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Posts Tagged ‘conscious living’

B&D Photo

Barbie & Dannie – Taken at Shell-Fish’s Wedding in 2012

Today is our 32nd wedding anniversary. Very romantic, getting married on Valentine’s Day, right? Would you like to hear the proposal?

Barbie: “If we really want to buy this house, we’ll have a lot better chance of getting a mortgage approved if we’re married.”

Dannie: “You’re right. So, do you want to get married next Saturday? We could just run down to Virginia and do it all in the same day.”

Barbie: “Okay. That works. Then we can apply for the loan on Monday.”

It wasn’t until a day later that we realized “next Saturday” was Valentine’s Day.

Here are some other things you may not know about us:

1. When we met in February of 1977, we didn’t like each other at all. He was one of my bosses at the Nebraska Public Service Commission. Behind each others backs, I called him “Mr. Military” and he tried to get me fired.

2. By August that same year, everything had changed. We embarked on our first road trip, from Nebraska to the East Coast. Even after 60+ hours of driving, we never ran out of things to talk about. And we still haven’t.

Dannie 1977

From our 1977 Road Trip. This is Dannie at the Air and Space Museum standing beside an original Norman Rockwell painting.

3. We make up jokes about everything. Maybe it’s shared punch lines that keep us together. (“You never count your checkers while you’re sittin’ on the litter … there’ll be time enough for countin’ when the poopin’s done.” Five points if you can name that song!) We have thousands of insider jokes. I just love that about us.

4. When we lived together in Lincoln, we walked to work (just over a mile), and we still regularly love taking long walks together year round.

5. We’ve always had clearly defined chores. Currently he makes the bed, does the laundry, and takes out the garbage. I cook, manage the finances, and clean (with the twice-a-month assistance of Connie).

6. When Britain was young, we took turns every other day in the primary care giver/helper roles. We called it “Being on the Hook.” As a toddler, when Britain needed something, his first question was always, “You on hook, Ma?”

7. Behind the wheel, he is the one who drives too slowly. I have a lead foot.

8. He snores (sometimes), and so do I (sometimes).

9. When I worked for Columbia Gas, Dannie packed my lunch every day for four years and always included a love note.

10. We do our grocery shopping together, and he always complains about how long it takes me to read the labels.

11. Most TV watching we do together. Over the years our favorite shows have included MASH, 30 Something, LA Law, Friends, Mad About You, Desperate Housewives, Modern Family, and Parenthood.

12. He took all the fun out of Nebraska Football by insisting that it was NOT “just a game.” This is one of two topics we have agreed to NEVER discuss again.

Happy Anniversary, Dannie! Way back when, everyone said it wouldn’t work … hasn’t it been fun proving them wrong?!?

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A strand of 24 beads

“Breath Beads” – Made for me by my friend Amy Williams

My friend Amy gave me these beads when we had breakfast together a couple of days ago. She didn’t call them “prayer beads”; she mentioned using them for deep breathing and centering. So, I’m calling them “Breath Beads.” I counted them. There are 24 on the strand, not including the face bead, which doesn’t have a mouth . . . to remind me to stay silent once in a while (I made up that last bit, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?).

This morning I decided to observe the process of using the beads. I thought I might slip into a nice meditative state. Instead, I noticed my typical pattern with anything new. I immediately slipped into a nice analytical state.

I hadn’t finished my first, supposed-to-be cleansing breath when my mind hijacked the experience. “What’s the point of all this?” it demanded. Then it launched quickly into calculations: “Hmmm . . . 24 beads . . . an average of 5 seconds per breath . . . this is going to take about two minutes . . . maybe more, though, since I seem to be breathing a little more slowly than usual.”

Satisfied with the timing, it next began to notice the difference in the shapes of the beads. “This one seems too big and bulky for a peaceful process . . . this one is tiny. It could easily be missed, and that would throw off the timing. If I finish in under two minutes, I’ll know I missed one of these tiny beads. Oh, wait, I like this one; it’s got more texture than the others.” My eyes were closed, so color wasn’t part of this particular analysis. My mind did, however, begin searching for a pattern, and finding none, it went straight to judgment: “A pattern would be better . . . then I would know how far along I was . . . I would know which bead was coming next. If it were more like a rosary, I think I would like it better. It would be more predictable.”

After two minutes of this, I completed my first Breath Bead Experience. And now my mind feels satisfied that it sort of knows what to expect next time. Maybe it will settle down and let me notice more than a single breath when I try it again tomorrow morning.

Silly me to expect the first time to be anything but a Left Brained Bonanza. Oh, how well I know that little scientific mathematician inside me who is ever busy making sense of the world around her. Analyze to your heart’s content, my dear. Trust me, though, when I tell you there is joy in not knowing, in simply resting in the perfection of experiences that can be neither measured nor controlled.

I know . . . I know. It makes no sense! But that’s the point. It’s not supposed to. Hey, I have an idea. What if you observe me tomorrow while I breathe, and you can analyze it all you want after the two minutes have passed. Shall we give it try?

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Photo of red sky

The sky was so red this morning, it looked like the forest was on fire.

I woke up this morning to a tornado watch (red sky at morning, sailor take warning). It was no surprise. Yesterday was 70° – tomorrow’s forecast calls for snow. There’s so much energy in a transition like that. “Conditions are favorable for severe weather.”

I wish my consciousness were evolved enough to issue emotional weather alerts … conditions are favorable for severe bitchiness. There would be levels of alerts: The Watch, The Warning, and The Seek Shelter NOW!

With just a little more focused attention, this just might work. After all, I have over fifty years of “storm watching” experience!

Conditions like overworking and neglected self-care would certainly prompt a “watch.”

And any major holiday is good for a warning or two.

Even good things, like vacations, can create a flurry of activity that can easily escalate to storm proportions. There’s usually at least one squall accompanying any trip that involves air travel. I know this about myself.

I’m thinking this would make a great app for my smart phone! It could be integrated with the calendar. Just a few individualized profile settings and I could not only receive high alerts on my phone, I could have them sent to my family members, too.

Overworked Mom Warning … remove boots before walking on carpet.

Restless Wife Watch … approach with caution.

My husband reminded me this morning that he and our son have had a coded alert system for many years. Oh, I remember now: “BAM Alert!” they would whisper to each other, signaling the need to steer clear until the storm passed.

Getting to know and take care of our own physical and emotional needs is such an important life skill. I don’t really need a phone app. I can feel it in my body when conditions are favorable for severe emotions.

The difference between a storm of fear and a tornado is that it does no good to run face first into a tornado. But facing fears head-on . . . well, it’s the only thing that does help.

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Colorful watercolor

Mountain Morning (watercolor by Barbie Dallmann, July 2012)

Monday night my husband received test results indicating the cancer is back. Since then I’ve been numb. I know intellectually, but I can’t feel it. Actually, I can’t feel anything. I haven’t been journaling. What is there to write about when I’m unwilling to feel anything?

This morning I tried to go into my heart and find a feeling. The first thing that popped out was anger. I allowed it to percolate for a bit, just to feel something, but it seems like such a waste of time and energy to rant, blame, and bolster myself with righteous indignation. (Don’t get me wrong . . . I’m extremely good at all those things!) But today I have a deep desire to avoid that side trip and look for the road to acceptance.

Acceptance about the truth of the test results and what they mean.

Acceptance about the difficult decisions that will have to be made in the near future.

Acceptance about the costs: time, money, energy . . . peace, contentment, security. (I wish I were enlightened enough that those last three things weren’t on my list, but if I’m looking for truth, I need to look at that, too.)

So the biggest thing I need to accept is my own vulnerability, my own weakness, my own fear.

Oh my, yes. That’s it. Here come the tears. There she is, the part of me who is running from acceptance, the part who wants to hide from the truth. She’ll stay busy! She’ll watch movies! She’ll go out with friends! She’ll even do the dishes when it’s not her turn!

I didn’t go to the cottage yesterday because I didn’t have time. Really? I can still delude myself with that old excuse?

I know my patterns. I will research a lot, consult a lot, talk, read, analyze, and study. I will prepare myself to be strong and to fight for as long as it takes. “Never give up!” that’s my motto! That’s also how I disguise my fear. I wrap it in the persona of the Courageous Warrior.

I am grateful for that part of me. She is tireless and effective. But today I also want to acknowledge and accept the weak, hiding part of me. She is tiny and so very frightened. She could easily be missed. But without her, my range of emotions narrows to anger, stoicism, detachment. She is the one who holds the keys to compassion, creativity, possibility, and trust.

And so I recommit to my intention for 2013, uneasy but willing to explore a new way of being in the world: accepting.

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