Water to Stone and Back Again

Yesterday I went to my weekly Al-Anon meeting, where I have not said anything since I was criticized for mentioning the Buddha, and even though the person was there who ventured that criticism, I went ahead and talked anyway, and was reasonably glad I did. This meeting is in a room attached to a really gorgeous old church that I like to walk through on my way to the meeting. The topic yesterday was fear versus faith, and the ebb and flow of faith.

After work yesterday, I picked up a book at the library (Luxury Fever: Why Money Fails to Satisfy In An Era of Excess, by Robert H. Frank), bought more canned cat food at Mission Pet Hospital, and then talked to my friend Dot on the phone. We used to live right across the street from each other, and after she moved to Santa Rosa many years ago, we continued to talk on the phone on a regular schedule, every three or four weeks, and when I got up that way, I would see her. She has been starting a business and we had to abandon regular phone dates, so yesterday was the first time we’d talked in months.

As for P., our current routine is that I call him once every weekend. Once in a while, I take him to a movie. In a couple of weeks, I’ll take him to the Johnny Depp pirate movie. He seems noticeably less anxious these days. He used to flip out if I said I would have to miss making a call to him, but when I told him I was going to Michigan and would probably not call him while I was there, that I might in fact miss two weekend calls, he said, “Oh, well, that’s life.” He has a buddy who has been taking him to a Buddhist gathering each week where they chant, which P. finds calming and sometimes even does on his own at home.

I was thinking I was not getting nearly enough antibiotics down Thelonious’s little hatch, but I got out a teaspoon and checked, and it looks like it might actually be the dosage Dr. Press suggested, which was a load off my mind. Today and yesterday I didn’t see her do the gulping that he thinks indicates nausea. I did see her do it two days ago and pretty much every day before that, so it’s probably too soon to be optimistic, but I am, anyway. Dr. Press is sounding like she should stay on the antibiotics for a good long time. If it clears up her intestinal problems, that would be fantastic.

I also got a call from my mother yesterday evening, who was trying to send me a massive Mike Malloy sound file. We had a nice chat. She was enthusiastic about the idea of me moving back to Ann Arbor, which warmed my heart, and she also agreed that we don’t have to live right near each other to like each other. Another option besides moving there would be to visit more than once a year, which is what I’ve been doing for many years. Why once a year? Dunno. Maybe it was originally a budget-related decision.

It’s funny, how one can be thinking one can’t stand something, that something has to be a certain way or life will be unbearable—generally this seems to require something or someone being some other way than it currently is—and this state of mind can persist for however long, half an hour or two weeks or ten years, and seem so solid, seem like the absolute truth, and then suddenly there is relief, a glimmer of light, the lovely feeling that, oh yes, it will be OK. I can indeed stand this. Everything will be fine. I don’t believe in God, but I call this grace. And then on top of that to have a friendly mother (not to mention a friendly father) who says it’s OK whichever thing I do—well, how lucky!

Another good thing is how a hard time always seems to be followed by a time where life seems very easy and free, just rolling along. The harder the hard time is, the more liberating the period that follows, it seems. Eventually, of course, what feels like a ball rolling effortlessly down a gentle slope on a sunny day, in a fresh breeze, maybe with the smell of new-cut grass all around, suddenly develops a flat spot: clunk, clunk, clunk. Then it hardens into a triangle: it does not roll and everything seems so hard.

Or like the feeling of water suddenly becoming stone. What makes it flow again? It seems to swing back and forth of its own accord, though one gets better at knowing what is helpful and what isn’t.

The smell of roasting vegetables I would have to put in the helpful category. I baked eggplant and onion last night, and red peppers. The smell may actually have been more wonderful than the finished product, but the project was worth it for that alone.