Getting Your Ducks in a Row

 

Today I understand better the saying: "Getting All My Ducks in a Row"

 

Ever felt like your head is full of ducks.....so many different critters all quacking for your attention while you are trying to figure out your life. Nothing makes sense, and you are fighting for survival?

 

 

Maybe it's time to let some of these thoughts out.

 

My week: a client, who is almost 80, came in with his 24 year-old girlfriend. He is very deaf, and she is a skinny-as-a-rail former meth-head mother of three. They have been together since his wife died, and he seems unconcerned that she has had 3 kids in the interim. He is so concerned about her "lisbean" friend coming to the house and getting between them that he is yelling it all over the courthouse lobby and she is shaking her head in embarrassment and maybe even a little pride.

This was the same day I counseled someone whose boyfriend had punched her numerous times in the head, but she still "loves him"; someone else who has been swindled out of many thousands and is so distressed over losing her life savings; someone else who was attacked by her doctor; and someone who was kidnapped and attacked by 3 men; and someone who sat in my office a month ago is now dead.

 

 

This has been my life for the last year, not including the heartbreaking stories of the children who have been abused by step-family members, or even their own parents. And don't get me started on the people who lie to me every day.

 

In the meantime, while I hope I am making a difference somewhere, somehow, the grant that funds my position gets dwindled down to 1/6 of what it was....hmmm...what does that mean? I do not know.

 

My brain is tumbling with a million different thoughts....Maybe I just need to make some room for all the other things that are likely to come my way today and this week, this month, this year! My ducks are not all in a row yet, but just thinking of it in that way has helped.  Quack, quack....

 

 

 

 

Got the Travel Bug AGAIN......

Every few months I get extremely restless. 

My children often wonder if they are children of gypsies! The gypsy blood I have in my veins....The desire to see new places, and eat new foods, and hear new sounds, becomes stronger and stronger in me until suddenly I am preparing for a trip to Kenya, or Haiti, or Brazil, or even Canada. 

Truth be told, my parents come from Mennonite farming stock, but my ancestors for the past 500 years or so were on the move, not because they wanted to be adrift or even travel but because they believed in adult baptism and so went from Holland to Prussia, Russia, then Canada, Mexico and even Central America to avoid persecution by the Catholics and Lutherans. Maybe that is where the genetic urge to travel comes from. My maternal grandpa and I spent many afternoons reading travel books together, he reading about places he would never visit, me researching for the future travels I would make. 

When I was in Grade 12, I spent a Friday night at a friend's house and came home Saturday morning to see my mother doing laundry. My mother only did laundry on Mondays, NEVER any other day! So when I asked her why, she said, "Because we are leaving for California this afternoon." Okay....my father did not like to plan, for fear that what he desired would not happen. So the 5 of us left that afternoon for a 2 week trip to California, school left behind and new adventures around every curve. And while we were there we saw the desert, the beach and some other wonderful views. We stayed in very cheap hotels, got meals from grocery store supplies, and drove...a lot. 

We did the same thing when I was in Grade 10 and we went to New Orleans for Christmas. Drove...a lot. Saw and toured a couple of antebellum mansions, ate at places in the French Quarter where most tourists would not go. My dad struck up a conversation with anyone anywhere, never had any fear to talk to a stranger, and so we always heard interesting stories. From the horse and carriage driver, the blues singer, the nun, the prostitute, the plantation owner, anyone with a story....we were not embarrassed by Dad because we got to hear the stories too....and we learned more on those trips than in our classrooms at home.  


We traveled anywhere my dad could drive. Then I married a guy who also has that gypsy blood (his mother is Russian Mennonite and his father was Norwegian - some Viking stuff going on and they were travelers too, right? I think that is the polite word for invaders?) He does most of his traveling on a BMW motorcycle (almost a million miles so far) even when overseas. Together we have traveled to a great many countries. I have traveled to over 30 countries, some more extensively than others of course. There are so many left to visit, and some to which I want to return for more discovery. This world and its people are incredibly interesting. My husband and I always enjoy our travels together and have had some interesting adventures. Stories to come......

Reno in heated jacket liner riding
a motorcycle in the rain in Morocco
drinking hot mint tea.

If you have not experienced that little hollow feeling inside that gives you a craving for new vistas, then maybe you are fortunate. It is like an illness, and the only cure is to get on a plane, in a car, or on a motorcycle, or start walking and go.......somewhere else....I feel the fever coming on again........did I ever tell you about how we took our two teenagers out of school and traveled for a year...by motorcycle?

Maybe next time. Right now I have a map to check....

Reno greeting one of the teachers in a rural school in Malawi

My Inner Children......

My inner child flares up every now and then, and embarrasses the heck out of me.

I want to love that inner child, but she is such a rascal. She just spits out words without a filter (even though she is a 58 year old child). Sometimes she pouts and that ain't pretty at all. Mostly she does behave and just sits and reads but the times she comes out with full force, I just want to take her across my knee.

She says, "I don't want to play nice when people take away my toys in the sandbox...When the big kids are mean...stick their tongue out at me...or throw sand in my face...or just don't like me."

After her outburst, I tell her that I understand, and I try to teach her how to deal with them big kids. I let her know that she is loved, but sometimes that does not make a bit of difference to that little red-haired stepchild. She just ain't havin' none of it. (Notice how she has acquired a bit of a southern accent too?)

When I see her appear, I cringe on one level, and yet admire her spunk on another. She wants life to be fair, and does not understand that there is no such thing. She wants to be heard, be noticed, be made a fuss of, and in her childish naiveté does not understand that life does not revolve around her and that other people have things they are dealing with too. Which means they do not understand the stresses you are dealing with either.

Yesterday, the red-headed girl came out strong when I was trying to have a very adult discussion about the future of some important work. She wiggled and squirmed her way into the conversation and soon she interrupted with her fears and frustrations. I know she just wanted the other people to love her, accept her, and listen to her, but she never comes across that way. She just seems pushy and frankly, rather annoying.

So if you happen to meet that little girl, who looks a lot like I used to, then just give her a hug. Sometimes that is enough to make her go quietly and read her book for awhile.