150 Steps...In the Present Moment

The inexorability of that water seeping up through our foundation and creeping ever higher on the walls downstairs, lapping at the base of the steps, and then climbing higher, embedded itself in my subconscious and then emerged late at night, every night. I'd never been through anything quite like that and it apparently stuck with me. For two weeks following THE FLOOD, I woke at 3AM every night in a panic, certain that there was water in the basement or, in a particularly unpleasant moment, convinced that the moonlight reflecting on our polished bamboo bedroom floor was actually more floodwater. At first, I would find myself dressed and downstairs, walking through the rooms to convince myself that the basement, while in need of repair, was actually relatively dry. Then I managed to reach the point at which I would be out of bed and dressed but stop myself before I actually left the bedroom and headed down the stairs. Then I reached the point at which I could stop myself aft

I awake this morning feeling much more calm than I was last night. The combination of a good night's sleep and taking the time yesterday to twice write about my anger - my  dosa  - seems to have helped to diffuse it. The yahoos will be yahoos. There is little I can do about them or the less-than-truths they choose to spout at me. However, if I have learned anything, it is that I can certainly do better in managing my reactions to them and in setting my expectations in our adoption journey. It doesn't do anyone any good - especially me - for me to get angry. I've made enough suffering for myself in my 42 years...There's no need to add yet another layer of suffering. I've worked too hard in recent years to peel away my layers upon layers of suffering. To be happy and in the present moment. So, today will not be shaped by anger, but will instead be about taking care of myself, my marriage and our home. Grocery shopping. Cooking. Helping my husband in the next s

I'm not sitting where I usually would be when writing. The chair is wrong. The wall behind my computer isn't right. The items I see in my peripheral vision aren't what I expect. I'm a displaced person in my own home. I never realized how much of a person of habit I'd become when it came to writing. My home office wasn't much to speak of, really. It was just a desk made of a varnished door resting on a filing cabinet and wire shelving units but it was my desk, my office chair, my blank wall with the small casement window above. My wife's desk was to my left at a 90-degree angle but she never used it, preferring to write on her laptop upstairs in the living room. The "home entertainment" area with the couches and TV was off to my right and my noise-canceling headphones were always handy for when I needed to write when Jennifer wanted to watch TV. Eventually, in a larger future house, I hope to have a home office that will be mine, with a door t

I'm still really irked - actually downright angry - with the yahoos employed by the adoption facilitator. I set aside these feelings for a good portion of the day, but tonight while I am trying to wind down they have bubbled to the surface again in a most unpleasant way. In fact, I'm feeling a bit sick to my stomach because I am so angry... Vipassana  Buddhist teacher Gil  Fronsdal  has the following to say about anger in his book  The Issue at Hand : The Buddhist word  dosa , usually translated as anger, might more accurately be translated as "hostility," provided we recognize that hostility can be present in emotions ranging from minor aversion to full blown rage... Dosa  burns the one who is angry. Classic Buddhist teachings liken being angry to holding a red-hot piece of coal. For Buddhists, acting on  dosa is never justified;  dosa  is a form of suffering that Buddhist practice is designed to alleviate.   Hostile anger seems to have its roots in recoilin

A mourning dove is awake early on this sunny Saturday...cooing its sad and mournful coo... giving voice to how I'm feeling this morning. Yesterday...I speak with R from our adoption facilitator's office. She is yet another person there who is here to "serve" us through our adoption process, apparently by checking in with us once a month (now that the first three months of waiting have elapsed) to review our stats (which we can already review ourselves via an administrative website...) She is another person there whose salary we are paying with our adoption fees. I ask R about what we should do to update or change our profile, which we had been told we could do after the first three months. "Oh, I would give it at least another three months before you do anything to your profile. Really, it's so early yet." Early yet? Seriously? That's funny. Our original adoption "consultant" (read: sales person) J indicated that the average wai

I'm sitting in my booth at Minerva's Pizza reading my book. Waiting for my Greek Salad. "We need to sit at a bigger booth," I hear a woman's voice saying and a child responding, "Why, Mommy?" "Because Daddy will be here soon and we won't fit in that small booth. Come over here. We can sit in this booth by the window so we can watch for Daddy to come down the street." "OK!" The woman is about my age. Long brown hair, black sweater set, black & white skirt, black tights and black  Dansko  patent leather clogs. Her little daughter is probably about 5. Hair pulled up into braided pigtails, pink sweater, little jean skirt, multicolored tights, and sneakers. Very, very adorable. And very likely adopted. Her daughter is black. They're obviously regulars here at Minerva's. The waitress greets them with a friendly "the usual?" but tonight they order something different - Greek salad and a large spinach

I keep sitting down to write a blog post and then.... Nothing. There is  mucho  buzz out in the  blogosphere  about a few hot and controversial adoption items, but I can't seem to work up the interest to write about them. No. Just feeling a little lost at the moment. Chris says last night, "I feel like I'm living in this little eight foot space between the desk and the couch." And it's true. While our house isn't what many would call "large" or "luxurious," losing half of our space to flood damage has certainly highlighted the fact that the house is perfectly spacious enough for two. And without that space - we're feeling kind of cramped and just a wee bit cranky. And on top of the house... It's been more than three months now. More than three months since our adoption profiles became active and still nothing. Now, I know...three months...in the grand scheme of things not so very long at all. Really - it's prac

I have a bit of a meltdown today. It's all of our STUFF and nowhere to put it...it's just making me feel totally overwhelmed. I've managed to clear off most of the kitchen table, but there's still more stuff. And I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do with all of the soda cans. Soda cans? This is the cause of your crisis today? Yes. Chris drinks Diet Pepsi. He buys one of those long, narrow boxes of them - the 24-pack. They don't all fit in the fridge. Pre-flood there was a spot on our kitchen desk where we kept always the box. Not anymore. So, I'm standing there trying to figure out where to put this damn box of soda cans and THERE IS NO SPOT FOR THEM. It's the last straw. I have a meltdown. Chris isn't here to see it thankfully...me standing there holding this perfectly harmless box of Diet Pepsi cans and swearing up a storm at it. Crying. Storming around the kitchen like some crazy lunatic. Crying more.

Everything I wrote in the first post of the day... NOT! Turns out that our wonderful and loyal Fisher &  Paykel  super energy/water efficient washing machine bit the dust as a result of being under water for many days. "Yeah," says the very nice repair guy this morning, "the  flugalherman  is completely rusted out. I've never actually seen one that rusted before. So is the  whatchamajiggy  and the  thingamahoojy . Oh, and I'm pretty sure that the computer board is a total loss." Cost to fix: $400. Possibly more. (He didn't have prices for all of the parts.) The original cost of the F & P washing machine 5 years ago: $600. Um, yeah, we're not fixing it. RIP. "Um, Jenn," says Chris after the repair guy leaves, "I'm not sure we should be spending any money at  IKEA  if we have to go out and buy a new washing machine." Oh, BITE ME, you stupid flood! So we head off instead to Gil's to look at washing

Now that my sister has so kindly and lovingly kicked my butt out of Pathetic-Feeling-Sorry-For-Myself-Ville, I have to get up off of that same butt to help Chris make our home livable again. While we have made progress in getting our home into a state of order, we still have a long way to go and this weekend is the weekend that it will happen. We cannot spend one more week living in semi-chaos. Chris has been up for a few hours now getting things done - like  digitizing  even more of  our  - er yeah not - more of  his  - ginormous music collection. (I could listen to the same 6  CDs  for the rest of my life and not really miss new music very much - I'm sure, to the dismay of my music loving husband.) Me...well, apparently I needed the sleep and my wonderful and very kind husband let me sleep late today. And now he is kindly letting me play on the computer for just a little while before diving into the madness of our day. So, here's the schedule for the day: Eat som

Sisters are great ones for providing firm, but loving reality checks. Just when you think that you've got it all wrapped up and figured out, your sister comes along to kindly give you a gentle kick in the patootie. The kick that says, "Hey, snap out of it!" The e-mail I received from my sister today: Hi There,   I just read your blog this morning regarding M & J. Jenn, please keep in mind that it has been 2 years since they started this process of adopting their son. 2 YEARS!!!! You also have to remember that this is the same agency and orphange that they went through the first time with [their daughter.] Initially, on their first adoption they wanted a baby, but because it was taking so long they decided to increase the age of the child that they would adopt. Once they said they would take a toddler they received the call to come get [their daughter] (thank goodness they did because she is just the best).   You and Chris have decided to adopt here within t