Life Cycles

For as long as I can remember, I have been a morning person. I just wake up early, I can't help it. I'm lucky that way. I used to think it was solely due to my internal clock, but I am rethinking that. Having returned to the East Coast, I begin to realize that early morning is the most accepted way of lifestyle there. By 8am, the parking lot in the apartment complex is empty. But by 9pm, they have rolled up the sidewalks. This is where I was raised. This is that good old fashioned work ethic thing. Part of my heritage, part of my parents way of life. So if I got up early in the morning, perhaps it was as much because life just started early.

By contrast, when I have lived in the south in Texas and Oklahoma, or in the midwest in Illinois, while people are still industrious and conscientious, there is a more sensible, less hostile approach to life. One gets up in the morning, perhaps not at the crack of dawn. One does not necessarily rush at life as if every moment would be your last opportunity to complete some task upon which your life depended.

I prefer the second approach, and have come a long ways towards retraining my body to go along with it. I still wake early and do stuff but without the drivenness. Mornings tend to be my most productive time of day, especially now. I have my new hit of energy and focus bourne of the night's rest. My thinking is clear, my joy untampered with by unpleasant encounters.

Of course, my body will shut down for maintenance on a regular basis. When I was in college, every semester I would run flat out until I hit the end of my endurance, about two thirds of the way through the semester, just when things started to fall due. Then I would take to my bed for a three day stint of rest. No matter what event took place or what assignment had to be turned in, I slept, getting up only for absolute necessities - not even to eat. Now its more like twice a year, and the downtime isn't quite as predictable. Sometimes its short, sometimes longer.

I hear my colleagues (most of whom are much younger than I) complain about the early hour of class (8:30 am) as they are dragging into the room, state that they are not able to adjust to the time zone, can't sleep in a strange place, etc. Unusual sounds, unusual rooms, unusual schedules, unusual foods. It all throws their cycles off. They just can't unwind. Its hard to adjust to a different pace of life. And for many people the answer to this is to take a pill. Antidepressants, tranquilizers, aspirin, something to just make it go away without having to do much to fix it. These medications have their rightful place, but I wonder if setting aside time to relax and do nothing but meditate and realign with the universe's God-given cycles might produce better results in the long run even if they take more time upfront.

I guess I am thinking of this stuff because we are talking about life styles and cycles for people in the past. How in early times, lives were more regulated by daylight and darkness, by the cycles of nature which predicated their activities, by a design outside of themselves. I'm pretty sure no one nowadays could tolerate having their lives regulated by outside forces. We prefer more control over our lives, deciding for ourselves when to rise, when to retire. Even if we do not make wise choices in these areas, we find ways to enable our decisions.

I am learning that part of the healing process is taking time to get back to some sort of natural cycle of life. Rise with the sun, retire with the sun, spend time out of doors when it is comfortable to do so, hibernate when it is not. Cooperate with the way God designed my body in order to fully engage the healing power which God built in. Don't wait until I reach the end of my endurance. Plan ahead and plan these rests into my life.

I have a friend who is going to a nun's retreat in Missouri next week, and she talks about spending the day in such an environment. She says, "You would like it there. Very peaceful, very much a rhythm of prayer built into daily life." Sounds wonderful!

I think I would like it there. I think I have something like that here. Perhaps this is as much the reason why I look forward to coming here every year. This used to be a convent. You can still feel the peace. It permeates every inch of this facility. Great little nooks to sit and meditate, many with a full view of either the fountain or the great lake. You feel closer to God with all of the distraction of daily modern life stripped away.

Take time. Take time to get back to a healthy cycle of life. Take a moment, a day, a week. Reconnect with the things of God, with His creation, His design for your body. Try it. You might be surprised. Not a vacation because you don't want to end up vacated and empty; not a retreat because you don't want to run away for a short time only to return to the same troubles; but a cleansing and reconnection with the source of life to recharge you, enable you to be better at what you will return to.

Rusty

One year. One year is way too long to be denied music. I sit in class, and hear names and terms, and I know I have heard them before. They float back slowly from the dim recesses of my brain. I look at a score, and I read the notes, and my fingers stumble across the keyboard to catch up with my eyes. I sing a line, and have to think the rhythms - how could I have gotten *so* out of shape in such a short time! Sight singing? Yikes!

I scramble to get it back. Too bad I can't just whack my brain with a pipe and knock the rust and sediment off the tubes like you do with plumbing. This will take WORK! How easy it is to listen to great music performed by others and think you are OK. But without the doing . . .

My arms ache from the hours at the keyboard, my head hurts from reading so much, my throat is dry from singing, torturing myself in a tiny practice room. It is like forcing yourself to get up and move after surgery. It hurts, but it is the only way to make progress and get up to speed again. In spite of the schedule, I find myself wishing I could do this every day. I have yet to see any progress, but I know it will come.

Two weeks is not long enough. Two weeks will never satisfy. That's why I am returning to a job where music can be part of my life again. I am already telling myself to hold back and not overcommit. I would be involved every day of the week with sacred music if it were possible. I know I cannot. At least not right now. Maybe someday. Or at least when I get to heaven. Or when my children finally move away. (-:

As for tonight, this little interlude is coming to an end, and I must return to read the final assigned chapter, run over the alto parts for Josquin (I haven't sung alto in awhile), and then to prayers. So I bid you adieu for the evening, and wish you sweet dreams. As for me, I hope I dream a symphony. Or at least a piano concerto!

Free Lunch

Traveling is a bit trickier these days since I have a much smaller window of "holding power" after eating food. And the kinds of food I can tolerate are restricted, especially when I am traveling and under the added stress of encountering new situations. I don't mind learning to manage this small inconvenience. After all, the alternative is to have an ostemy, and I didn't care for that one bit when I had the temporary one.

I have figured out what I can handle in fast food places (almost nothing), and where to be creative about finding wholesome foods that are not health foods. For me, everything must be cooked, no whole grain stuff, have no seeds or chunks, not be seasoned with certain spices (cinnamon is one of the worst offenders) - its an art form to stay fed on the road.

The other half of the art form is knowing when to eat to time things so that you won't end up having an accident. This whole scenario is what makes me drive whenever I possibly can. I can control what I do and how it gets done much more, and avoid ending up feeling yucky or in distress or worse yet, wearing a diaper. But that is no reason not to take public transportation. You just have to figure out how to do it to minimize potential trouble.

So I only had a half a banana for breakfast, and a half glass of ginger ale for lunch. Even with that, as soon as I reached my destination, I headed straight for a bathroom and spent some quality time there. I built that into my shuttle reservation - I pretty much knew I couldn't just whoosh straight from the luggage pickup area to the shuttle for a 40 minute ride to campus. And I was right.

So my strategy was to get lunch/dinner at the airport before hopping on the shuttle, porting it to campus, and eating once I arrived (there are precious few eating places anywhere near campus, and until you get in the dorm and find a payphone, no way to order anything - cell phones aren't always working on the further shores of almost into Canada). Unfortunately, I didn't think about the size of the airport where I landed, and while there were several eating places, there was nothing I could tolerate in the way of a full meal.

So I opted for a scone and an iced tea. Not much after eating lightly all day. And while I was trying to munch that down and check in all at the same time (which was a pleasant surprise since registration didn't start until four and it was nowhere near four), the tornado alarm went off and we all scurried into the tunnels to wait it out. I gave up on eating.

My hope was that one of the other students would have a car and be planning to go out for a meal and I could hitch a ride. But there weren't many students arriving, and they ate before they came on campus (knowing what isn't there themselves!). So I was out of luck. I sighed and thought of checking the vending machines, but decided I would just pray about it, which I did. I asked the good Lord if He would take me to dinner and provide the kind of food I could eat.

Not twenty minutes later, one of the professors poked his head in the door and said hi, and that he had provided a schedule of when the dining hall would be open this year (they are only open if they have large enough groups on campus - sports campus, conferences, etc. There aren't enough students in our program for them to open up.) This was a vast surprise since last year they were not open the whole first week or so.

We chatted a few minutes, then I talked with some friends from last year, then went to my room. I glanced at the schedule. The dining hall is rarely ever open on a weekend. Lo and behold, they were open for some group called the LutherHostel. I went over to the dining hall to see if I could buy dinner there. I asked the ladies serving, and after they checked my status, told me I could go through the line. Roast chicken, carrots cooked in a butter sauce with basil, fresh salad (which I politely turned down), roast potatoes - perfect! Topped off with a steaming mug of chamomile tea to ward off the chill of the fog rolling off the lake.

While I ate, I got to hear the lecture to the group of retirees. It was an interesting history of the college and a glimpse of future plans. Afterwards, with a happy tummy, I went to pay at the cashiers, and the lady there said they wouldn't take my money - the meal was free! How often does *that* happen? I usually pay not just for my meal, but for my kids as well. What a treat that was.

Not a bad way to start the week. Not bad at all.