And now for something a little different…

Coronavirus Survivor’s Log- Day 10? 11? Yikes! I’m starting to lose count!

I have to apologize for my absence yesterday. I spent the morning at the doctor’s office, which, in and of itself is a surreal experience. It was made more so by the (finally!) diagnosis of a Cerebral Spinal Fluid leak from my nose that I have been struggling with for the past three weeks. It’s a weird time to think about CT scans and non-invasive brain procedures, but better than getting meningitis and way better than the constant headaches, leaky faucet that looks like a nose on my face and deep fatigue that I thought was just a worse than average allergy season. In some way, it comes at a really great time when work has slowed to a snail’s slither and I’m forced to stay home. Anyway, all that to say that the all morning appointment kind of stripped me of my will to move from the couch yesterday, so sorry I didn’t show up for our ten minute coffee and writing date.

Today, I was feeling artsy…mostly because I got to return for a bit to the mural my sister and I have been working on since this summer today…and it got me thinking about the healing sensation of paint under my nails and color on my mind. So I thought I would share with you an art prompt from Shelly Klammer’s Symbolic Journeys class.

I chose to do the collage prompt and combine it with some free form poetry.

from Shelley Klammer, Symbolic Journeys

The prompt is “Night,” and here is what Shelley has to say about that symbology:

The night sometimes symbolizes a loss of faith. Who or what have you lost faith in recently? 

Shelley Klammer, Symbolic Journeys

Here is your mission:

You can Collage: Create a “dark” collage using dark colors, or imagery that feels emotionally dark to you. I’ve done this and added my work down below.

Or you can do a Painting/Drawing: Create a drawing or a painting that reflects what you have lost faith in. What do you most want to have faith in? Is it love, kindness, abundance, or something different? Write or illustrate this quality on top of your drawing.

Or you can stay with the writing theme and answer the question “What do you most want to have faith in?” Write for ten minutes….GO!

Here’s mine:

Night by Cari Kaufman

Tell me about a new sound…

Coronavirus Survivor’s Log- Day 9

Today dawned bright and sunshiny- well once the fog and my migraine cleared…huge white fluffy clouds interrupted blue as far as the eye could see and the sun warmed faces and and baked in much needed vitamin D. It’s amazing what a day of sunshine can do for the spirits. Our neighborhood crackled with sounds of life and it inspired me to come up with my very own writing prompt.

Today…tell me about a new sound…something that you haven’t heard for a long time or the first time or a sound you aren’t really sure you know…write for ten minutes….GO!

Our neighborhood is alive with new sounds this week. It’s been years since I have heard the amount of life coming from the trampolines and back yards on our street today. The dogs are so keen on it they bark back and forth like prisoners in isolation. Each guarding its own space, but letting the others know with a yelp and a shout what is happening on the other side of the fence or three doors down. Kids are playing, jumping and swinging and brothers yell back at sisters and laughter wafts through the air like the smell of my grandmother’s oatmeal raisin cookies.

It’s a cacophony of voices and laughter and somewhere, maybe a street over, a song or two. The windows of houses have been thrown wide and the songs of the lives inside are thrown out into the world for all to hear. It’s the crazy irony of humanity that in these days of social isolation I have learned more about my neighbors than I would have in the days of everything as normal. The sounds of daily life are a beautiful blessing in the midst of all this unknown. It feels like a sweet reminder that there is normal in the middle of new.

Keys

Coronavirus Survivor’s Log- Day 8

It’s Tuesday….I’m no officially into week two of this social distancing experiment and things are starting to settle into a rhythm. Whether that is good or bad, I don’t know yet, but here we are…doing our part….and I don’t hate it.

Today’s writing prompt comes from an art therapy online workshop I am working through called “Symbolic Journeys” by Shelley Klammer. She’s an amazing art therapist and online educator and I highly recommend ANY of her offerings as I have worked through several of them. This art prompt struck me yesterday, so I decided to sit in it a while and turn it to a writing prompt. So here you go…

Keys often symbolize opening and closing. Write for ten minutes about an area where you feel closed and what you want to open up to. GO.

Photo by Dids on Pexels.com

There is a part of me I struggle to let anyone see. A young, quiet part of my heart that isn’t wisened by experience, sharpened by trauma, or deepened by age. She sits and stares out at the world in wonder, but with a naivete I am ashamed to let the world see. She is the little one who doesn’t have all the answers. She is the one I’m afraid no one will love because she has nothing to offer the world but wide eyed wonder and a natural inquisitiveness to explore. She spills milk and breaks precious heirlooms and has no idea how to to pick the lock that lets her out into the world.

I hold the key to the lock on a janitor’s key ring on my belt loop. It’s an old key with three teeth and it hangs next to keys that keep all the other parts of myself locked behind closed doors. I’d love to let her out to play and skip and ask the question “Why?” fourteen times in a row, but the wisened, sharpened, deep part of me wonders if anyone will love this childish part of my heart. She brings no answers to the table, just more questions…and she’s likely to break an ancient artifact or two on her whirlwind tour around the house, but she sure would love to make the world her playground.

This is what I would love to open up to.

Sharing my young, immature, imperfect heart with the world and trusting that it would be accepted and cherished as much as the older, wiser, know-it-all part of me is. It’s a scary thing to unlock that door and let her out, but I’m gaining the courage to do it.

Coffee…

Coronavirus Survivor’s Log- Day 7

Wow, seven days….seven days since the world holed up and I started counting squares when using toilet paper. Seven days since community starved people actually started saying hello from across the street as we walk by with our black dogs in tow. Seven days since I’ve hugged anyone not in my immediate family. Seven days of home cooked meals and slow moments of boredom and time to do all the laundry and vacuum the floors more than once every couple of weeks. Seven days of writing for ten minutes a day and creating art each day and thinking through what happens if this is more than just a passing phase. A lot has happened in those seven days. It’s an interesting world we are living in right now. How are you making it? Leave me a comment…for reals, I’d like to hear proof of life right now.

Today’s prompt feels less heavy than the last few, but as I have yet to start my timer, we shall see. Tell me about how you drink coffee? When? Where? If you don’t drink it, tell me how you stopped. I bet you know more about coffee than the person drinking it. Write about it now. Ten minutes…Go.

Coffee…a beverage I never liked until forty creeped in on me and sleep stopped coming in the night. I have always loved the smell of coffee, but couldn’t savor the bitter taste that never quite lived up to the rich aroma it let off. Then those years of working full time, driving ballet car pool, math homework and worry over angry teenagers came rushing in and coffee’s bitter flavor was the taste of everyday life and I clung to caffeinated relief like a smoker clings to a cigarette.

I learned to love coffee in a small shop that opened downed the corridor from my office and across the hall from my daughter’s ballet studio. The shop owner had a way of caressing pastry dough that infused it with life and I fell in love with her and her place. She taught me that coffee’s bitterness was unique to each bean and I learned to savor it like a fine wine.

Now I’ve passed that passion to my son and we share its secrets together sometimes over a cup brewed in our tiny drip coffee pot and sometimes over a new spot one of us has discovered. I still think coffee tastes of bitterness and lies to your nose about it’s richness….but I’ve grown to love it. The bite of each bean is unique and tells a quiet story…it’s not unlike life really…bitter, sweet, aromatic and full of a story.

I’d love to hear your words here….you know since we are all in this together anyway….if you feel like it, I invite you to post your response to these prompts in the comments.

Another writing prompt for you…

Coronavirus Survivor’s Log- Day 6

It’s been a full week since we’ve started this experiment in social distancing…a hail Mary pass to save the world. It’s such a weird thing to choose to follow the rules and assume that the rest of the world is too, and then discover that there are those who are still congregating and shaking hands and sharing germs. I won’t get into how that makes me feel, but it does play into my response to the below writing prompt. I just want to lead with this- I am ok, I promise. I’ve always been very careful about the words I share in this space- only sharing uplifting, positive messages. But the truth is writing is a valuable outlet for me to flesh out thoughts that trouble me. Free writing exercises in particular are powerful tools for me to think un-edited. I have committed to share these with this space in their original, raw form. So if it seems this writing is darker than my usual, this is the reason. Welcome to the un-edited mind of Cari. I hope you’ll stay a while.

It has been an interesting exercise to find myself writing on the regular again. Even more interesting are the requests I get from more than one person when these posts are late at night and seem to be forgotten. I didn’t think anyone else but my friend and I were really engaged by these…turns out I was wrong. So for those of you following along out there quietly, I will try to make sure these are posted with more regularity. But no promises…:)

Today’s prompt is an interesting one. I’m skipping over a lot of the explanation, but know that this one had a lead in that is worth the read. You should invest in Old Friend From Far Away if you have any interest at all in writing. In the end, Natalie Shares this:

Tell me this: what’s the difference between a passion and an obsession? These are the kinds of questions writers love to ponder. Would you rather haven an obsession or a passion? Hint: obsession is linked to suffering.

Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend From Far Away

Write for ten minutes, keep the hand going, what are your obsessions? Go…

Sheesh… a loaded question- one that wreaks of dangerous knowledge and introspection. What am I obsessed with?

Understanding people….understanding myself. It’s a dangerous obsession that ranks first for me…before peanut butter and those chocolate chip cookies filled with frosting they make at Great American Cookie Company. The danger comes in the knowing. Once you understand a person’s motives…say even your own- you can’t un-know them. The danger comes in understanding- it paves the way for then rationalization and excuse.

Understanding what drives people opens the door to manipulation- but of who? It’s a long, dark hallway with a ton of doors- some locked, some not- but none marked with the final address. It’s easy to get turned around and lost down that corridor and never know that you’ve made a wrong turn.

That’s my obsession. I’m obsessed with knowing the why behind people’s actions. Understanding the constant push and pull of relationship and the need of some to ride emotional roller coasters until they are nauseated and disoriented. It causes heartache though, because once you understand it is difficult to find fault and without someone to hold the blame the world just descends into a writhing mosh pit of emotional pain.

Fences

Coronavirus Survivor’s Log- Day 5

Today’s been long day. Partly because I stayed up too late binge watching crap television, partly because I knew I should be enjoying the sunshine, but couldn’t bring myself to make it outside until almost evening. Partly because I’ve a lot to think about this weekend and I’m wrestling with that when what I really want to do is hug my friends, have coffee and chill on the patio. This wasn’t my best writing. I’ve struggled with the prompt all day honestly, but it is real…so here ya go.

Today’s writing prompt is Fences. Write for 10 minutes.

I’ve never been any good at fences. Boundaries are so hard for me to maintain. I’ve been blessed in the last couple of years to find folks in my life that care enough about me to not only honor the fences I build, but to help me keep them in place. But now, I am faced with a situation that feels so much like a time when I let someone else tear down every fence I built. Without those boundaries, my life was formless. A destructive ooze of lies, and what ifs and someone else’s dreams filled my hours and sucked away all the life. I can’t choose that life again…no matter how promising the offer. But to choose my fences, is to choose life. Is to choose to honor the boundaries that keep my heart safe and stable…is to choose to value the ones in my world who have taught me to care enough about me to hold the lines that circle my world. It is to choose to value me. It’s not an easy decision to hold my fence line…and it is not without consequence, but it is the right one.

The Third Thing

Coronavirus Survivor’s Log- Day 4….Hey look, I’m still writing! Two days in a row, that’s a habit right (or something)? Today, Natalie gave a bit of an interesting prompt. What’s your “Third Thing?” She says,

What is the third thing? There is you and there is writing, But you can’t write about writing. It’s ingrown. You and writing must gaze out at a third thing…..What is your third thing? Yes, of course, it can be your memories. Go, for ten minutes.”

From Old Friend From Far Away by Natalie Goldberg

So here goes….my third thing…

Image by Sadie Stumm

What’s the third thing? The thing I’m staring out the window of my soul at right now? For me, it’s this new normal.

What do you call it…all the birdies in the nest, snuggled in and held tight against viruses and plagues and the sky falling on our heads.. Yep, that’s my third thing right now. This brave new world of social distancing and six foot pole greetings and the creeping fear of a silent enemy that may have already breached the concertina wire and hand sanitizer.

It’s crazy how a virus named after the brightest light has brought so much darkness. At the same time to watch the world bind together and do small parts to stay connected and keep everyone safe and healthy puts Peace on the throne of my heart. There’s been so much light to watch and so much air to breathe and it feels like a much needed rest is being imposed on the whole world. Some of us will fight against it like a toddler fights against nap time, but just maybe God’s there, rubbing our backs and singing a lullaby over our over stimulated hearts and minds.

I think maybe rest is actually my third thing after all and it is a phenomenon coming to the entire world at once. What an amazing opportunity to close our eyes and dream.

I’d love to hear your words here….you know since we are all in this together anyway….if you feel like it, I invite you to post your response to these prompts in the comments.

Just a little something to pass the time…

Coronavirus Social Distancing Log- Day 3…

Our world has gone a bit crazy, people are in the aisles hoarding toilet paper and paper towels, every kid is a homeschooler now and the pace of life is beginning to slow to a crawl. In an effort to stay sane and maybe to seize upon the beautiful opportunity we’ve been given to reflect and create and love our families and well, just be. My friend, Kati and I were chatting about how we were muddling through this experience and she brought up writing prompts. I told her I was trying my hand at them again and would share them with her, and she encouraged me to return to this space and share them here. So that I’ll do….for how long- I won’t make any false promises, but for today at least.

This prompt comes from my favorite place to explore memory and memoir- Old Friend From Far Away by Natalie Goldberg. It’s simple….just write….for ten minutes…no editing. The prompt is Storage.

Tell me about a storage unit or someplace you stored things. Write for 10 minutes. Go.

Storage

There’s a box that sits on my bedside table that holds the oddest collection of things. I can’t remember where I got it, but the metal hinges are rusted and complain a bit when you swing them open. The dry wood is carved with intricate symbols of a religion that no longer whispers meaning to me. It’s full of interesting odds and ends from a life that seems eons ago. A St Christopher’s medallion blessed by the Pope, dog tags that proudly proclaim my blood type and social security number. There’s a tie tack in there that I was awarded when I left the Army and the silver dollar my great uncle gave me along with my first salute. My 11th BDE belt buckle and challenge coin that used to travel every where with me, even overseas….even into war…lest I be caught without it and challenged by a brother in arms. It smells of sandalwood and patchouli and way too many other kinds of incense and it reminds me of a girl who doesn’t live here anymore. It’s an odd feeling to look back over items of a past life and realize you’re no longer connected to them. But still they sit, in that carved wooden box, on my bedside table.

When Grief Catches You…

Martha Hayden’s “The Allegory of Grief”

It’s an odd sensation to come face to face with Grief when you’ve been avoiding her for so long. She catches you fiercely and winds around your chest and all the things make you catch your breath and squeeze feelings from your eyes.

It’s an even odder sensation to be in a mental/emotional/spiritual place to welcome Grief as a guest at your emotional table. Especially when, as the eternal optimist, I have never thought to leave a chair for her. I actually cast her as the villain in my story…alongside Anger, Sadness, and the cameo actress, Boundaries.

Grief snuck up on me quietly here in this space. I should of known she would…she’s been patiently waiting in the corner for everything else to quiet long enough for her to say, “Umm….hello…are you ready to chat now? Can we have a cup of tea and talk about all these other feelings in the corner over here?”

So I down an antidepressant with my coffee and pull up a chair at the table. “I’ve got a few days….what ya got?” I approach her like a to do list. Let’s get this one checked off, shall we? She smiles her gentle smile and shakes her head ruefully…Her big green eyes well with tears as she comes to the realization that I am not ready for her quite yet.

Grief…we prepare for it when we loose a loved one to physical death. It’s acceptable…allowed…heck, encouraged as part of the process of healing. So often, we forget that we experience death in so many ways in our lives….death of ideals, death of dreams, death of relationships, death of an identity. It feels like another world, but just last summer I helped write an original ballet about grief….you would think I would be a pro at accepting and processing it.

From the ballet, “Reckless Love.” Photo credit Flash 160

But truth be told, to grieve is to accept…and to feel…and I am so scared of those words right now. So I have powered through healing the giant hole that was left in my heart when I had to walk away from the dream I dreamed. I dealt with the guilt of pouring all my time, energy, heart, soul, health and finances into something that I eventually had to say I couldn’t be a part of anymore. With my therapist, I worked on healing the parts of me that had allowed relationships to become so terribly toxic they nearly tore me apart. I am working on setting boundaries and finding safe people to share my life with. I am learning so much about myself. It has been a golden road of self discovery and so, so cool to travel. Hard, at times, but very cool. But self discovery is a partially an intellectual process and easily compartmentalized in neat boxes that sit on the shelf of things I know about myself.

Grief is different. It’s a spaghetti bowl of emotions and memories and Kleenex commercials that tug at your heart. It’s missing people and situations and for me, it’s particularly difficult right now because all of those people, places and things have moved on without me. It’s fighting the envy monster inside that wants all of those things to grieve for me as much as I grieve for them. It’s not knowing if I should look at photos and watch videos and like all the instagram posts about how great things are without me (because truthfully, life goes on and shouldn’t I celebrate that?).

So I sit across from Grief at the table of my heart. She asks if I am ready for some others to join us…Anger saunters up and sits at the head of the table and Sadness and the bittersweet Nostalgia join us. I sit quiet and listen as they start to share with me. This is a process and more than one pot of tea and more than one moment of introspection will be shared here. I know that these companions will be with me for a bit, and that’s ok now. I also know if I want to invite Forgiveness and Acceptance to my table, that I must become friends with these here with me now.

Grief reaches across, and lays her hand on mine…”Let me introduce you to someone else who’s been waiting in the corner with us.”

I look up and look deep into two brown wells of compassion. “Cari, this is Peace. You’ve met before, but it’s been a while. ” He sits across from me with a smile and lays his hand on top of Grief’s on mine. This journey may be long, but it isn’t all discomfort and painful experience…Peace travels with us too.

A Resolution from a friend…

It was a delightful birthday meal with friends….great Cuban food, laughter, plans for future vacations. My heart felt safe and warm and reveled in feeling of it all.

This time of year, my good friend, Alisa, is all about the resolutions. She’s one of the few people I know that actually writes them down and tracks her progress throughout the year and it is always great fun to hear what crazy antics she is planning for herself each year. I think it drives her nuts that I don’t set resolutions anymore…so in a moment of seriousness, she leveled her gaze at me and said, “Let’s set each other a resolution for this year and promise to keep it.”

Ya’ll this is a loaded request. Alisa doesn’t play with her resolutions. They are hard! From run a marathon and jump out of a plane, to read a book a week and cut sugar out of your diet….they tend to be full on life changing type statements that she takes seriously. I looked at my husband, he nodded slightly, and I said, “Ok…let’s do it!”

We went around the table…some resolutions were immediately rejected. It was honestly difficult to come up with something as I love these people in their current state so much. It came time to receive my resolution from Alisa and she looked at me hard…pursed her lips…leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. This one was gonna be difficult. I could tell by her posture.

“Your resolution is to forgive all the stuff that happened this year and move on. Let it all go.”

Crap.

Ya’ll this year has been the hardest of my life. There are people who have hurt and wronged me beyond what I thought was possible. There were relationships that dismantled my identity to the point that I considered ending my life. There was cancer and systemic infection and cures that seemed as bad as both. There was a loss of a dream that I thought was from God and in result, the shaking of what I had previously thought was an unshakable faith. I stopped writing, painting and creating…I stopped speaking and teaching…I stopped living and started surviving and it nearly killed me.

Through it all, the people at the table with me had held me up and walked me along. They (and so many others) had fought for my heart and reminded me who I was and just wouldn’t let me give up, but, Dear God- it was so close! And now, she was challenging me to “Let it all go.”

There is so much wrapped up in that statement. Forgiveness foremost. Of people…of myself….OF GOD. On (mostly) the other side of things, I can see all the things that I have learned and all the beauty that has started to blossom from the ash, but it doesn’t make the hurt less and I am reminded of it each day. Each day, as I see it, the grieving I thought was grieved wells up alongside the tears in my eyes, and I feel the ache of the loss I have avoided dealing with for the last few months.

Checking your bags is hard when you are in the middle of unpacking them, but I met her gaze and said, “Ouch….OK.” I agreed to something I honestly have NO IDEA HOW TO ACCOMPLISH, but I know this pack of mine will surround me and help…and I guess I’ll bring you guys along with me as well. Buckle up, ya’ll, we may be in for some turbulence!