Scattered thoughts

For the month of January I have given Korey my Sundays. He has asked himself to get a LARGE quantity of work done by the end of January or at the very least before we leave for Spain on the 14th of February - nice Valentine's gift, eh?* So the way I could best support Korey and his studies this afternoon was to get me and Gabriel out of the house (so Korey could write uninterrupted by us) and tick some errands off the family to-do list at the same time. Trouble is, it is a cold and windy and rainy day out there. The kind of cold, windy, rainy day you get here in Ireland and in other damp places like the west coast of Canada. Gabriel and I must have been gone for a little over five hours. On foot. With a pram. Gabriel stayed dry because we have a fantastic rain guard for that pram, even if it is a little awkward and clumsy. I stayed dry from mid-thigh to neck because of that leather jacket I recently got for free from FreeCycle.org. But... I was ready for a warm cup of moccachino when I got in and took the first opportunity to put my feet up and read for 20 minutes - my daily fun for Wendy time.Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch AlbomMany of you probably read it in the late 90s when it was first published; come to think of it so did I. But... it was one of the gifts Korey gave me for Christmas this year. **Here's a bit of what I just finished reading, I'll go back far enough to give you a little background before we get to the part of the quote that seemed to jive with something I've been wanting to blog about anyway. Here we go:Meanwhile I looked for signs of the disease's progression. His fingers worked well enough to write with a pencil, or hold up his glasses, but he could not lift his arms much higher than his chest. He was spending less and less time in the kitchen or living room and more in his study, where he had a large reclining chair set up with pillows, blankets, and specially cut pieces of foam rubber that held his feet and gave support to his withered legs. He kept a bell near his side, and when his head needed adjusting or he had to "go to the commode," as he referred to it, he would shake the bell and Connie, Tony, Bertha, or Amy - his small army of home care workers - would come in. It wasn't always easy for him to lift the bell, and he got frustrated when he couldn't make it work. I asked Morrie if he felt sorry for himself."Sometimes, in the mornings," he said. "That's when I mourn. I feel around my body, I move my fingers and my hands - whatever I can still move - and I mourn what I've lost. I mourn the slow, insidious way in which I'm dying. But then I stopmourning."Just like that?"I give myself a good cry if I need it. But then I concentrate on all the good things still in my life. On the people who are coming to see me. On the stories I'm going to hear. On you - if it's Tuesday. Because we're Tuesday people."I grinned. Tuesday people."Mitch I don't allow myself any more self-pity than that. A little each morning, a few tears, and that's all."I thought about all the people I knew who spent many of their waking hours feeling sorry for themselves. How useful it would be to put a daily limit on self-pity.I remember a former vice-principal/colleague/friend telling me sometime in the autumn of 2003, "I give myself one day to feel down in the dumps and no more." AND... I remember thinking to myself, "Clearly she's never struggled with depression. You just can't do that with depression."The funny thing is, I'm beginning to think you can. Even with depression. Maybe especially with depression. You see, since March-ish 2006, I've been spending 20 minutes per day doing a daily brain-drain where I write down every single thought that comes to my mind with absolutely no emphasis on completing a thought or sentence or word - just stream of conscious writing. This is where I allow myself time to worry/fret/pity myself/celebrate/whatever emotions have come up between now and yesterday, for 20 minutes they have freedom to make their way into my brain and onto the paper in front of me. And I promptly shred what I've written as soon as the 20 minutes are over.There are two other times where I allow the negative thoughts to come if they want to. One, while I'm doing my daily twenty minutes of "fun for me" time or while I'm doing my weekly two hour block of "artist" activities. Which makes my life seem really regimented and scheduled but it really isn't. I have these three pre-requisites and the rest of life can be as fluid as we like.Now, funny me, I sometimes feel guilty for spending this amount of time on me. After all, I'm a mother, a wife, a friend... But if you do the math, it's not that selfish at all. In fact, even mathematically it might just be a very efficient use of time. 20 minutes of fun-for-me per day+ 20 minutes of journal or brain-drain per day+ 2 hours of artist time per week= 6 hours per week where I allow the past to teach me how to think, where I allow all emotions even self-pity or sh... hatred or other really ugly emotions. Allow is the operative word. These 6 hours don't necessarily revolve around the negative or the past, they just make room for it. These 6 hours are probably the most honest I get before God each week. They are really holy times in their own way.Back to the math. "Maths" if you're Irish. "Mathematics" works in both countries. Anyway, let's get back to it.24 hours per day x 7 days per week= 168 hours per week---168 hours per week - 6 hours per week where I allow the negative or past to enter in= 162 hours per week of living in the now, with a focus on the positive aspects of life.Now, who can argue with math like that?* Please note that I am still Canadian enough to end most sentences with "eh"!!! :-) I know I know I am becoming increasingly "Irish" or "European" sounding - it just can't be helped and besides it adds a nice flavour to my speech, doesn't it? And a not-so-funny funny for my non-Canadian readers: How do you spell Canada?C eh? N eh? D eh?And Korey's self-imposed "By-the-end-of-January" list or "Before-we-go-to-Spain" list as I remember it:prep and teach a one-day course (tomorrow)prep and teach three evening classescomplete and submit assignments 4, 5 and 6 of 6 for Empower (so that he can be a registered and qualified presenter in Ireland)present his PhD research to date to his post-graduate peers (they take turns doing PowerPoint presentations of where they're at followed by fielding questions)complete/write/edit/draft his thesis outline and the first chapter of his thesis so that he can do the "transfer up exam" (Even though his studies are moving towards a PhD, he has been officially registered as a Master's student to this point; the "transfer up" is a mandatory part of the PhD process.)do the "transfer up exam" (really a formal interview with two senior professors of the faculty, one of whom is his supervising professor)Now, that's a very long list, isn't it? No wonder I've offered him my Sundays - it's the least I could do. ** Aside number one: DON'T even think of feeling sorry for me for getting a book I'd already read. You should have seen my eyes light up when I saw it - it's a book well worth reading.Aside number two: We do a lot of our shopping - including gifts for each other - at charity shops; I think Korey might have paid one or two euro for a gift I love! Neat, eh?