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.


  1. Just as when you're off kilter on a bike, you have to turn INTO the wobble, not away from it, so in the same way you are so wise to hang out with lady Creaky instead of engaging in a war against pain, to help right yourself. (that was an Alan Watts analogy, I am reading him lately).

    Wise, wise, lovely Cora Story.

    I am glad I don't have to dust your mantle, though.

  2. please dust my mantle, sally dearest
    we need a definition for alan wattage

  3. I owe a lot to you for changing the way I think about pain. The longer I've had my own Lady Creaky friend (I need a name for my gal...), the more I've settled down for the long haul. The fight is gone, and I'm quite diplomatic these days. I'm all about compromise, ya know?
    I echo Sally. You're a wise one!