Perfect

In my Tuesday post, I mentioned an offer I pulled on a house a couple weeks ago. I didn’t have time to elaborate but it seems like a good time now. Aries is lying by my feet and the fire is burning in the wood stove. It’s too early to go to bed; too late to start a project. The snow is just beginning to fall outside my window but it’s cozy in here.

Photo by Nicole Tavenner

Over seven years ago, my dear friend – a veterinarian in Albany, NY offered me one of his German Shepherd puppies. These dogs go to law enforcement agencies including the New York State Troopers, the Colonie Police Department, U.S. Border Patrol and Onondaga County Sheriffs. I said, “Thank you, no.” I had recently lost my dog in an automobile accident and was not ready. We talked several times and he was doing his best to convince me I’d be doing him a great favor by fostering this exceptional dog. One of the female pups had scored extremely high in an aptitude test and he wanted to keep her for breeding stock. She would eventually take her mother’s place in the line. While she was growing, it would be a shame for her to be kept in a kennel at the clinic. I could train her, keep her until she was two and after she had two litters, she would be spayed and returned to me. All her pups would be police dogs and be of service to the community.

I had worked with her grandparents many years before. These dogs were smart, hardworking and never stopped trying to please. It would be an honor to receive one as a gift. Why was I having such a hard time saying yes?

I walked along Six Mile Creek, the way I always did when I needed inspiration. There was something magical about this place. It felt like any second I could stumble upon a fairy kingdom or a nature spirit. Maybe it was the way the sun splattered through the Sycamore trees and danced on the water’s surface. Maybe it was the series of waterfalls that plunged from the limestone cliffs covered in moss to deep pools below. Whatever it was, I loved it. I sat on a rock that was warm from the sun. I dangled my toes and played with the minnows.

I don’t have visions. I don’t hear voices. A knowing seemed to force its way into my consciousness and asked me a question as clear as day. “Why can you not accept anything perfect?” I couldn’t have heard that. I wouldn’t even think of that. What? There it remained, still and strong. The dog. I had always picked up dogs from the shelter or a rescue group. Dogs that needed fixing. Holy cow! Was this the reason I could not accept this dog? Did I feel unworthy? Did I feel that someone else could give her a better home? I sat with this and reflected how this theme was reflected in many areas of my life.

I drove the three hours to visit the puppy. David had her packed and ready to ride before I could protest. Her name came to me before I even saw her. I knew she would be perfect and that everything was going to be ideal. Aries and I have been inseparable all these years. She is my reminder not to settle.

A couple weeks ago, I called my real estate agent to make arrangements to see a house that had just been listed. It was in a wonderful neighborhood, only two or three miles away from where I am now. Aries would have a small lake to play in and I would have a large lawn where I could putter. The view from the balcony looked across the lake and into the mountains. Perfect. It also had a great east exposure for me, the morning person. All of this information I gathered by doing a drive-by. Now, to get inside. The house would be shown for the first time in two days. I was the fifth person in line to make an appointment. By the time I saw the house, I was one of seven to have a showing. I have come so close to buying a house and had it slip out of my hands, that I made an offer by noon on the first day.

Instead of being excited, my stomach began to knot. It didn’t feel quite right. I began making a list of all the problems that would need fixing in this house. For one, it wreaked of dogs that had been housed in the lower level. The garage was permeated with cat urine. The master bath had been renovated to make it handicapped accessible. In doing this, the door had been removed and a hideous mismatched tile shower installed. The bedroom clothes closet was opened from inside this bathroom. The whole master bedroom and bath had to be remodeled to be useable. I started adding up the costs of renovating and looking on line at the closing prices of houses in the neighborhood. There was no way I could get my money out of this house if I made the investment. The next morning, I spoke to my agent. We discussed my concerns. Out of seven showings, I was the only person that made an offer of any kind. In my desire to get out of the cabin, I had offered way more than I should.

Why was I thinking I had to buy a fixer upper? Why could I not imagine buying something perfect for me? I thought of Aries. Was I doing it again? I pulled my offer. I will look and I will find a house that is perfect for me. Yes, I may have to put work into it – just like training Aries – but then it will be mine. I will enjoy it and make it fun. My house will be perfect for me.

Transition

Where does the time go? Early mornings - it’s the gym, then the 8-5 job that can really extend in any direction and evenings are with Lakota, trying to take advantage of the last bit of riding before the winter darkness descends. By the time the dinner is made and swallowed, it’s time for bed and starts it all over again.

I am thrilled to be working with my editor and web person in the development of the book proposal for Bedtime Stories for Grownups. We've almost got it. My next step is to record myself reading one of my stories aloud and put it on my website. I can’t wait for you all to be able to download it and give me feedback. I envision people buying my “book” in hard copy and/or an audio version to listen to at night. I’d love to read you my stories as you drift off to sleep. I want you to feel all the wonder and beauty wrapped in these stories and gifted to you.

Have you ever been in that transition stage where your current career is functioning but not making your heart sing? You know it is not time to move forward yet and you feel squeezed but nowhere to go. I’m there. My job is rewarding in that I get to help people solve problems every day. I answer their questions about lawns, trees, fruit, wildlife, vegetables, and livestock. If I can’t, I find someone who can. This job is different every day and never boring. I have had the opportunity to meet thousands of people in my community and am grateful.

I hear another calling but the way is not clear. I am learning patience. In the interim, I look for a house of my own. The timing must not be right because I have put nine offers on houses in the last three years and they have not gone through. I need to tell you, each one has had a unique story. Three of the houses I put an offer on the owner said my offer was too low and did not counter. All three eventually were listed for less than my original offer. I could not build a house because a construction loan requires three times the down payment. Two houses had a stunning view and offers came in for more than the asking price. Only one house did I pull my offer after 24 hours. I realized I was desperate to get out of the cabin before winter and I bid too high on a house that was not worth it. I couldn’t sleep after making the offer. I didn’t feel excited; I felt sick. It required so much work and when I stayed up developing an estimate, I knew I’d never get my money back. It would also take so much time and energy; it would completely derail my writing efforts. I had to look at why I was so anxious to get out of the cabin. One reason was obvious. Last year, we suffered through three different weeks of minus 23-25 degree nights. My bedroom was about 40 degrees and had a layer of frost on the carpet. Each evening, I sat in front of the wood stove in tears with a blanket over my shoulders trying to stay warm. I couldn’t go to a friend’s because the pipes would freeze and the pets were here. I vowed never to be another winter in this draughty cabin.

My second reason, was my feeling that by now I “should” have my own home. My husband and I parted 15 years ago and I have never had my own home since then. I question my ability to provide this for myself. I had to dig deeper. My father never believed females could make it on their own. I don’t think my mother did either. Women have to be cared for and provided for. How ingrained was this belief? How many generations bought into this assumption? I was trying to prove I could do it. All this battling windmills had made me tired. It used up every spare moment I could squeeze into my day. My attempt at making something happen, like swimming up river, was discouraging at best. Between my job, my responsibilities to my horse and this frantic search for a dwelling, I burned myself out. I wonder why I haven’t even thought of dating. Joking.

The ground is covered with snow. The fire is burning brightly. My landlord insulated the windows and built a new wall under my bedroom. The cabin is warm and snug. I didn’t go to the gym this morning. Today my choice was to write or workout. I love writing in the morning but it is the only time I can make it to the gym. A friend of mine said that, “You think you will be Patty the Hut if you don’t work out.” Yes, that is a whole other issue for another day. Every time I feel an overwhelming urge to push or run away, I dig. I unearth another belief or promise that needs tossing. I still grapple with when to put your heart and soul into a dream to manifest it and when to let things go and let God. The whole “Divine timing” is a conundrum to me. Ok, I could ramble all day but it’s time to hit the shower and get to my job. Talk soon!

Posts

When you see a pattern in yourself, you can either laugh or cry. I first started this blog, so I had an avenue for my writing - an excuse to write, a place to put my thoughts, a trial run at short stories. My goal was to write consistently at least two or three times every week. It evolved into being a place I wrote on Sunday mornings, which was the only time I wasn't running off to work or the gym. Writing is a hobby that can transcend me; I lose track of time and everything around me when I am in the flow. The blog was to inspire me to write more often and enjoy the process. 

Instead of writing for the pure pleasure of it, I made it the place to craft my articles for the magazine. If I didn't have enough ideas for a page or two, I'd feel it wasn't worth writing. It was not fun anymore. Now it was a job. Deadlines. Commitments.  I had over-complicated  one more thing. My words dried up. 

I'm going to relax. If I ramble on and it becomes a story, then fine. Otherwise, it will be a place to once more exercise my writing muscles. I had someone tell me that I am always "pushing the river." My assumption is that is the opposite of just going with the flow. Guilty as charged. 

I find the most difficult issue is knowing when to create, manifest, make your own destiny or when to let life takes its course and roll with it. It's a tricky balancing act. This is the situation I am in with my house hunting. I have done everything possible for the last 10 months to buy a house. I have made eight offers, a couple of  houses more than once. I watch the listings; I read the paper. I am pre-approved. All I  can do for now is stop struggling. I have to stock up wood for the winter in the cabin and hunker down. Spring will come and the search will begin for the fourth year. Time to relax and flow. Maybe I'll just write.

Reflection

It is a rainy summer night.The Earth is drinking in the long awaited moisture. I can almost hear the trees breathing a sigh of relief and see them flexing their limbs. The hummingbirds dart under the porch roof to sip at the feeders before night falls. I pull my fleecy sweatshirt closer to my chin and feel the cool, damp air kiss my face. I let this week float through my mind and allow the wisdom to rise to the top.

I am aware that relationships are an opportunity for measuring how far we have journeyed along our spiritual path. We cannot know ourselves in a void. Often it is a way of acknowledging who we are not, as much as who we are choosing to be. Relationship can be with a co-worker, a friend, a child or a parent. Bringing another person into our space allows us to have a mirror of our internal process. I have read many times, "if there is something about another person that you don't like, look inside yourself and find it there." I did not find that useful. If I saw or read about someone who stole, or cheated or lied, I would say, "not me. I don't do that." Lately, I have been looking deeper. It's not the action, it's the fear or emotion behind the action. I may not make racist remarks but do I harbor judgement? I may not outwardly criticize but am I afraid that I am not good enough? If I feel a charge, then I know I must look at my reflection.

My cabin affords me the luxury of letting very few people into my space. I have chosen not to have radio, television or newspaper. This place has been my monastery of isolation to propel my inner exploration. When someone enters my life, it is because they have something to teach me. I am aware enough to realize I must watch and listen. When someone acts from a place of fear by withdrawing, or creating conflict or needing to create outcomes, I must look deep inside myself. My actions may not be the same but this person is here to show me something I have asked to see. I have to be especially careful when I want to find fault or blame the other, they are my mirror.

Some authors will refer to old, emotional wounds as stuck emotions or thorns or hot buttons. It is an inescapable part of life to carry at least a few. I remember getting very defensive about a letter I wrote to an academic administrator. I was not criticized for the content, but for not passing the letter through the proper chain of command. I was upset because I thought he was attempting to "put me in my place." What took me awhile to see was that I was not feeling worthy of respect; I was not coming from a place of empowerment; I was doubting my own ideas. It was me putting me in my place.

In the same vein, when a partner has left the relationship, I have been forced to look at my own feelings surrounding the situation. Instead of pointing a finger at their fear of commitment, I see my own. I am so positive I am ready and yet my mirror shows me that I am afraid of losing my freedom. My intellect would certainly deny this accusation. My outside reality reflects my inner truth. I had not come to fully trust myself to balance commitment with independence. I think that I am afraid the other person will take control when in fact it has been me that does not trust me to not give up my power. The other is simply being my mirror reflecting back what I need to see.

When I see the things I love about another person - like generosity, kindness, a gentle spirit - I also know that these are the things I can see in myself. It has been a bumpy road to get to this place of Self love. I cannot expect to truly love another until I can accept all of me. I see the places that still need work and I see the places that really shine. I am a work in progress. Several years ago, my oldest said, "Mom, I think you are looking for a male version of you." I thought that was so funny when only a short time before I had been looking for all the things I thought I wasn't. It took much of my life to come to a space of appreciation about the person that I am. When the time is right I will once again ask to have a relationship teach me more. The other will reflect who I am. Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall.

Damsel

The war on the hornets continues. I have killed hundreds of them, gone through seven canisters of bee spray and called in the cavalry - my landlord - to take down the nests up in the second floor eaves. The battle has raged on for 3 days now. Bald faced hornets had built a nest behind some shingles in the upper rear wall of the cabin. A portion of the siding was disassembled to get them out. Yellow jackets had built nests in the crevices of the main support logs in the sidewalls. Bee spray, ant spray, starting fluid, long handled screw drivers, hammers, caulk guns - all instruments of mass destruction employed against the enemy.

All day I have been engaging in tracking down and killing hornets that have crept around the window casings to find their way into the house. I was folding laundry when I saw the head of a hornet peek through a tiny crack. It was like a sci-fy movie to see these tiny antennae peering out as he struggled to get his plump body through the opening. With one swoosh of the fly swatter, he was decapitated but then more ventured forth. It was like Alfred Hitchock's The Birds film. I bought some silicon caulk in a tube and pushed it into the cracks around my window. When that was not enough, I used some old beeswax lip balm to fill the remaining cracks. The romance of the old cabin met its end today.

Taking on these wasps, bees and hornets has taken its toll. I am so reminded of my limitations. I am tired. I wish at these times to be the Damsel in Distress and be rescued by the Prince. The Prince comes and slays the dragon for her or at least the bees and an occasional spider in the bathroom. My soul is weary. It has been a long time since there was someone to help carry the groceries, mow the lawn, take out the trash and rid the basement of anything crawly. I can do it and am very self sufficient. I have a reputation of being strong and independent. This is my exterior coating. It has been making the best of a situation and not by choice. There is a reason why I sleep with a german shepherd, a shot gun and bear spray by my bed. I must protect and provide for myself. One cannot wallow and wait to be rescued. I would have long ago starved to death if I had refused to move forward.

It is not my desire to take a stand on the roles of men and women in relationship and yet I do think that inherently we each have certain strengths. Men are traditionally providers and protectors. I know, for me, I sleep soundly when there is a man who can keep the things that go bump in the night at bay. I could not close my eyes if I did not know that Aries watches over me and warns me if there is reason. I struggle carrying wood pellets from the basement and it is so easy for a man. Sure, I do it everyday but it is more difficult each year. As a woman, I am a nurturer and caretaker. I am a homemaker and keeper of traditions. I am a love maker and a fire keeper. I am a communicator and partnership builder. Many people may have opposing views on these roles for themselves. There is no right or wrong combination.

Acknowledging my weaknesses and vulnerabilities is not a problem. Addressing them is. None of us can manifest a partner out of thin air. I continually recognize all the things that men are more capable of handling than me. I have no issue with this. It does not make me feel less empowered or less equal. I know my value and my assets. I would gladly turn the hornets over to a Prince. I'm sure I could find some way to repay his kindness.

Simple

I woke at 5:00 a.m. and begged my body to go to sleep. It is a well deserved day off and time to rest. Yet, the birds are singing and the sky is a mixture of peaches and butter. I make the coffee, pull my fuzzy sweatpants up under my nightgown, throw on a jacket and head outside. It is a brisk 48 degrees. The clouds are rolling in as I sit down in the sunny corner of the porch with my cup of steaming brew. The hummingbirds compete for the warm solution I have just prepared. Two feeders full and still they jostle each other for position.

I watch my bluebirds take turns feeding their young. I chuckle to myself when I think back to three years ago when I had a decision to make to move to Missoula or stay in the cabin with my current job. The sign for me to stay was that the bluebirds took up residency in the house I had placed out my kitchen window. All my life in New York, I had wanted to have bluebirds and here in this field I had prepared a place and they had come. It had turned out to be the best career choice for me.

The bluebirds move almost rhythmically in and out of the house. First one, then the other. Their focus is simple and clear. Maintain the species. They build the nest, lay the eggs, rear the young. It's off to warmer climates for the winter and then the cycle repeats. The male is perched on the fence post observing me type as I make my best attempt to peer into his brain. He is being a bluebird. How wonderfully peaceful. He is not worried about where he will go this winter; he is not worried that his mate will not like something he said; he is not rehashing his childhood. He is just being a bluebird.

How did human life get so complex? Why do we seem to go out of our way to make things complicated? Why is it that we feel we have to have the newest car, have the best house, attain the right career, create the most elaborate identity to feel complete? We have the ability to take a relationship  and question its validity to the point of dissolution. Are we ever satisfied? Can we finally rest once any of these things have been achieved? Is there a way to simplify? Can we just relax and breathe in life as it comes?

My oldest daughter used to say, when we were camping, "What else could anyone ever want?" We had our tent, our horses and good food. I had to agree. We'd read books by the fire at night and relive our expedition of the day. I feel that way about living in this cabin. For the first few years, I kept feeling that I should buy a house. It was the first year of the recession of 2008. Real estate was tanking. It has been five years and I am still here. My life is simple in this space. No television, no newspaper, sometimes a radio. There are only six houses on this dirt road. The only sounds are the birds and the wind as it rattles the leaves of the aspens.

The job I currently have, necessitates that I am continually barraged by phone calls, client consults and farm visits. I am grateful to be of service but it is a drain to my system. At the end of the day, it is the simplicity of the cabin that brings me peace and recharges me. I sit here on my porch with my hair askew, wearing my glasses and my fuzzy clothes over and under my pajamas. I am alone and content in this hideaway. My flowers are waving a gentle "good morning" as the rooster crows across the canyon. Thank you, blue bird, for reminding me how simple life can be. On this delicious day off I will not concern myself with tomorrow's projects or my past experiences. I will revel in the sunshine, the hawk that has just appeared over my head and the simple pleasures of life.