Saturday, April 23, 2011

Lady Creaky

There is a song in my head called Lady Creaky.  I changed the words and sing it to the tune of Lady Madonna.  When I wake up each morning, singing Lady Creaky, my bones feel relentlessly stiff, but somehow the humorous lyrics allow me to shuffle off to the bathroom and get the hot soothing water going to fill up the tub.  As I soak, Lady Creaky leaves for a time, a nag in the shadow of my day.  The warm nurturing water un-creaks me, lubricates me.

This is the time of the day that I feel temporarily old. This is a fragile hour.  I coach myself out of my dusty state of mind, and pursue the ritual of the day. I avoid the urge to connect with information. I engage in the ritual of feeding my dog Cowboy, who patiently waits by his food dish.  His patience inspires me. He is just shy of seven years old, and he shows signs of living with his own creakiness.  We're in it together.

I surround myself in tokens of inspiration. My home looks like a gallery of co-exist propaganda.  It happened insidiously; a few Buddhist prayer flags here and there, Quan Yin figures, medicine Buddhas, and chimes and bells everywhere.  We just added another Mezuzah to the doorway.  My collection of Dios Los Muertos figures grows.  My fireplace mantel has turned into a shrine, that contains gems of inspiration and memories. Mars and Tapper, two old Border Collies rest in jars at the center.  Close friends and family have built that shrine with me, and although crowded, I find little spots for more tokens of strength. It's a little out of control these days, as the bells and Buddhas are also outdoors now.  I laugh as my devout atheism is surrounded by icons.  'Just in case."   Dawn tells me it's an "Aquarian thing", the urge to hang shit around the house.

I know Lady Creaky will be back for another visit. I don't believe in the "war vocabulary" when it comes to chronic pain, or any other disease, or life.  It's more my nature these days to hang out with Lady Creaky part of the day and then I ask her to back off a bit. Her presence might explain other choices these days.  Technology fasts. Long meditations, tai chi and hikes.  Very girlie clothes- embroidered t-shirts, and pink Dansko clogs. Which reminds me, have you seen the lavender Chuck Purcell sneakers this spring?  To die for.

Peace, healing, humor,

Feed the fish. Feed the fish.  Please.

Friday, April 15, 2011


It is 03:30 and for some reason, I am still awake.  I'm not in pain, just awake.  I am  
reminded of a fortune from a cookie that I saved for years.  My husband found it in a cookie during the years he was a resident in medicine, often sleep deprived.  I am also listening to the BBC, and they are discussing nursing in the NHS.  I am happy to hear such strong advocacy for nurses.  Usually, with the soft voices of the BBC, I can fall asleep to the late night BBC broadcast. With such proper accents, bad news sounds less bad.

Well, here is the fortune:

Long is the night, to those who lie awake.

Sov Gott,
Sleep Well,
Guten Nacht,
Catch some ZZZzzzzzz

I'll be singing "Here comes the Sun," shortly

Peace, Healing, Humor


Feed the little fishies please
kind thanks.

Sunday, April 3, 2011


I read this poem today on the Writer's Almanac

Peace, Healing, Humor



by Wyatt Townley

It's only the body
It's only a hip joint
It's just a bulging disc
It's only weather
It's only your heart
It's a shoulder who needs it
This happens all the time
It's very common
It's unusual
For people your age
For people your age
You're in great shape
Remarkable shape
It's nothing you did
The main thing is
It's temporary
It's only a doll
In a house that's burning