I'd Like To Take This Opportunity

My friend, Otowi, passed on an award to me.  The award asks us to answer the five questions below.  I'd like to take this humbling opportunity to make an important (to me) announcement.  (Thank you, Otowi!)


1) When did you start your blog?

My previous blog, Carol For Peace, was born in August of 2005, but I started to feel like I was outgrowing it, so I deserted it for this one in January of 2009.  

2) What do you write about?

I have no idea.  Stuff...  Nuthin'.

3) What makes your blog special?

Nuthin'.

(I'm starting to feel like the kid who, when she comes home from school answers, "Nothin'" to every question from her mom.)

4) What made you want to start writing a blog?

Mr. CfP made me do it!  I started my Carol For Peace blog at the urging of Mr. CfP after I, and thousands of others, had gone to Crawford, Texas to visit our last president.  We were wondering about these wars - you know, the ones that we are, to this day, still involved with.  We wanted to tell Mr. GWB that we wanted him to put an end to the carnage.  Obviously, our words fell on deaf ears.

Since that time I have changed from an ego-based activist (not saying that all activists are ego-based, but I was) to a whatever-I-am-today type of person, so I thought that this A Peace Carol blog would give me a new canvass where I could express myself.


5) What would you like to change in your blog?

This is where it gets good.  This is what I want to change about my blog:  I want to put it to rest.  I want to say how grateful I am for this blogging experience, for the people I've met, the support I've received, the things I've learned. 

I have been noticing a loss of creativity.  Maybe it's because I have been having intense experiences and yet I don't feel free to write about them in this arena. Am I stifling myself?  (Stifle...  Hmmmm... Images of Archie Bunker arise in my head.)  I don't know.

In order to find out how long this blog has been alive, I had to look at my archives.  I read the first few posts on this blog and I thought, "I am not writing like that any longer.  I'm not feeling as alive in my writing as I once did."  

So it's time to ride off into the sunset - at least as far as APeaceCarolLand is concerned.  

Me and Buddha riding off into the sunset - without our horse.  Okay, we're walking into the sunset.

I completely expect to visit y'all a lot as I mosey around these here intertubes.  

Thank you for reading my writings and for being the awesome people that you are!
 

Goodbye, Adios, Auf Wiedersehen, Ciao!

xo 

Unshocked

This is what it feels like:

I'm holding it together (whatever "it" is) and then a big bird flies overhead and shits - right on my noggin.

Have you ever had a bird shit on your head?  I have.  On my wedding day.  After I had already showered, but not yet dressed myself in the off-white-with-roses-patterned dress I had made for the occasion.  I was out under the trees in our backyard when I felt something hit me.  When I asked my daughter if there was something in my hair, I knew the answer by the way she almost rolled on the lawn, howling.  As I went inside to re-wash my hair, I told my rude daughter not to tell anyone what happened - especially the soon-to-be Mr. CfP - until after the wedding.  So what did she do?  Oh, you must know my daughter...

I swear that the universe waited for that perfect time to shit on me. I had owed it a debt for about 35 years.  You see, I had once laughed until I couldn't breathe after watching my little brother, about three years old at the time, get splattered from head to shoulder with bird poop.  Yes, I was an innocent five year old, but the stars keep score, I swear.

So when I talk about getting shit (shitted?) on, I know what I'm talking about.  You may, too.

Which takes me back to my unshocked title.  Even though it takes a lot of fortitude to get through this parent thing right now, it isn't more than I can handle.  But I'm walking the edge enough that things, like that near miss a short while back and then another little family trauma which occurred a couple of days ago, feel like the little bird dropping that can be enough to knock me over the edge.  A certain shock sets in and I get all into myself and my story.

And a story with one character is usually boring - for the character and for the reader.

I would like to say that I recover within minutes, but the truth is that it takes a couple of days before I start to feel the ick of it all and to again hear Don Juan's words to Carlos Castaneda: "You indulge like a son of a bitch." That knocks the shock off of me and I remember that there is more happening here than the little world which I seem to have created.


Thank you for all of your support.  I'm truly getting that this is a very supportive world.  We are all held up - I just forget sometimes.

I Didn't Go

Yesterday my friends (most of whom I'd never met before today) left for Crestone without me. I went to the Conoco station where we always rendezvous on the way out of town and I got to see them off.  (Hey Dancing, one couple was from England - delightful people.)

There is some sadness here, but I'm mostly over that.  I feel like I grew up a little.  My decision was a 100% selfless, going against what I wanted for me.

There will be other times that I can do what I want.  This is the one time that I can be here for my parents as my dad is born into his next stage.

My new friends are taking a piece of me with them.  I am so very lucky to be so loved and supported.

Amazing.

Retreating

I will be off of the intertubes for awhile.

Never have I left for Crestone with such a wiggly mind and body.

A bird is singing outside my window.  I don't recognize the song.  A toot-toot... toot-toot sound.

Yesterday when I went to visit my dad at the skilled nursing facility that is his new home for the moment, I saw a beautiful dog sitting next to the long front desk.  As I asked the man behind the desk how to find my dad's room, I felt something nudging the back of my leg.  I knew what it was.  I turned to see that sweet dog, who looks like the Buddha dog but heftier, smelling every dog-nose-height wrinkle and fold of my pants.  Awwwww... you don't know what that did to my heart.  Or maybe you do.

The dog at the skilled nursing center looks a lot like Buddha.

 
I used to give massage to people in hospice.  I loved that work.  Now that I'm no longer able to do that, I have often thought that I would like to be a person who brings visiting dogs into hospitals and hospices.  Our Buddha dog has never been the visiting kind.  He's somewhere on the Asperger's continuum and I know that he would rather duck a hand reaching out to him than to be loved up by anyone.  He's just that way.

Maybe someday a dog of the right temperament will find its way into my life and heart, and together we will be able to play with strangers while they find acceptance and love from a four-legged kind of friend.

Now, though, I'm just looking forward to listening to the coyotes punctuate the silence while I sit and do nothing.  Maybe that will happen and maybe it won't.  Maybe the trip will be shortened by events, but maybe I'll sit in the sun for days with no cares.

We never know what the next second will bring, let alone the next ten days.  I like to pretend that I know, but right now, pretending isn't even possible.  I'm aware of the "best laid plans..." and "If you want to see God laugh, make a plan" lines of wisdom.  I can't "not plan", but I guess I might as well have a little sense of humor about having my best laid plans come crashing down.

Thinking about it, just what's so bad about hearing God laugh anyway?


Goodbye for awhile!