Thrown

A day not as tiresome and gappy as I feared. Ended more or less on schedule, because of a cancellation. Slept badly after having a glass more of the double chocolate stout than I should have, which is to say two. Head sore all night, woke to Eleanor snuggling, a comfort. Got up, and Moby sat beside me, purring. They do take care of me. Drugs, shower, neti pot, tea, and I'm fine now.

Crow sent this link, about how we change and recreate ourselves. More on the main page, I especially enjoyed the Marquez bit. Soft spot for magical realism of his flavor.

Saw one of those motivational speakers once, who described the fear of change this way, people who value how they do something have a very hard time changing how they do their jobs. People who understand and value why they do their jobs, have a much easier time changing how they do it. I constantly have to change how I do my job, so many changes, all the time, and I've worked in so many different places. I think it's forced me to stay flexible. Starting all over again with orthopedics after years in general surgery, then in different hospital systems. Very tao, that, Beginner's Mind. It spreads to the rest of my thinking. The stiffness is beaten out of me.*

I've always embraced better ways of doing what needs to be done. So many apartments, so many different jobs, adapt or die. Living with cats. Take them as they are, or be frustrated.

Last evening, Eleanor on my lap (arm), Moby on D's, Moby came over to sniff at Eleanor, very sweetly. They both jumped down, and scuffled briefly, then he jumped to the top of the tree. A long, slow process, to build trust, maybe affection. Eleanor such an odd mix of native friendly and learned fear. She has a way to go, but the progress is apparent. We realize how much she must have gone through, for such a gregarious soul, to be so skittish.

Funny, how much the same I am, now and as a small child. Opinionated, unheeded, intense, funny, tearful, incisive, prickly, earnest, introverted, not easy not ever, but with a warm heart and a deep desire to comfort. So often lately, I've read about the tribulations of actors, and feel immense relief that I never tried to make a living that way. Such a bad fit, I had nothing I needed to live happily that way. No, I was a homebody, a carer. I let the weakest girl in kindergarten rest her head on my lap, and protected her. This seemed natural to me, my mother - told at a teacher's conference, thought it worthy of comment. Probably the only reason I remember, because it was noted by others.

I still want to protect, to soothe, to console. As I want to be distracted and jollied along. A Fellow talked about how she loved going along on hikes with her parents' friends, the only rules being "show up, keep up and shut up." Starting from a loving family, this is the next layer of resilience. Resilience in children only comes if they are secure at the ground, fed, sheltered, treated lovingly, educated, accepted. Then, they can run over the neighborhood with impudence and take care of themselves. I appreciate when the guys at work assume I can handle such a tough audience, and hold my own. Showing up, keeping up, and (as far as complaint) shutting up. Which does not include smarting off, of course, since that is included in keeping up.

I'm made of the same stuff I started with, but all rearranged, melted down and alloyed in different ways. Like clay, wedged and rethrown. May not be pretty to anyone else, but appreciated at home, genuine, and functional.

Soon as it gets over 35˚, off to dig. Thyme down at the edges.


*No offense.