|Snagged from the Internet|
Next Sunday, Easter is a day for kids to color eggs and hide them. I wonder how in the world it became a day filled with chocolate bunnies and hard-boiled eggs. Few even mark Palm Sunday, unless you're going to a Christian church that does such things. But maybe it's only because I no longer put myself into situations where attending church is something one does. It reminds me that just because you don't see a particular event, it doesn't mean it's not happening somewhere. I'll bet there are millions of palm fronds being waved in millions of churches around the world, and I am just simply no longer tuned in to it.
When I lived in Boulder, although even then I wasn't a churchgoer any more, during this week I would take five days out of my busy life to meditate and retreat from the world in a nearby convent with the sisters of St. Walburga. I wrote about the experience on this blog back in 2010, and if you're interested, here's the link.
It's been four years since I wrote that. I just reread it and realize that half a decade is not a trivial amount of time. The person who wrote that piece is still me; I'm just older now and deeper into my years of retirement. This time that I take on Sunday mornings, just me and my laptop (not to mention the entire world of the Internet if I choose) has been going on for hundreds of Sundays. I don't think I've missed any, and I just checked: I've written 283 posts on this blog, which I began in December 2009. Wondering what I said back then, I just reread my first post and realize that some of the comments were left by people who have been following me since I first discovered the world of blogging. My friend Connie who lives in Minnesota is there (Far Side of Fifty), having come over from my other blog.
Have I said everything I wanted to say? It doesn't seem so. I've made new friends and look forward to hearing what he or she will say in the comment section. I am not one of those who responds to every comment, but I do check out the blog of any new person and will begin to follow those who interest me. My world has become much more centered around the blogosphere, and it's hard for me to imagine how I would have fulfilled my need to write if I hadn't started down this path. Expressing myself, writing down my thoughts and feelings, is just part of who I am. Although I do get the occasional urge to create something more permanent, for some reason I am not drawn to becoming a published author. I guess it's because of all those books that were created for my boss during my working years; I learned that when something comes out in print, there is no going back. If I choose to change something on any of my previous posts, it's a quick little update and there you go, nothing is unchangeable. I really like that, having published books that required an errata sheet. As hard as I would work to make sure there were no errors, there were always some, and a few were egregious enough to require a written retraction. If I don't like something I wrote earlier, I can delete it or change it. What's not to like about that?
I'm taking a class next weekend, both Saturday and Sunday. Remember when I wrote about wanting to find out more about becoming involved in what it takes to become a Death Doula? Well, next weekend is a training class for wannabes. Some of what I'll learn about is (from the class description) "body preparation, vigil presencing, active listening, holding sacred space, how to integrate multiple traditions into a cohesive respectful offering, working with many options for burial presentations, and many hands on skills." That's a lot to take in during two eight-hour-long days. I'll probably write a bit about what I learned on Saturday when I'm sitting here next Sunday, which also happens to be Easter. I don't think it's a coincidence.
Years ago in Boulder I took a two-day training class to work as a Hospice volunteer. That training was intense but very valuable. It's been almost three decades since then. I spent the next two years spending time with the dying person while the primary caregiver took a break. After those two years, however, I couldn't do it any more. But I will always be grateful for the families and patients who shared their lives and their death process with me. Now I'm ready (I think) to take it up again, in a different way than I did before. This class will give me the opportunity to find out whether this is what I want to do or not. I'll also meet some new people who might become friends, who knows? In any event, it will be educational. I'm looking forward to it.
And here it is, another post written, my tea gone, my partner still sleeping beside me. One big difference is that it's no longer dark outside, but the sun is up and a light rain is falling. I'll be going to the movies with my friend Judy later on, but I'm feeling more centered now than when I first woke up, not knowing what would emerge from my mind today. I'm always a little uncertain: does the brain still work? Is there anything new to write about? And now it's time to start my day, everything having worked just like always. Oh, and make sure you take the time to share a smile with a friend today. The world will be a better place if you do. Until next Sunday, I wish you all good things.