Inspired By Mary Oliver
The Drip
"This is the first, the wildest, and the wisest thing I know: that the soul exists and is built entirely out of attentiveness." Mary Oliver
I read a poem by Mary Oliver called The Journey, and it set off all sorts of sparks in my brain. Okay, it ignited a few thoughts, but let's get bamboozled by the details. Shall we?
We've heard it a million times, it's about the journey, not the destination, because it can take a lifetime to ignore what we have been told about ourselves and learn to trust what we know to be true. Once we figure that out, the rest is simply chatter that can be considered or ignored at our own discretion.
If we become what we believe, then obviously, it's vitally important to remember that we ourselves are the best judge of what is right or wrong for each of us. The only person who can accurately interpret my own experience is me. Anything else is conjecture or highly speculative assumptions.
A weekend away with my sis couldn't have come at a more perfect time. Just as all of these forces were coming together inside of me, the universe threw in an atmospheric storm, so even the weather mimicked my interior climate, and oddly enough, it was confirming.
Nancy and I decided to slip up to the lake when we discovered she had two days off in a row because, seriously, this never happens. We're lucky like that.
Yes, it could have been coincidental that Mary Oliver's poem found my eyes or Nancy's unexpected windfall of two free days, and we were gifted with the perfect storm, but I believe life is blissfully intentional.
We decided to head up in the early morning on Saturday, grab a coffee, and not have to worry about the traffic, darkness, or the impending storm until well after we arrived and settled in for the night.
I pulled into Nancy's driveway at 5:50 am.
Of course, no one answered the door. I don't know why, but I checked my watch. Was this the right day?
I knocked three times (isn't there a song about this?). This is when I heard a barely perceptible voice from inside the house. It was Mackenzie who yelled, "I'm in the tub," followed by some rather grouchy words that were not repeatable.
I waited quietly on the freezing cold porch, wondering what the hell my sister was doing.
As Mackenzie lifted the lock, she greeted me, wrapped in a skimpy towel that barely covered the important parts. She explained that her mother was picking up some hash browns and would return shortly. She returned to her bath without further explanation, and I was left wondering if there would be any extra hash browns for me.
I helped myself to a cup of coffee straight away and checked Nancy's potted plants for hydration. I try to be helpful.
Nancy soon arrived, flying through the door, a bag of hash browns in her hand and some chocolate milk. Mysteriously Mackenzie appears, dry, dressed, and ready to eat. Which she did while Nancy and I loaded the car with enough stuff for a family of ten. I'm serious.
By 5:30 am, we had warm coffee in our hands and a couple of egg bites, and we were on our way.
The odd thing about sisters is we have similar eating habits, which worked well when we were growing up and again when we're traveling as adults. It's not so good when both our doctors called in the same damn week and announced that we both had high cholesterol, which needed to come down, and we were given four months to do so.
Naturally, they wanted us to do it naturally, even though we had no idea what the hell that meant.
So we did a little research a few days prior to our getaway, and I hit the grocery store running, purchasing every known cholesterol-reducing product I could find. Things like plain oatmeal, apples, fish, avocados, tomatoes, nuts, kale, cheerios, potatoes, blueberries, black beans, okra, and Metamucil. Which prompted an extra purchase of toilet paper.
I know, I know, TMI. Thank God we have plenty of bathrooms at the lake.
One of the sites also mentioned dark chocolate and red wine as cholesterol-reducing substances, which I moved to the top of the list and considered commandments as opposed to suggestions.
On the way up to the lake, we listened to a Mel Robbins podcast. She looks exactly like me, white hair, and black glasses, except she's a rock star in the motivation industry, and we were floored by her wisdom and advice on how to accomplish the things you want in life. Like lowering our cholesterol, getting things done, and accomplishing our dreams.
Nancy says, "Wow, Mel says there are six pillars, and I thought there were only three."
Me, "Three? What, like a stool?"
"Yeah," she says, "a place to rest."
"Bahaha, but can we remember all six? There was one about getting a lot of good sleep. I love that one."
"Oh yeah, and she said to eat like a rabbit, no more taco Tuesday. She's brutal."
"I think her exact words were eat whole foods and more hydration. She also encouraged everyone to step outside every morning and just absorb the light. You should listen to that, it's why you're low in vitamin D."
"She said to prioritize your relationships and hang out with people who warm your heart. Look at us, it's as if we're already experts."
"And she said we should walk at least 10 minutes every day. I do that going back and forth to the refrigerator."
"No wonder you're so fit. She also said to pick one thing that matters to you most and make a little progress every day."
"And we're heading to the lake with a car full of rabbit food. Check."
We arrived at the house early, unloaded all our junk, made some dry tuna, and chased it down with nuts and berries before heading out to our favorite antique stores.
There was a lull before the storm, and we were taking full advantage.
We found the most adorable treasures, like a tiny Lladro bird figurine, a porcelain turtle, an iron plate stand, an aluminum bread tray, and an olive oil dish from Italy. Total score. After cleaning, shining, and admiring our new finds, we settled in to enjoy the oncoming storm.
By 5:00 pm, the entire house began to tremble. The wind was howling, which caused the trees to sway so violently I thought they were going to snap in two, and as we settled on a new program to watch, we felt the old tug in our tummies to make a huge bowl of popcorn smothered with butter and salt.
But we ignored that old chatterbox and graciously attended to our interior pipes with Cheerios, strawberries, and raw nuts. Not the same, definitely not better, but sufficient for their purposes.
Of course, we made a roaring fire and snuggled up with furry blankets before binge-watching an old series about family dysfunction, legacy, and power.
I looked at Nancy and said, "Thank God you're my sister. Those siblings are brutal to one another."
She says, "It's why they haven't made a show about us. We're boring."
"We are so lucky."
When the rabbit food wore off, we baked up some fresh salmon topped with pesto, reluctantly put together a kale salad, and boiled our artichokes which we realize is just a vehicle for mayonnaise. Baby steps. We might be the only two human beings to lower their cholesterol but gain ten pounds in the process.
As Mary Oliver alludes in her poem, we actually listened to the wind try and pry the windows right out of their frames, the sound of which was much like the howling of misguided souls, but I'm feeling sort of dramatic, so you'll have to bear with me.
The windows to the outside world held their ground, although the icy fingers of the storm continued to shake the house with rage.
By 10:00 pm, we were exhausted from consuming too much kale, Metamucil, and lemon water. Our bodies were as shocked by this mistreatment as the old wooden docks being pummeled by a constant surge of wind and tide. They creaked and complained as if toddlers fighting their bedtime while we settled into our rooms, nestling our heads deep into the pillows to shelter us from all the noise.
I felt safe tucked in my cozy bed, in a warm house, with the storm raging outside. Lying there, listening to the howling wind and pouring rain, alerted me to the realization that nothing unsafe can actually penetrate my being. It's what comes out of my own heart that defines or defiles me.
It's taken a lifetime, but I finally understand that change is always an inside job. No one can fix me, and I can't fix anyone else. It's how we're designed. Even the doctor is mostly an observationist, shining a light on the places within me that need attention, like my clogged pipes, then she stands back and lets me do the work.
We woke up before the sun and could not believe the size of the waves bombarding the shore, or the aftermath of a wild night, and how the landscape was literally carpeted in fallen debris. This is when we noticed the spontaneous leaks that had sprung up overnight. There was a puddle in the dining room, and the master bath was wet as if it'd just been used.
After mopping up with beach towels and setting a pot under the drip, we decided to take a drive into Lakeport so we could pick up breakfast for Mackenzie, coffees for Nancy and me, and check out the aftermath of the storm. It was like driving through a war zone. Mudslides, downed trees, wayward branches, missing shingles on the rooftops, and fences laying forlornly on the ground.
The outside world seemed hostile, so we headed back to the house for another afternoon of roaring fires, a little reading, good conversations, blueberries, nuts, and maybe a few shows.
This is when the lights started to flicker, then the internet went out, and if that wasn't enough, the coffee pot stopped working, but it wasn't until the house went completely dark that we decided to recalibrate our plans. We weren't too keen on staying in a house with no heat, no cooking, no lights, and no entertainment.
We quickly closed up the house, packed the car, and headed for home while the storm had subsided. We checked the major highways for flooding or detours and mapped out the safest route. We left the lake under a cover of clouds, light rain, and saturated landscapes.
The thing is, we know when a storm is brewing long before it arrives, because there are hints and inklings, but also weather reports. I like to believe I knew on a subterranean level that something was about to blow in with the wind, like Mary Oliver instead of Mary Poppins, and it was imperative that I start listening to the promptings of my soul, which is built entirely out of attentiveness.
As Mary writes, "There is a new voice which you slowly recognize as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do --determined to save the only life you could save."
After a harrowing weekend, here's what I know to be true. Kale is simply inedible, sisters by blood or choice are a gift, my own thoughts have the ability to alter my well-being, my self-confidence, and my health, reshaping who and what I am becoming.
That's all. Oh, and I would add one more pillar, be brave, life is both a journey and a death sentence, and I've come to believe our attentiveness to the journey will define how it all goes down.
Mary Oliver says, "One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began." That's all I'm saying, pick up your copy of Grow Damn It today! Hey, pick up a copy for your sister too, host a book club, and I'll join you! xxoo
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