Community

Set for Solstice

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Writing 101. Daily Prompt.

Set for Solstice.Today’s summer solstice, the longest day of the year…How are you taking advantage of the extra hours of light at this time of year?

Well, here in Australia it’s the winter solstice and because of the time difference it was actually yesterday. So while you may choose to write about sunshine and long days and watermelon and going to the beach, I shall write about sitting by the fire, and mulled wine and books and slow cooked casseroles…

We have pretty skies

We have pretty skies

But no, I won’t write about such things because I’m sitting on my front porch, wearing a short sleeved tee-shirt and the cat’s asleep in the sun. It’s a warm, sunny day with yet another pretty skyscape; people are walking their dogs and a family just went by on their way to the park. There are still tomatoes ripening on the bush- it’s supposed to be winter! Does this mean the cold will come later? Even though it doesn’t feel like midwinter, yesterday was our shortest day, with only nine hours of sunlight.

Around both winter and summer solstices I find myself wishing for traditions and rituals to mark the turnings of the year. I’ve grown up with a British sensibility; my ancestors who first settled here were  from Britain. At school I studied British and European history and read mostly British literature. I’m a transplant. So I want to celebrate Beltane in May, have bonfires for Midsummer and a Yule log at Christmas.

We haven’t worked out how to replace these old traditions. There are still Christmas cards with snow, robin redbreasts, holly, Santa Claus and reindeers. The attempt to put Santa on a surfboard or replace his reindeer with kangaroos doesn’t seem to work. But we still have traditional Christmas dinners even though it may be a heatwave.

The question of how to create meaningful rituals and celebrations is something I ponder. Here in this new home which I share with a friend we will attempt to create moments of community for the times that matter. Perhaps those moments will include telling stories of special times and sharing our memories. After all, much of our history has come through the stories we have shared.

Five minutes from my house- black and white cows!

Five minutes from my house- black and white cows!

My favourite winter memory is  from my early childhood. I would have been, maybe four, and we were living with my grandparents on their farm. I would jump out of bed early and run across to my uncle,who was doing the morning milking. Barefoot, I used to dance across the grass, sparkling with frost still on it, my breath misting out. The dairy was filled with the big, black and white cows, swishing their tails as they waited to be milked. I would put my finger under the milk coming down the separator and lick it- warm and sweet, straight from the cow. The clang of the buckets, the sound of the machines, the stamping of the cows, the smells of the dairy…I wasn’t cold, I was filled with the joy of the fullness of the morning.

It was a moment when “God’s in His Heaven, all’s right with the world.”

This memory will be my Winter Solstice celebration for this year.

Gone with the windfall.

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Writing101. Daily prompt.

You just inherited $1,000,000 from an aunt you didn’t even know existed. What’s the first thing you would buy (or otherwise use the money for)?

I have whiled away many an hour dreaming about what I would do if I won the Lottery or had an unexpected windfall. It’s a splendid way to pass the time during a long trip. I dream of having a community, of being able to offer a home to people who need one. Land with cabins built on it? Or land sub-divided into villas?  There must be gardens and it must be beautiful. The possibilities are almost endless.

A corner offering sanctuary.

A corner offering sanctuary.

There have been times in my life when I have needed sanctuary, somewhere to give me space to regroup and heal, but I’ve had to pay the rent and there was nowhere to go. How wonderful it would be to be able to offer such a place. I have read about a woman, a breast cancer survivor herself, who established a healing centre for women to come and heal, both physically and spiritually.

Before I bought this house I rented a flat in accommodation linked to my work. There were two flats, each with a yard, and a house in this group. The house and the flats faced onto a large, shared area. We established a communal garden here and it quickly became a place to gather. We could share meals, have a cup of tea together, offer each support, celebrate birthdays…it was a place of community and belonging, but we each had our own space and privacy. I envisage something similar.

I’m something of a mother hen. I’d like to be able to gather all my chickens around me.

I don’t have to think for long to come up with a list of friends I’d like to house!

Only yesterday, I was thinking about a work colleague and a friend, both of whom would find their lives easier with a safe home. The work colleague has Parkinson’s. He is reliant on casual employment in a stressful environment, but has to work for as long as he can. He’s self supporting and has no family in this country. A brave and courageous person, I’d love to be able to say to him “Here is your home for as long as you want.”

My friend is a single mother who struggles to give her child the best possible life  on a very limited income. Imagine being able to offer her a home with a garden for all the animals her daughter yearns for.

I do know that when I have dreamt about a windfall in the past, I end up recognizing that I have enough. And maybe there are other ways to support and cherish my friends. (I won’t give up on the dream of a sanctuary, however!)

 

 

 

Country Life.

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Some of my loot!

Some of my loot!

I’ve just arrived home from our monthly farmers’ market. It’s a lot of fun, although I always buy much more than one human being could possibly eat. There’s so many yummy fresh vegetables and fruit, home-made jams and pickles, organic meat, seedlings and much more all begging me to take them home and grow them.  Chooks and ducks, rabbits… once I was offered a belted Galway calf (oh, the temptation!). For a person who yearns for the large, productive, rambling and beautiful garden, for the paddock with an alpaca or two, a donkey or two, maybe a pretty cow, a dovecote, chooks, ducks, a dam, a creek with a stony bed and maybe platypuses, deciduous trees, an orchard every aromatic herb ever…it’s an endless source of temptation! You get the picture?

(The reality is a yard that is too small for even one alpaca or donkey or cow; there is no dam or creek; the garden is still in the planning stages; maybe there will be chooks; maybe we’ll get a paddock.)

But there’s still the monthly market. I’ve been living here just over a year and so I’m familiar with most of the stallholders. There are the wonderful women from landcare who run the community stall- when I have an excess of produce I will sell it there. I go into the local Landcare office with all my questions and they provide advice with endless patience.

John's Japanese pumpkin. Isn't it beautiful?

John’s Japanese pumpkin. Isn’t it beautiful?

Then there’s John from Chichester- probably three hours away. He’s a large genial man, dressed in King Gee overalls with a broad grin. He gives me practical advice on saving seeds, on how to grow everything.  He’s a country man of several generations so his advice is grounded in what has worked. His produce, like all the others, is picked that morning and will last for weeks. Goes without saying that everything is delicious.

This week I meet a young couple who are pickling the vegetables they grow. They also have some ketchup, some harissa paste, some fermenting- all from their own garden and all organic. They ooze their dedication and love of what they’re doing. I make a note to remember the ketchup for Christmas presents. They also have Jerusalem artichokes and guavas. I have to buy them because my grandmother grew them. As I eat them it will be a chance to remember her.

Jerusalem artichokes and guavas, in memory of my grandmother.

Jerusalem artichokes and guavas, in memory of my grandmother.

I don’t need fresh macadamia butter or oil from the couple with the macadamia business. The macadamia butter is probably addictive it’s so delicious. And, it’s good for you!

I buy some pecan nuts and make a note to myself: visit Uncle (about an hour away), to gather some pecans for myself. He has so many they fall to the ground, ungathered. Maybe I’ll meet my niece there  to talk about bees and bee-keeping. My uncle lives on my grandparents’ farm and my grandfather kept bees. My niece who is experimenting with dried honey products, wants to see her great-grandfather’s bee hives and talk about bees.

I’m glad to see the family with the local, organic oranges is back. It’s orange season and these are sweet and juicy. Almost as good as the ones were on my father’s orange trees.

I meet my neighbours and we have a coffee. I’ve talked  to everyone and had a wonderful time. Once again I relish the sense of well-being from that comes from the simplicity of life in the country. And I’m grateful.

Life with a stoma.

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I live with a stoma and ileostomy. This means the end of my small intestine (ileum) is drawn out to my skin to form a stoma. I then stick a base plate to my skin and attach a pouch to that. The remains of my digestion- which for you passes into the large intestine for further digestion, empties through the stoma into the pouch. Literally, the facts of life for me.

I’d had ulcerative colitis, hence my long hospital stay and  life-threatening, traumatic emergencies.

Finally, to live or die meant emergency surgery and a body changed forever.

For more than forty years I have lived because of this.  Lived in gratitude, but lived in isolation, never knowing another person with an ileostomy. It’s what we do, isn’t it? We pick up the pieces and carry on. I have never thought about this or realized how lonely it’s been, until last year when I found my best friend from childhood again, and she too, lives with a stoma and an ileostomy. What are the chances of such a coincidence? And how wonderful that I found her!

We compared notes. What appliances do you use? and do you find that works best? What do you do when you’re in a room, full of people, everything’s quiet then your stoma starts gurgling and spluttering? And clothes! Can you wear something that’s close fitting across your stomach?  I always like to have a top that’s loose, do you?

So many questions, and so many more to come. I wish I’d had someone to talk to when I was younger, single and had met a potential lover. When do you raise the fact of a re-arranged digestive system and the additions to one’s tummy?  I wonder what other people do? How do you know the moment to call the ambulance when suffering a bowel obstruction?

We have only just begun this conversation. There’s so much I want to ask her about, so many experiences to share that only a fellow ostomate can share.

Here I need to acknowledge my friends, my friends who listen to me day and night, who meet me with compassion, love, tenderness, empathy and endless acceptance and support. I could not ask for more.

Then, just the other day, a friend who needed a catheter and drainage bag for a few days said to me (we were talking about showering) that he now began to understand a little of what I lived with every day. An insight for him and validation I hadn’t had before for me. Sometimes you don’t realize you lack something until you get it.

I was having a cup of tea with another dear friend when out of the blue she asked me about the details of stomas and pouches and all. Like, how does it stay on? Why doesn’t your skin become infected? What do you use? Show me. Show me the pouch. Show me where it is. Can I touch it? What do you need to do every day? What’s it like? Do you ever forget it’s there?

She listened. She listened with her full attention, no judgement, no revulsion, just full attention. Finally, she sat back and looked at me, then spoke.

“Kathryn, it’s a miracle.”

Other people have mixed responses, but there was nothing here but clear insight:  “It’s a miracle.”

And it is. I live with a miracle.

I offer this to others who live with a stoma: colostomy, ileostomy or urostomy in the hope that it may offer some validation of your daily existence. And in the hope that this post may begin a supportive community. Talk to me!

 

 

Listening would change the world

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I believe with my whole heart, that if we were to practise the skill of active listening we could change the world. Just think about it. Simply by being given the gift of active listening people would feel heard and validated; conflicts would be far fewer because we would truly understand what the other was saying; sometimes if we ourselves were truly heard we would be helped to understand what it was that we wanted to say.

Now this is coming from an accomplished chatterbox. I’m one of the world’s talkers. However, learning the skill of active listening transformed my life. I was no longer totally intimidated by situations. I knew I could always simply reflect back what I had heard. And when I am focused I can choose to offer to the other the gift of true listening. I don’t always talk! When was the last time you truly felt heard? You know that, in your gut, this person has heard what I have to say and may even have helped you to understand yourself better?

One of my favourite things is to teach Communication Skills. Having some of those skills has empowered and enabled me. It is thrilling to share them and watch as light dawns for people. However, it is not simple. I have found that one of the most challenging things for most people is to listen and simply reflect back what they have heard, without giving advice. It seems to be hardwired into our systems to give advice. Maybe it comes from a need to make things better, I don’t know, or maybe we don’t want to feel bad. You think about it- do you want someone to tell you what to do? Or do you want someone to truly hear you? My bristles go up the instant I start being told what I should do, unless I’ve asked for help and that’s completely different. And here I feel I need to apologise to my friends for the endless times I still fall into the trap of giving them unnecessary advice. All we need to do is, listen.

This poem says it all: Listen

When I ask you to listen to me and you start giving me advice you have not done what I asked. When I ask you to listen to me and you begin to tell me why I should not feel that way, you are trampling on my feelings. When I ask you to listen to me and you feel you have to do something to solve my problems, you have failed me, strange as that may seem. Listen! all I ask is that you listen. Not talk or do- just hear me. Advice is cheap: 50 cents will give you both Dorothy Dix and Dr Spock in the same newspaper. And I can DO for myself; I’m not helpless. Maybe discouraged and faltering, but not helpless. When you do something for me that I can and need to do for myself, you contribute to my fear and weakness. But when you accept as a simple fact that I do feel what I feel, no matter how irrational, then I quit trying to convince you and can go about the business of understanding what’s behind this irrational feeling. And when that’s clear the answers are obvious and I don’t need advice. So. please listen and just hear me, and if you want to talk, wait a minute for your turn; and I’ll listen to you. Anonymous.

Everyone needs to belong

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Building a life in a new place takes energy and courage and sometimes I’m tempted to give up. I don’t like walking down a street where no one recognises me, knowing I have to start all over again.  I need to feel safe and secure and I need to feel I belong somewhere.

Yesterday I visited my old neighbours, that is, my neighbours where I used to live. The swans were on the lake, the people in my house, well, it’s theirs now, were feeding the king parrots, the beaches looked wonderful and my garden… I know it’s no longer my garden, but I started it from nothing and loved and cherished it. It was my first home and my first real garden, in a wonderful place, with wonderful neighbours.

Deb, my neighbour, values her family more than anything else and she has adopted me as her big sister. For me, this is  priceless.  I don’t have children and  I can feel my lack of a “normal” family intensely. It doesn’t take much for me to tumble into a hole of self pity- “I’m all alone, when I am old no one will visit me, I don’t have the big family get togethers with my children and grandchildren I dreamed of, I don’t belong anywhere…” I know I’m loved, but most of my friends do live far away, as do my brothers , sisters , nieces and nephews. Christmas especially, can be a time of feeling sorry for myself.

One of my friends used to say that when he died there would only be about five people at his funeral and they wouldn’t know each other. At that time I used to walk my dogs through Waverley Cemetery (Sydney) and reading the headstones would plunge me into self pity. I would think that when I died, no one would come to my funeral because they wouldn’t know I’d died (too many moves, too many jobs, too many scattered friends) and I had nothing to put on my headstone! I was no one’s dearly loved wife or mother or grandmother… So, I asked my friends “Can I say ‘dearly loved friend  of’…”and of course they said I could. Now I have a list of people to be contacted when I die and I can walk through a cemetery  with equanimity. My headstone will show I did belong somewhere.

My aim  to create a  network here where I live is a priority. I’m passionate about the need to create community; for everybody to feel loved and valued; to have a place where they belong; to have that sense of knowing that there are people they can call on if they need; that they are not all alone.

A wise friend once reminded me to reach out, rather than fall in a hole. Or, to remember the words of St Francis:

“Make me an instrument of thy peace; where there is hatred, let me sow your love;

“…grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love;…”

Home is where the heart is.

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the view from my “old” deck.the view from my old deck.

Home is one of my highest priorities: home, and having my community around me.

Home is where I like to be. It’s where I come to be renewed, where I feel safe and secure- my haven. I called my first home “Hearts’ Ease”- I wanted it to be a place of heart’s ease, not just for me, but for anyone who needed it. And, I grew heart’s ease around the door.

Being a renter in the city for so much of my life, I found it more and more difficult to deal with the regular moves and the constant insecurity- Would I be able to find a place to live? Would I be able to pay the rent?

I used to joke about being a bag lady when I was old and although I was joking, underneath I truly did fear it. It was a dread that tied in with my lack of my own family, of not feeling that I belonged anywhere- the big two for me: feeling secure and safe in my home and having a place where I belong.

Something Gloria Steinem wrote about growing older and still not owning a home really struck me. She wrote that if she ended up a bag lady she would  politicize and organize them. I have a wonderful image of Gloria leading a demonstration of bag ladies- waving placards, marching, making demands…

This, quite literally transformed how I was seeing the future- from feeling anxious and fearful to knowing that “whatever happened, I’d handle it.” ( and thank you to Susan Jeffers book “Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway“).

Now, I have a home and no mortgage. I am so blessed. I have a friend who will share it with me and together we will work out how to live co-operatively.

I’d love to have a granny flat or studio, a separate space, where we could offer sanctuary when someone needed it. There’s been times in my life when I’ve needed time out to regroup and recover, but there’s always been rent to pay and no chance to call a halt.

I am worried by the reports of the growing number of older women who, through circumstance, are vulnerable to rising rents, some of whom are already homeless. I feel powerless to do much about it- but have chosen to buy a house with a friend so two of us have a home.

We need to find new and better ways of living- ways that are communal, shared and sustainable; where people are supported and nurtured, rather than isolated, alone and vulnerable.

We can do it!

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And here I am, living in the country

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As someone once said to me “it doesn’t matter where you start, you’ll always get to where you need.”

So, here goes!

Some years ago ,I fled to my mother’s, who still lived in the village where I grew up, to put some space between the man I loved and myself. We needed some distance to lick our wounds and give ourselves time to see whether we had a future.
I ended up with a job and a mortgage and have stayed without ever really making a choice to stay.  Continual illness and large chunks of time off work  meant I have lived in constant anxiety about not being able to keep up the mortgage payments and becoming homeless.

.. It’s a long story. Eventually I sold my house, left my job and  bought this house with one of my friends- a large house in a small, country town. The main street still has a shop (more a shed), for irrigation things and the rural supplies shop has hay bales and farm bits in the window. Window display is clearly not a selling point. I hear cows mooing at night. There’s a sheep in the backyard a few houses along.

Six months after moving into this house, I’m still living in chaos. Boxes line the hall, books are stacked downstairs and I spend too much time searching for a piece of paper I had five minutes ago.

My friend has never lived in the country and she prefers inner-city; she is truly an urban dweller as was I.  But we are mortgage free! And we have some space where we can grow vegies, live a simpler life, put solar panels on the roof and contribute to our community.

Renting in Sydney, I couldn’t see how I could ever buy. I feared being a bag lady. Buying with a friend has risks. It’s a challenge. But it means I don’t always have to put out the garbage. If one of us is ill, we have someone to drive us to the doctor, make the chicken soup…And, we are sharing resources rather than  gobbling up so many of the earth’s resources.  A couple of times I’ve thought I might have been getting sick- my first thought? It didn’t matter. I don’t have a mortgage. My friend and I are two of the lucky ones. We can only give it a go!