put the THERAPY in aromatherapy!

 

The history of aromatherapy begins around 3500 years BC. Aromatics were at the time for religious purposes, perfume, and medicine. The actual term "aromatherapy" was invented by the French chemist Rene-Maurice Gattefosse in 1935 after a burn incident, he claimed he treated it effectively with lavender essential oil.

The modern aromatherapy recommendations that I have encountered are a bit too rigid for my tastes.  I am of the opinion that highly personalized aromas can elevate the spirit in an added powerful way than those that follow a set of rules as it were.  Yes, lavender seems to universally calm and lemon invigorates. But let's tap into all of those wonderful smells you have encountered in your life that have so greatly affected you.

In my storage jar, which is a cracked and otherwise unusable family heirloom pitcher, are a variety of smells that totally change my mood when sniffed. Once I press my nose to the babyfood jar that holds new mown hay, my face is contorted with joy. It is my favorite of the collection. I also frequently use the tiny block of beeswax, which sat in my mother's sewing box for decades. I cut the outer dirty bits off to renew the innermost potent smell.

Other smells from the past in the collection include a piece of soap smelling of my Grandmother's place, a cotton swab that was held over a campfire and still gives off that heady aroma, and rose petals.  I have oregano leaves, my favorite lotion (which needs refreshing every few months, as it becomes rancid,) and chamomile flowers. Over time, I added balms made specifically to sooth upon inhaling. I have my favorites and Badger is my go-to brand. Not all concoctions produce the expected results, as every body is different and unique.

If you are ready or interested in creating your own kit, be as imaginative and as personal as possible. The results are beautiful. A smell can transport you to a wonderful memory or can change your chemical makeup for a brief time. After all, anything you smell shows that there are actual particles being inhaled and entering your body.

-GG

One baby step toward leaving fear behind

 A significant part of my issues is brain fog. There are so many things I used to be able to do effortlessly. Now, when I write or read something, I double and triple check it all. Even then, I am apt to misunderstand it the next day, or realize my mistakes at a later time, much to my embarrassment and dismay.  

Today, I signed into the Skype app to see if I could chat with my daughter. The page shows past chats, including dates and times that they occurred. The date shown did not correspond with my memory and right away I became upset. It felt like life had somehow happened without me, which makes no sense, but this is what I experienced in my gut. It is no fun. Reality can really be thrown when you have an uncooperative brain.

This type of thing has happened often in the past few years and my instant reaction is one of fear. Not just unease, but fear. As if I no longer fit into the world and its patterns and could very well be obliterated somehow due to this. In a very concrete sense, if I get a date or time wrong, I could be stranded somewhere, expecting someone to pick me up who will not show because I misunderstood it all. But even when the event has already happened and I look back and see dates and such which I do not recognize as my reality, I still feel that fear.

Today, I made one baby step to change that. Normally, I deeply investigate, to the best of my ability, what went wrong, how I made a mistake, what truly occurred, and try hard to just fit this complex puzzle into my brain. I also look to blame someone besides myself, a truly nasty habit. This time, however, I made a deliberate choice to shut down the Skype app without investigation. I let it go. If it shows I got a call that I do not remember, if their dates don't correspond with my reality, that will just have to be ok. I realized it was all in the past, that I am safe, and that I do not truly need to waste my limited energy on figuring it all out.

Damn, it felt good. To X out the screen. To not engage. To turn immediately to something good that was happening here and now. 

It was indeed a baby step but it felt like a huge leap.

-GG

The importance of play

When was the last time you did something childlike?  Has it been a long time since you did something silly on purpose?  I have found that, as an adult, behaving like a child can be extremely beneficial.

It comes naturally to me and I don't think I have ever ceased to play during any given week.  But even during the many years that I have dealt with depression and engaging in such things seemed futile, I have done it anyway. I recall just going through the motions and feeling nothing but grayness but somehow I knew instinctively to not give it up.

This week, during spring rains, many mud puddles arrived. On my walk, one in particular cried out for a boat. I found a piece of tree bark and a leaf. I can identify neither, as my efforts at tree i.d. have failed for years. But I need not know the origin of my boat parts in order to have fun. The stem of the leaf would not stay in the wee nook of the bark, so I wedged a tiny twig in there and that did the trick. The wind actually took my boat across the 'pond' in a heartbeat. I was thrilled.

There are hundreds of ways to play like a child. When I could not drive a few years back, and barely had the energy to hold up my head as someone else drove me to my medical appointments, my play involved my imagination only. I played the game I discovered when I was 6 or 7 years old - bored on a long car ride, I watched the telephone poles go by. I enjoyed gazing at the up and down loopy sway of the wires as they whizzed by. Before I realized it, I had envisioned an agile sprite or elf or playful creature who sometimes ran along the line and sometimes vaulted over each high pole. My, that figure could get up some real speed! Way back then, I could hardly have imagined that the game would return to serve me in my late 50s.

I made a snow person this winter. No child around except me.

I made my own playdough from my Kindergarten recipe (how did I remember THAT from so long ago?) and loved the squishy feel of it between my fingers.  Blobby statues sat, drying out, on the windowsill.

I played with a stink bug who took winter refuge in my computer room. I put a bit of paper down for her to crawl on and each time she made it to the end of the paper, I flipped it so she could wander on the other side.

Dozens of other playtimes have lightened my days. I feel very different both during play and after. I am focused on the simple enjoyment of my task. Worries temporarily fly away. And afterwards, my mind experiences the same rejuvenation that I feel after a good meditation.  Actually, even more so, as I feel I have been 'sneaking in' some behavior that we, as adults, are not encouraged to do. I felt as if I were cheating my drudgery day and getting away with it.

Can you take 5 minutes today to play? If it is unfamiliar to you, I hope you get addicted. It's a very healthy habit.

-GG

Maybe...

 

Today at IC we had two very basic sessions. One was Political Conversation and the other Conversation Cafe.

For some reason I’m not clear on why today's sessions blew me away.

Today we did what we always do, we talked, laughed, spoke from our hearts, spoke from our minds, and then clicked ‘leave’ and that was that.

But was it? 

At IC we have such a mix of people from all walks of life, all ages, and all abilities and disabilities. We all look at life from very different perspectives and most of us have very little in common with each other. And yet, at the same time, we connect and understand each other so very completely. And if we don’t understand, that’s fine. We don’t need to understand a person’s personal story, we absolutely still love each other -for the simple reason that the person exists and is amongst us. 

How can that be with such a small program run entirely by volunteers (and not very many volunteers at that?)

It’s so clear to me how many people’s lives are transformed through attending IC. 

People with cancer and who have few people who understand them.

People who have experienced shock therapy. 

People who have lived safely amongst the upper classes.

People who have existed in facilities. 

People who have lost all their supports since tragedy hit them. 

People who spend their time laughing at most everything that comes their way.

People who are extreme right wingers. 

And so many more.

After attending IC a few times we feel the love, the acceptance, the joy from being together.

We don’t do anything special or brilliant at IC. We just get together. Look at each other on Zoom.

And when we click on ‘leave’ at the end of an hour we all know we’ve just experienced a healing of some sort. We all feel better for having spent that short time together.

Maybe it doesn’t take brilliance or special programs to ease our pain, fears, anxieties, or loneliness.

Maybe it only takes deep listening, giving each other a few moments of our time where we actually deeply hear and see each other.

Maybe that is all it takes to be a powerful program. Maybe that is most of what we all need.

Food, medicine, shelter and being seen for who we are.

And if that’s the case, then we can each do so much to help the world.

Who knew. Not me. But now, today, right now, I do know.

Wow.

- JT

Is this tree disabled?

 

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On my walk yesterday, I spied this tree. The base was about a foot from the road, smooshed into both snow piles and plowed-up gravel. It looked very much like it had been knocked over years ago by road machines. Therefore, the trunk was at a 45 degree angle from a "normal" tree's stature. So what did the tree do after this trauma? It was powerless to return to its original position. In order to continue living, it changed its growth pattern. As usual, it reached for the sun. The single branch that remains shows an upward swing. It did what it had to, did what it could. And still it lives on.

It stands out amongst the other trees - looks decidedly different. Yet, it remains a tree, rooted, preserving the soil from erosion, hosting bird life, changing sun to energy, and wicking water up using its sapwood, the term for that part of the tree that does this. All of these basic elements are present in spite of the fact that most human viewers will note only the obvious injury, the different quality of this particular tree. (For those of us who have an easily detected disability, we know all too well what others often focus on first.) This tree does not give a hoot what I think of it, how anyone might label it. It just goes on living to the best of its ability. In this respect, it is a smashing success.

Does anyone need to put this tree in a category?  Not really. It may appear disabled, but it is in fact, no different than its neighbors, who are all doing the same tree things. This tree faces challenges. It works harder than its neighbors.  Disabled people could relate. While so many in society have 'average' challenges daily, ours are doubled, tripled, or more. And in the human world, it is far beyond just physical challenges. 

I celebrate this tree's 'disability.' No other tree around looked inviting. I wanted to go sit on its lovely bent trunk. The way it was forced to grow made it wonderful. Beautifully different. And a heck of a lot more interesting than the standards.

Keep reaching for the sun!

-GG

Issues of the Heart

 

After a recent scare that was a possible seizure, my doctor questioned me further than she had so far done. I had thought she was aware of the odd heart beats and flutterings I've had for awhile. She was not.

So, arriving in the mail soon is a Holter Heart Monitor. 

I lay in bed last night sorting out my feelings about this. Why am I not panicking?  Some friends who know about this are afraid for me. I am not. I guess it is just another hurdle to check out in my long line of lifelong ailments.

I hardly ever really think about my heart.  But over the winter I experienced some serious reluctance to self-care. It was like I had been given the choice of caring for myself or crawling a mile through an active sewer. I had chosen the sewer and can't quite figure out why. I have a huge sign in my kitchen saying TRUST THE PROCESS so I tried my best not to over-analyze it all.

Still lying in bed, where I do my best thinking, I let my mind wander. What if my heart is currently struggling to break free of old bonds, old trauma, old patterns, old memories, and that is why it's doing an odd little dance? Not very scientific, but science is beginning to catch up with some very ancient beliefs that were once labeled as primitive or occult. In breaking free of the old, perhaps it will be capable of self-love and thus self-care.

I sat up in bed, imagining what this would look like. I said  aloud, "that would be the single most potent remedy for most of my problems in life!"

My cat opened sleepy eyes and looked at me.

"Yes," I told her, "much more than having all the money I could ask for" which for me, having lived in poverty my whole adult life, is a very significant thing to admit. Being able to love myself so much that I naturally reject putting modern poisons in to my system (processed foods, alcohol, you name it,) automatically say NO when asked to do something inappropriate, and find a pattern of daily life that is more sane than frenetic. Money cannot produce any of those lovely results. For me, I believe that self-love can. I have done everything else I can think of to achieve a breakthrough. Meditation, plenty of sleep, physical therapies that assist with PTSD, depression supplements, seeking out non-toxic people. And still I balk at self love and care, the deep, real kind.

Who knows what this heart monitor will find. Maybe it will register the old me, the toddler who actually loved herself. We shall see, but my attitude is suddenly positive.

-GG

My pillbox does much more than hold my meds

 I lost a day this week and have no idea how.

I opened my pill container, the nicest style I have ever had, and to my complete surprise, the next upturned label told me it was Wednesday! I checked all past day containers and they were empty. I concluded that I had mistakenly taken today's doses yesterday. It was unnerving.  I continued to feel uneasy about my grip on reality then I got an email from my brother, asking me to do something tomorrow (which was also confusing because he lives three time zones away and is up at all hours so I am never quite sure how his 'tomorrow' corresponds with mine.) He was kind enough, knowing my LymeBrain is still off keel, to say WEDNESDAY in bold letters. So. Now I know it really IS Wednesday.

WEDNESDAY????? I am not ready for Wednesday! I thought I had one more day to gather trash and recycling. I glanced at the clock and realized it was past the time that I usually see the garbage truck pull to my curb. I madly dashed about gathering bags and boxes, rushing out the door in my slippers, which was a decidedly bad idea since it had snowed again in the night. I was willing to do almost anything to not miss the truck. I had a lot to hand over and no place to store it if I had to wait another week.

Thankfully, I made it. My cats did not appreciate the frenetic activity and retreated to a back room. I also retreated into my own mind as I watched, with satisfaction, the truck haul away my stuff. How on earth did I lose a day? I always rely on my pillbox rather than my calendars, to tell me what day of the week it is. And I find it alarming how quickly a week passes. I feel like I just filled this pillbox up 2 days ago, yet 7 days have passed!  My life has been quite chaotic this winter and I have tried to be as gentle with myself as possible. Last month I caught myself scolding the head of the household (me) for not getting much done in a week. now I just take note of it and let it go.  And this is the attitude I chose to take about the missing day. It let ME go, now I will let IT go.

-GG

Last resort turns out to be top notch

 

During a recent snowstorm, I realized, too late, that I had no fresh greens in the house for sandwiches.

I felt at a loss until I remembered the beets that I had harvested in November. After eating the yummy roots, I had taken the cut-off top and put it in water where I faithfully kept it watered. How could I have forgotten, after tending to it daily, that it was full of rich leaves? It just goes to show ya how easy it is to forget things when you just 'go through the motion' of caring for it. I had watched those shoots so closely, making sure they never dried out, and enjoyed seeing the healthy tops brightening my windowsill, beyond which, the landscape had been dull white for months.

I carefully cut and rinsed many tiny leaves, put them in my sandwich that day, and enjoyed every nourishing bite. As with my many spider plants, from which I often pluck tender leaves as safe treats for my cats, I said, "thank you, plant" as I harvested. 

Beet green nutritional contents include protein, zinc, phosphorus, calcium, iron, magnesium, thiamine, riboflavin, manganese, and vitamins A,B, C, E, and K.  All, for me that day, as fresh as they could be!

-GG