Optimism and Stupidity

I turned 35 today. Generally birthdays aren't a huge deal for me but for some reason this one is special. Turning 30 wasn't a big deal, but 25 and 29 were really hard. All of the birthdays between here and 30 haven't been anything special. But this birthday has been something different. I'm excited about this birthday. I've noticed that each year seems to get better. I'm at the age I always wanted to be. And now at 35 I really feel like things are going to begin for me. I'm stubbornly optimistic.

My day has been blissfully ordinary and I'm content with that. I had the day off as part of my odd work schedule so I slept in a little late. Jeff wished me Happy Birthday as he left to go to class. I stayed curled up under two blankets taking in the warmth. But I got up shortly after to make it to my dentist appointment. I don't normally schedule appointments like the dentist on my birthday but this was when he could get me in. And it feels like a new beginning. My mouth is clean and fresh and healthy (cavity-free!!) and I'm planning to make this year all about health. I plan to be lighter and healthier by my 36th birthday than I was this year.

I also plan to write more, and actually publish something during this year. As you can see I have high hopes for this year. 35 seems like a turning point, a crossroads if you will. And I'm determined that things will start going the right way. I set up my studio last night so all I have to do is show up each day and start writing. This afternoon as Jeff heads back to class I plan to head upstairs to write. I'm ready to have a little discipline in my life and hopefully the success will follow. Writing and walking will be my focus for the year. Did I mention I'm stupidly optimistic today?

I did though find some additional humility today. Jeff met me over at my favorite noodle place for a birthday lunch. We talked and ate our noodles and had a nice time. As we were leaving I reached in my pocket for my keys. They weren't there. I checked my coat pockets. I checked my purse. I checked everywhere again. No keys. As we got closer to the car I could hear it. It was still running. I had managed to leave my car in the parking lot, running and unlocked while I had lunch. I said a quick silent prayer to the gods of parking lots and thanked them for my car still being there. It could easily have been stolen. I should be kicking myself for my stupidity. Instead, today it just reaffirms my faith in humanity. Optimistic, I tell you. I'm just hoping that this wasn't a senior moment. I'm too young for those.

Why poetry makes me look stupid

I hate to look stupid. But more than anything I hate to feel stupid. But a poem has humbled me. It's not one of those classic poems that no one can read. Heck I loved the Odyssey and the Illiad. This is very simple Zen poem that I had adopted practically as a mantra. 

Right after I got married I worked in a burnout job where I got yelled at a lot. I did phone and customer service for a county hospital. I enjoyed the job but some days were really tough. My boss was one of those amazing women who understood how tough it was. She would periodically give us little cards, gifts, or sayings to keep us going. One day she left me a poem on my desk, after a particularly hard week. She had pulled it out of her Zen once-a-day calendar. I tacked it up on my cubicle. It simply said:

It is much better

to close your eyes, sit in your study,

lower the curtains, sweep the floor, burn incense.

It's beautiful to listen to the wind, listen to the rain,

take a walk when you feel energetic, 

and when you are tired go to sleep. 

I never wrote down the author and the piece of paper has been lost to history. I loved the simplicity, the Zen feel of it. To just focus on the simple things and worry less. It was, for a long time, one of my saying to remind me to relax. 

So this past week has been very tough. I'm still fighting insomnia and I'm having trouble relaxing. I had forgotten some of the words of the poem so I went looking for it. I cheated, using Google, and pulled it up. Only to find that I had been missing over half the poem. The actual poem was written by Yang Wan-Li in the 1100s. He was one of the masters of the Song Dynasty poets. 

Don't read books!

Don't chant poems!

When you read books, your eyeballs whither away, leaving the bare sockets.

When you chant poems your heart leaks out slowly with each word. 

People say reading books is enjoyable.

People say chanting poems is fun.

But if your lips constantly make a sound

like an insect chirping in Autumn,

you will only turn into a haggard old man.

And even if you don't turn into a haggard old man,

it is annoying for others to have to hear you.

It is much better

to close your eyes, sit in your study,

lower the curtains, sweep the floor, burn incense.

It's beautiful to listen to the wind, listen to the rain,

take a walk when you feel energetic,

and when you are tired go to sleep. 

Wow. My former mantra actually stands against everything I believe in. I love to read books. (please note that my eyes have not withered away) I love to memorize poems. My beautiful zen poem was actually some guy complaining about too much noise and wanting to become a hermit. As a librarian, I'm actually shocked by this full poem. The words "Don't Read Books" will never ever escape my lips. They shouldn't even be in my vocabulary. But there it is. The mantra that I have used for years is a lie. A poem made me look stupid. 

Emergency Room

I had an emergency room trip this weekend. No it was not for Jeff, who tends to be a little accident prone. And it was certainly not for me, who has yet to visit the ER for myself (knock on wood). No this was for the third member of our family. The cat. 

I was sitting outside reading on Saturday when a couple neighbors stopped by to talk. We sat out on the porch while the cat wondered around the property. Mostly she stayed on the porch though. We were talking when I saw the cat get down into a crouch. I assumed she was hunting my hummingbirds, who have been making very, very regular appearances at my feeder. When I looked over to see what she was looking at I found not a hummingbird but a two inch wasp. And that's when the cat sprung. She batted at the wasp...and the wasp struck back. 

I saw her paw try to grab it. And then she pulled away quickly. She rushed to the front door and began to lick her paw. She wouldn't put the paw down. I went over and picked her up to look at her foot and she had a dark black mark in the middle of her pad. The stinger looked pretty embeded. 

So Jeff called the emergency animal clinic and we bundled her into a duffle bag (our cat carrier is loaned to a friend) and drove to the kitty ER. They got us in really quickly. We saw the nurse and then the doctor came in. He looked at her paw carefully. The conversation went a little like this.

"Well I'm not seeing a stinger."

"It's in her lower pad." 

"Oh okay." We flipped the cat on her back. 

"Right there." 

"That's pigment." 

"That's what?" 

"Just a bit of pigment. Like a freckle." 

"I've never seen in before." 

"See look how it doesn't move or rub off. I'm not even causing her any pain when I push a little. It's just pigment." 

"So no stinger." 

"Not that I see." 

So I had to go out to the receptionist and explain that I brought my cat in for a freckle. To the emergency room!! There is just no way to do that and not feel like an idiot. The vet was nice and explained that you should always come in for a sting but I still felt like a moron. We stopped for ice cream on the way home (the cat's favorite) but I still haven't lived it down that we took her in because she has a little pigment on her paw. But at least she's okay. (By the way, as I write this she's sitting on the table enjoying being petted. She's a bit spoiled.)