Though I’ve never been much interested in sports, I recollect the early days of instant replay. When a disputed play occurred, referees could review what happened and, sometimes, revise a call.
Was there a foul? Did the basketball shot leave the air in time to be counted? Did the baseball player’s foot actually touch home plate?
Instead of debating it in circles, instant replay offered something unprecedented: the option of seeing what really happened. Sports teams felt certain that calls of all kinds could be fairly reviewed. Initial referee decisions could be changed. At last, we’d have proof about who was right.
With the conditions of the world (and, at least for me, money being a bit tight), I’m feeling some stress.
With new seasons, we’re always trying to make our way through (this seems even more true this year). Maybe you can identify with some of the ways I’m trying to make it through this season:
Here are some of my more recent seasons:
Not fun seasons. For the past several months, I’ve been trying to figure out, what’s next? I keep trying to find some combination of things that I want to do that also provide a little bit of income.
Better seasons. I’ve also tried my hands at some home repair tasks. I’ve got a better average there. I think I’m running about 75% completed repairs. That’s actually money in the bank.
Still trying to dance seasons. Over the course of the last year and a half, I — who never exercised — have been doing Qigong, Tai Chi, and some HIIT exercises! I’m still figuring out how to move the arms with Tai Chi. But, I’ve discovered that there’s something about moving the body that feels pretty amazing. Even exquisite!
Even with meditation, there are good days and (some ->) bad days. Let me rephrase that. There are days where I feel in the Zone and others where I don’t. In my Tai Chi, some days even I can balance in the elegant Crane posture on my right leg alone for about 10 seconds. Other days, I can’t. On my left leg? Most days, not at all. Going back to my meditation, I can feel completely out of the zone (whatever that subjective “zone” means) for all but the last five minutes. The first twenty minutes my mind is a mess. What’s for supper? Did I pay the water bill? Are there any good movies out? Should I wear a white or dark hat to the soccer game under the bright, hot sun? It’s non-stop chatter in the old noggin. Then, for the remaining five minutes, it feels like my distraction all the sudden went away.
Are you experiencing any seasonal changes? What are they? Are you able to name them, if only to yourself?
I hear the rustle of movement at the foot of the bed. I swing my legs over the side of the bed. As I do, the white ball of fur waits patiently. She can’t risk my big legs hitting her head As I swing sideways. There. Now I’m sitting up. She siddles close to me, head between my legs. Flopped ears awaiting their morning grace A kiss just above her eyes, between her ears. Then, as if for the most perfect moment in life, Hers or mine, she enjoys the scruffle of her ears. The day begins. The day begins.
It’s not all perfection. Wait. Don’t bark. Sit. Don’t pull. Pretty soon. Misunderstanding. The head of either her or myself, Cocked to the side, As if to say, What are you thinking? What am I thinking? Walks, like flights to space, held because of rain. Sickness of man or dog. More tired now. More stops along the way.
Scratch my ears. Why must it be so hard all the time, I wonder? There. Now, swing your legs over the side of the bed. Lean down to all those who matter. Plants, The air. Rocks. People. Kiss them on the forehead, Or whatever. As soon as you start to think, What about this, what about that, Just stop. Then, Scratch their ears. The day is waiting. All are waiting.
I just published my latest podcast episode. In it, I tell a little about my background in working with death, dying, and grief. I recite a poem I just wrote, Mom, Unfinished.
Hi, it’s Mike. It’s good to see you. I wrote a poem for you, and I’ll read it shortly. But I wanted to tell you briefly why I wrote it, to give you some context. I’ve spent my professional life caring for those who are sick and in many cases dying. And I’ve been at the bedsides of the sick and dying for well over 30 years. First in chaplain training, then for 12 years working in hospice, starting during the AIDS epidemic. And then for the last 19 years in cardiovascular care. There are also the personal losses that I’ve experienced on my own. So I know a lot about death, dying, and in the poem I’ll be sharing, Mom, Unfinished. I wanted to try to capture the experience of going to a death at a patient’s home when I was working in hospice. During those days, I was on call every six weeks, 24-7. Some nights were completely exhausting. But as I hope you’ll see, they did have moments of unforgettable reward. Hi, I’m Mike Davis, and this is Worldwide Stew.
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