Unknowingly, What You Inhaled, is now Embedded in My Lungs...

So I step out onto the deck at 10pm. The smell of pot wafts into my nostrils.

Nobody has smoked marijuana on my property that is a 120x70ft lot. (I may or may not deny having applied some MJ massage cream into my skin this evening)

This can only mean that the nearest back-door-pot-smoking has occurred at least 200 feet from me.

I get to thinking about this.

The fact that I can smell this means that molecules of marijuana that have been breathed into someone else's lungs, then exhaled, have managed to reach my private space quite some distance away.

It's been almost 40 years for me... I hated it so much (and I tried numerous time just to be sure )  that I can't even imagine it being fun, even now that it is legal. 

Those very molecules of mj that I am smelling have been inside someone else's lungs. And they are now inside my lungs.

This kinda pisses me off.

It also awakens my awareness.

So often we think we are "doing things in private" so it's nobody else's business. Yet we have absolutely NO idea how we are affecting those around us.

But the fact is, if we are living on this earth we are part of an integrated community and what we do affects many others, just as the actions of others affect us.


I don't even know how to bring conclusion to this post...

I have been on a healing journey for ... well, to be honest, for 55 years...

But in recent months and years, I have been so impacted by so many people who have no idea that they were making life altering comments, actions and inputs...

It makes me consider my own actions....

Time Does Not Heal

Time heals all wounds, they say.  I call BS.

Time doesn't heal.

I recently read a post about this and I found it to be profound.  The post I read wasn't completely in line with what I've learned in the past year-and-a-half specifically, and more generally, in the past seven years, in which I have lost six very significant players in my life.

But the statement still rings true for me: Time does not heal.

Time simply provides a window in which you are given the opportunity to gather tools. Tools to help you survive. Tools to help you grow. Tools to help you come to grips with your reality,

The tools are presented in different forms and at different frequencies for every person needing healing. I'm sure this is true whatever the nature of your wounds.

I, personally, am determined to grab every tool I can manage to latch onto.

My mind's eye envisions this like an old-school video game where items are dropping from the top of the screen and you are trying to click on as many 'point giving items' as you can while avoiding bombs that set you back.

And for sure I have, and will again, miss some important tools that I was given opportunity to collect. I've also collected some bombs that have hindered my progress.

And honestly, there have been moments, days, and even weeks, where I don't actually want to collect tools because I'm kinda comfortable in my grief and don't really want to move forward.

But the tools are there.

And I'm free to collect them, or turn a blind eye to them, or purposely avoid clicking on them.

And my healing journey will reflect my choices.

*********

January 23, 1982 was 38 years ago.

It was cold. It was snowy. Like, FRIGGIN' snowy! (Snowiest winter I recall) It was not ideal.

But it was the day I said, "I do." And I did.

And Albert committed to "till death do us part." And he followed through.

Charcuterie for Dinner

Charcuterie board for dinner tonight!

Which is just a fancy way to say meat and cheese plate. 

In reality, what I'm having are little bits of scraps of stuff I found in the fridge: two radishes, a wimpy stalk of celery, three inches of garlic coil, two pounds of mushrooms and 27 varieties of cheese. And an open bottle of antipasto - it still looks and smells fine although I don't remember how long it's been open. I'm sure I won't die. 

I cleaned my freezers out last week. It was the fridge's turn today. 

Oh my goodness. I throw away so much food. Between the freezers and fridge I have tossed enough food to feed a family of four for three months... if it wasn't either freezer burnt, slimy or growing green stuff. 

How do fridges get so bad? I'm the only one who lives here. Under the crispers was a layer of brown powder. I'm unsure if it was dehydrated soy sauce or steak blood, but I don't remember spilling either.

I found 7 bottles of mustard. Seven. Dijon, horseradish dijon, old fashioned dijon, two bottles of yellow mustard and two 'fancy' varieties.  I don't even like mustard.

There was a bag of spinach that looked like an 8th grade science project. And a tupperware container of, I'm not really sure - looks like it was either roast beef or spaghetti at one time.  

Having a clean and organized fridge is always so nice. Kinda like washing the kitchen floor and laundering the bedding - so nice and fresh and you always wonder why you don't do it more often.  I did all three today.

It was a good day to be snowed in. 

So fancy

More my reality.

Wandering

Holy Crap!

I know 10,000 steps in a day is the ideal 'goal' for most people. I'm not most people.  I average 4-6 thou.  I'm a sedentary type girl. The only time I come close to 10,000 is on days when I do both Superstore and Costco in the same day. 

But I reached more than ten thousand today.

And let me preface by saying I hate snow, and cold, and dark and all things winter.

But JimE and I went snowshoeing today. 

Okay, I admit I feel like a bit of a snowshoeing expert... I went out for about an hour last week with my dear friend Darlene Mj - my only time snowshoeing since I was in the sixth grade. But I felt empowered. 

"Let's do Moore's Meadow," I suggested. 

Thinking: this is a park in the city, it'll be relatively easy. I can handle it. Even after dark. 

I have lived in Prince George for over 43 years and I had been in Moore's Meadow park exactly ONE time.  It was 1980. I was 15 years old. And while I was in this said park I smoked two joints with an unnamed future-sister-in-law. I honestly have no idea how we found our way out of said park. 

I've never been back. And I've never smoked another joint.

Anyway... back to tonight... 

It was snowing lightly and the moon was marginally visible through a light cloud cover at about -2 degrees. 

We geared up in a parking lot off Foothills blvd and set off. 

Neither of us having any idea where we were actually heading, we just sort of "coin tossed" every Y in the path and headed off. 

Okay, I should interject here that I can totally get lost in a simple mall. I've been known to go browsing in a store and come out and head back in the direction I just came from with NO recollection of direction. 

JimE kept saying, "We can turn back any time - remember we have to repeat our steps to get back to the truck."  

I kept responding, "I can do this." Thinking: if we just keep walking I'm sure we'll circle the park and end back where we came from. 

Holy Crap. 

About one hour into the trek, when we ventured upon a row of houses, I assumed we'd come back around to 1st Ave... not far from where we parked. But no. We were so off course it's not even imaginable. 

 Standing in the moonlight on a path in the woods I consulted Google Maps to try figure out where we were. A woman walking her dog approached us.   I confessed I was lost and asked where Foothills Blvd was.  "Oh. Oh dear. It's quite a ways. I can give you a ride?"  

How does one get so lost so easily? 

We declined her help but thanked her profusely for her offer. 

And off we trudged.

Okay, if you aren't familiar with Moore's Meadow, it's a park in the city bowl. The bowl - y'know the flat area of the city that was carved out by the rivers millennia ago. Who knew there were actual mountains and valleys within the park?? Not me, that's for sure. 

Seriously, there were 90 degree hills. Is it possible for a hill to be steeper than 90? Cuz I'm pretty sure there are some in Moore's Meadow. And we hiked them up. And we hiked them down. ALL of them. Twice, some of them. 

And I started to think about the Children of Israel wandering in the desert for 40 years.  FORTY years.  Here I was two hours in and feeling somewhat helpless.  

JimE, gentleman that he is, offered to leave me and trudge out on his own. Uh...not too likely. You can't find us outta this wilderness, like heck I'm gonna sit here in the woods on my own, trusting you'll somehow make it out and manage to get the truck closer to where I am. We don't even know where I am. 

I regretted not putting a keto bar in my pocket for energy. 

I wished I had packed a water bottle. 

I wished I had enabled Google Location Services path tracker thingy.  Big Brother be damned. 

I did in fact have the foresight to put a couple of "Hot Pockets" in my pocket. Y'know... in case I got cold. 

I didn't get cold. I actually worked up a sweat. 

So the sh!t I prepared for was not actually the sh!t I needed. 

Somehow this was enlightening.

Can we ever really prepare for the sh!t we are faced with? 

Long story short, I put on more steps than average (maybe even more than ever.) And I did manage to find my way 'round to where I needed to be. 

I was pretty much exhausted after trudging 6km through snow uphill and down.