Monday, February 6, 2012

Don't Waste Your Time

My normal Monday morning routine is to listen to the CBS morning news as I slowly gain consciousness and take stock of what is going on outside of my nest of blankets.

I know that the moment I extract myself, my day has started, so I lie there as long as possible just enjoying the feel of "right now" - possibly the only time in my life that I really do that.

This morning was different.

I listened to the story of a man, a Professor of Geriantology or however you spell it - a doctor for the elderly - face his own diagnosis of cancer. (It was the same type of cancer my paternal grandfather died from) The story wasn't about death and doom; rather, it was a story about how he sees life. He is not afraid to die, and he's living his life with joy, teaching others about how it feels to be diagnosed with a terminal illness.

From my blanket Utopia, I remembered a counseling session I had once, wherein my late Aunt Marie sent a message to me - or as the attempt to contact her for advice resulted in the message "Don't Waste Your Time"

Those words are always in my head, whether I am wasting my time or not, and I often wonder if it was about trying to reach her, counseling with the woman I was seeking therapy from at the time, trying to repair my relationship with Sage's father, or just a general statement about my life. So it's a mantra of sorts, a reminder, a little nudge. And here it was screaming at me from my television this morning. What was I doing just laying around when this man so joyfully wakes up every morning and embraces life? What the -

So I rolled (literally) out of bed, jumped in the shower, got ready for my day and here I go - to face life, instead of hiding in my nest of blankets - to get things done...to spend my time, rather than wasting it.

That doesn't mean that tomorrow I won't do the same thing I always do, but for today that man is on my mind and his joy for his life and his readiness to face death - well, he's my inspiration today.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

When I was five and six

This morning before I woke up I had one of those dreams, one of those dreams that I know what I'm doing and why, although I didn't choose to be where I was. 


The bones of the dream are that I had returned to the site of the daycare I had attended at age 5. Although I didn't see people in the dream, I was accompanied by one or two others, and someone let me into the house. (The preschool had either been someone's home at one point, or just looks like a house). I introduced myself as having formerly gone there and asked if I could look around. 


The first thing I noticed was the smell. It still had that smell of onions, dirty diapers, and baby powder. I wondered about how I could smell something in a dream. I walked through the front rooms, recalling what they had been when I was there...and I made note that there was carpet and the carpet was white shag. (not that bright heavenly white, but a sort of just-steam-cleaned white). The walls were white, too. Walking around, I was aware of everything I remember from there but I pushed those memories aside. 


I was in a room with a desk, I guess. On the desk was one of those metal frames that folds and you can put a picture in each side. On one side was my brother and on the other side was me. They were black and white, as if the photos were taken in the 50's. 


In another room I found what I didn't realize I was looking for. A single white shelf with a few random items, another photo - this one of me. It was a smaller, color photo of me as a 5 or 6 year old with my hair styled in a 60's teenager style. I was wearing green and white and looked like my mom. Behind the photo I noticed a book. It was thin, and the cover was still glossy white. On the spine it said C. Bear (and something after it). 


At least I think it did, because I was waking up, and the shock and excitement of finding the book I have been searching for my entire life was racing through my mind. By the time I reached to pick it up, I was aware of myself and I woke up and the actual memories of the preschool started flooding in around me. The crying babies, the dark room, cots, goulash, counting to a million...blood...having to hold a diaper to my head to cover the wound while I waited for my stepfather...I waited a few minutes before opening my eyes to reality.


I have such vivid memories of that part of my life, that place, and even the smells. But the thing I lost - the thing I keep looking for - was a book about my teddy bear, a book that came with my bear, the reason I named my bear Charles. 


I still have Charles. His squeaker doesn't work anymore. He's missing an eye. His paws have been replaced multiple times. He's still my Charles Bear, though, and I want to find his book.