch. Actually, I asked if I could have it. "What will you do with it?" he asked. "Put it in my prayer alcove, I think, and write about it on my Truth and Beauty blog." That clinched it. Now it's yours to enjoy as well. Treasure the little things.

tango

It was a long, rich, full day today...

I got to participate in the third birthday of one of my favourite little friends, the inimitable S. I have dozens of photos of her with the biggest, widest, roundest grin you can imagine spread across her gorgeous face. She immersed herself so fully in the event it was inspiring. Every "Happy Birthday" wish was responded to with, "Happy Birthday to you, too!" What a bright light she is.



My work was also particularly rewarding today. It occurred to me that I bring a lot of doula spirit into my photography work-- coming alongside, bringing encouragement and confidence, making connections, pouring my heart into what I do. I got to work with a lovely family today, with a lively toddler and a five-week old baby. There was some worry about how the photos may turn out given the rambunctiousness of the toddler and the various needs of the newborn. I was able to reassure them at the time, but I can hardly wait to show them how truly beautiful they were in the midst of all the apparent challenges of the day.

And, tonight, I got to tango. Yup. Tango.



I'd resolved to learn to tango many years ago, but never took the essential first steps. Recently, I found a friend interested in tango. He and I start lessons in a couple of weeks. Because of my expressed interest in lessons, I received an invitation to a "milonga" (dance) tonight. My friend couldn't make it, so I went by myself. I'd been advised to just watch as the tango isn't something you can just wing on the spot, but there were too many eager, willing, and gracious gentlemen present to leave me on the sidelines. It was wonderful. I came home hot, sweaty, and happy. I hope my smile was a bit more demure than that of my three-year old friend at her party this morning, but inside I was grinning like a fool, a very happy fool.



[I didn't look like this, but this is pretty much how I felt.]

one-a-day plus beauty

Seven ten truth-and-beauty notes for this week:

Quilting A: Playing with fabric.



I'm still loving my quilting lessons. I particularly like the "web" stage when I begin sewing all the carefully laid out pieces and they form this fabulously vivid landscape, little, regular hillocks of colour. Delightful.

Quilting B: Playing with colour.



This quilt came from a lesson where we had to pull colours out of a piece of artwork to create a geometric design. I picked the painting of a faerie garden from a card I received a decade ago and had framed for sentimental reasons. Once I got started I was dismayed that I was making, essentially, a black and green quilt, but in the end it came together. It's really growing on me now.


Airport Transfers

On Tuesday I brought the mother of a friend of mine to the airport, playing surrogate daughter for the morning. Tonight I pick up a friend who's been away for two weeks to tend to all the details surrounding the death of her mother. I love being part of the seemingly chaotic but deeply ordered web of connections that happen at airports. It's why I love how the movie "Love Actually" opens, too.

Green Things

I've been loving the little bit of garden tending that comes with the house-sitting gig I've had for the last several weeks. Growing things is good for the soul.

Ziggy

I have lost one of my greatest playmates, sweet and gleeful R who now lives on the other coast of this vast continent. But I've also gained an exhuberant friend recently in the form of Ziggy, the labradoodle dog adopted by dear friends of mine. Ziggy has the spirit of the toddler charging through his veins and watching him play is a delight through and through.

Sweet Peas

Also part of the house-sitting gig has been the pleasure of picking sweet peas. They are as sweet in fragrance as they are in visual appeal. And sweeter yet when they bring a smile to the face of the one receiving a sweet pea posie. It's been great to be able to share the floral bounty.



Space

Tomorrow I will return to my little West End nest which I hope to love again as I remember loving, once upon a time. It's been delicious to have a beautiful five-bedroom house to call home for the last weeks. It took no time at all to get used to the spacious hallways, landings, skylights, gardens, the dining (=sewing) room, etc. My whole apartment is about the size of the kitchen of this house. May I be as truly thankful for my own little space as I've been for the fabulous big space so graciously provided when I needed room to breathe.

rain

I love the rain. Sure, in Vancouver there have been times when even I'll admit a break would be nice after forty days and forty nights of rain, but for the most part you won't hear me complain about the rain. The day started grey and drizzly today, but it cleared in the afternoon and was beautifully sunny when I went out for dinner with friends. It was highly unexpected, then, to hear the rain pattering against the skylight this evening-- steady, strong, nourishing. The sound of rain against windows is a heavenly lullaby to me. I hope it's still raining when I crawl under the covers tonight.

of life and berry picking

I went blackberry picking today.

The best part of it was the company I had with me: three magnificent kids who were so thrilled about the activity-- about the berry picking and berry eating and about the horses riding by, and about the boats and the log booms and the waves on the Fraser River-- that the afternoon was punctuated by their repeated shrieks of joy and sheer excitement. Even the size, colour, and quantity of horse manure was exciting to them. Berry stained fingers and purple tongues and glee. What fun!

Then there's the taste of sun-warmed berry juice exploding from the plump lobes of the ripest, roundest blackberries. It's hard to describe that flavour. Impossible to reproduce. It's the taste of August and summer and deep purple sunshine.

And then, along the lines of "the moral of the story is...", is the realization that for the satisfaction of the taste of those sun-warmed, plump, juicy berries, one has to risk being torn to shreds by the unforgiving ever-so-protective thorns of the blackberry brambles upon which these juicy treats grow. And the ripest, plumpest berries are always the ones just out of reach-- the ones you have to lean into the brambles for, reaching so high that bramble thorns press into your arms and legs, drawing sacrificial blood. You have to really want to taste sweetness to go for those berries, to lean in, to reach, to risk the wounds.

"I've almost got it! Have your bucket ready, N," I say.

"But you're BLEEDING!" she cries

"I may be bleeding, but I've got the best berry yet!"

"Mommy, she's BLEEDING."

"I won't be deterred. Do you know the word deterred?"

"No."

"I may be bleeding, but it's not going to stop me from going for the best berries."

As in blackberry picking, so also in life. May I always reach for the best and be undeterred by the thorny and painful complications that hinder my reach.

backyard picnics

Today's truth and beauty gold star goes to the P family and the Backyard Picnic. In the company of good friends, with hotdogs with all the trimmings, grilled corn-on-the-cob with lime & spice rub, tomato-basil salad, and a shared bottle of Joie rosé, it's a little taste of heaven. I don't think it would have been quite as delicious without the unabashed joy expressed by the P children. The only camera I had with me this evening was on my laptop-- but I hope these pix give a bit of a glimpse of a lovely evening.









The evening ended with a goodbye giggle from wee E. Her mom asked the baby, still giggling, "Are you helping Moaike get her joie tank filled?" You betcha.

hugs

I should have blogged yesterday. I've let myself off the hook with regard to publishing something EVERY day this summer, though I still try to be mindful of moments of truth and beauty daily. Yesterday started with the messy and uncomfortable sensations of depression-- feeling like my bones are made of styrofoam and every synapse under the surface of my skin is pulling me under the veil of tears. It's a shitty feeling. Time to pull out the big guns. I went on a mission to collect hugs. You can't always count on finding someone on a street corner on a FREE HUGS campaign (if you don't know about the campaign, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4) so sometimes you have to take things into your own hands, or arms as the case may be. It's times like these that I'm deeply, deeply thankful for the kids in my life. They give the most exuberant hugs. I found most of the M family in the park near Trout Lake and when G saw me, even before I'd stated my mission, he called out my name and came running into my arms. Sweetness. The other children willingly wrapped their arms about me, their mother gave me not only a hug, but a plum freshly picked from the tree in their yard. Again, sweetness. By the end of the day, I'd gathered my arms around three more hugs, one brief baby cuddle and a series of enthusiastic, doggy licks from a large, slobbery dog. The therapeutic value of such signs of affection is enormous.

flying

I discovered a new tool for staying in the present moment: kite flying.

I flew a kite for the first time with the M family a few months ago, which was a great introduction, but today I flew a huge kite with two lines. The friend who taught me was very patient as I learned how responsive the kite was to pulling on and releasing the tethers. We went to the tidal flats off the Spanish Banks at low tide and flew the kite over the shallow water-- as far away as we could get from the waders also enjoying the beach, to reduce the chance of me maiming anyone with my spectacularly torpedo-like crashes. My friend, R, graciously fetched the kite from the water every time I sent it hurtling into the sea. He taught me to fly with my body rather than with my eyes, really FEELING the wind pull on the left and right wings of the kite, rather than responding to what I saw (by which time it's often too late). It took my full attention. What a sweet, spiritual discipline it was, to think of nothing but the force of the wind and the sensation of flying. It was grand.