I had set the alarm for 6 am, forgetting that it was Saturday; that class starts an hour later than weekday classes. I made a point of leaving early because I assumed it would be as crowded as it was yesterday. But no, there were only fourteen in the class instead of the twenty-four that were there yesterday.
On the way home, I stopped at Costco. I had ordered flea and tick protection. Medical items had been moved from the animal supply section to the pharmacy. When I went there several weeks ago, they said they had to order it. I got a phone call, it arrived several days ago.
As I was waiting in line, one of my yoga buddies came and walked behind the counter. I knew Lisa worked at Costco, but I had never seen her there. Now, I knew why. She was hiding in the pharmacy. I also picked up another jar of salted cashews. I love eating them with bananas or apples.
I had planned to spend the day in the library again listening to my Saturday NPR shows, but I was exhausted and lay down for a nap. Two hours later, I woke up. The sleep was one of those wonderful restful ones. I felt utterly at peace. When I got up, my back was bothering me. So much for my plans to work in the library. I got to work catching up on the blog, still no work on the book. I also didn't wash the kitchen floor, but I did sweep it.
I walked Elsa in the morning, and she did her business, but when I went into the bathroom after my nap, there was a yellow puddle. Elsa is very considerate. When she does her business at home, she uses places that are easy to clean up. Sometimes she even does it right in the shower. I wash it down the drain. I can throw some Clorox on it and be done.
I had let her out after I got home. After I showered, I sprayed down the walls and glass door to wash the soap off. Elsa loves to play with the stream of water. I usually let her out immediately afterward, and she goes off and pees. Today, she went out and came in quickly. I didn't notice what she did and did not do. My guess is she did nothing because it has been raining hard all day. While she loves getting wet under that stream of water, she hates bathes or walking in the rain. Go figure.
I spent most of my waking hours catching up on the blog. I didn't walk Elsa before dinner. Neither one of us wanted to go out in that wet.
Poor Elsa has been spending more time than usual curled up in my arms. If I'm working on the computer, she will jump up in my arms, put her head on my shoulder and wrap her front legs around my arm. It's the firecrackers going off in anticipation of New Year's. Yvette and Josh are both home every New Year’s Eve caring for their animals. Mike and I rarely went out on New Year's Eve.
My favorite New Year's Eve ever was one we celebrated at Jean and John's. Jean, John, Jean's husband, Randy, Mike's sister, her husband, Shyamal, and Mike and I were sitting around the fireplace in the living room talking. It was a moment of great peace between all of us, at least for me.
Another favorite New Year's Eve memory of mine is from the late 50's or early '60s. I had never had a date for New Year's Eve. That year I had two. I realized that I didn't want to be with people I barely knew. I wanted to be with people I knew well. My mom had bought theater tickets for my sister, Dorothy, and me to the Broadway play, Ready When You Are, JB. At midnight, Dorothy and I were riding on the Long Island Railroad, heading back home to Great Neck. Dorothy was asleep, and I was looking out the window, watching as people shoot off firecrackers and run out of their homes, shouting. I smiled, glad to be where I was.
Mike asked me out for New Year's Eve shortly after we started dating. I told him no, too. I wanted to be around people I knew well. I told him I would hang out with my commune-mates and get drunk out of my mind. Mike told me afterward, he was concerned about being at a drunken bash. But then he thought, if Betty is going to be drunk out of her mind, it will be one bottle of champagne for a dozen people. And, of course, that's what it was.
I invited him to join me. He did. We went to a party at ex-commune-mates, a couple that had met in the commune and moved out to be on their own. After the party, a friend of mine from the University of Wisconsin, Mike and I walked home through the Brooklyn streets. My friend and I started riffing some jazzy song. Mike, the brave soul, joined in. The man could not sing to save his life. When he was on the altar at church, the priest, Fr. Lio would tell him to turn off his mic, if he sang. But I loved his effort, his willingness to take a risk. Throughout our life together, I would often ask him to sing to me if I was down.
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Musings:
Mike was giving and receiving spiritual direction for many, many years informally. Since we moved here, he was assigned the job of spiritual director for the diaconate of Honolulu. He was studying at the Mercy Center in San Francisco to hone his skills.
Before he died, he received spiritual direction from someone as part of his training in spiritual direction at the Mercy Center, on Skype. I overheard these sessions. I couldn't hear a difference between that and any garden variety psychotherapy session. I think the difference is in intent.
Psychotherapy sessions can be devoted to making someone a more successful person in any part of their life. Spiritual direction doesn't just focus on getting what's best for the person receiving the therapy. It focuses on what is best for others in the client's life as well, helping the client become a better person.
When we focus on God's will and God's love and God's concern for us as individuals, we know, at some level, that this love, concern, and will are distributed equally to all of God's creatures, not just us.
I must admit some think that all the love and concern of God, while not for them as individuals, is for their group alone. Only they have truly captured God's will for man. Good luck!
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