my blog's on my website

I've officially transferred my blog over to my website at www.susanekberg.com. Check it out - you can even leave comments (and I DO love comments!). New - the nutrition page. New recipes every week, and updated events. So much so much!!!

oh what a tangled web...

this website, techno stuff. Don't get me wrong. My new website is absolutely stunning (check it out at www.susanekberg.com). I wanted a fresh look, incorporating what's important in my life - health, nutrition, current events, events in the community, recipes, and my own work and services. It's all such fun - typing in recipes, doing my blog, typing the events and news items. But I still wonder where it's all leading. I'm heading in four different directions right now, and I don't think I can do ALL of them, but I just don't know ... yet. So I keep doing the work, trusting that I'll know what to do when the time comes. At least I'm glad that this current energy thing has lifted, or that we've walked through it. It was intense! I've heard from a good friend that her husband has liver cancer, and another is leaving her husband, and another is moving from the state, and this is just this past week. Changes changes everywhere and not a stable moment anywhere, it seems. But it's okay, really. It's just that I'm craving sugar, well, mostly chocolate, but at least I'm walking every day, but I notice this phenomenon, and I wonder what it means - is it because the weather is turning, and I find comfort in chocolate? Well, duh, but besides that, what IS it? Lack of sunshine? Lack of forward movement, even though it's slow? I know Steve feels the same way, okay, almost everyone I know feels the same way, so we're in this together, but it still sucks sometimes. But again, it's all good - I know I'll be just fine, just like I know you'll be just fine. I think if I didn't have my work, I'd be a hurting unit. Because when I'm working, and in that beautiful peaceful still place, I KNOW. The trick is to remember that I'm always in that place, even when I'm NOT working - that's the trick. So tonight I take deep breaths, watch iCarly goes to Japan with Bill, then travel west to Dad's until Wednesday. Fun times, good times, family times. I'll try not to worry about anything, or plan anything, or think beyond this next moment. But sometimes that's hard to do - I just like to KNOW, you know?

But at least the website's up and running. Baby steps, baby steps. Today, my website, tomorrow, that project, or maybe that other thing that's in the works, then all of my writing projects and nutrition program. On and on and on. Maybe I'll just drink my green tea and watch "Ugly Betty."

a little Rusty

I wrote this piece early this morning. It was simple. It was direct. But it is not what I wanted to say. Well, maybe it was one side of what I wanted to say, but this is another side that I will leave on my blog. What I want to say is that things aren't black and white - they are all shades of gray. And although both Steve and I are 99% easygoing, when that 1% falls in opposite corners, the fur flies. That's how it's always been, and I know this, but it's interesting that it keeps coming up. Over and over again. Yes, they are all wonderful opportunities to look at unfinished business, but sometimes, just sometimes, I'd like it just to be easy. But how could it necessarily be easy when you're in close community with a husband, 4 children, two dogs, one fish, two hermit crabs, one turtle and one cat? On some levels, yes, we can MAKE our lives easy, but it's complex, those webs of connection between us all. How do we treat each other? How do we see each other? What makes us stay?

So I wanted to talk about our elderly dog Rusty who is in a lot of pain, and I wanted to talk about the difficult decisions around the end of his life, and how we all want that to look. And about how we all see things differently. And that's okay. The key seems to be how to all live with those decisions.

vespers

Every night Bill and I bow our heads, clasp our hands in front of our eyes, and say our prayers. He usually wants me to start, and I launch into a lengthy dissertation, starting with praying for our family, for Bapa, for my sisters and their families, for Steve's sister and brother and their families, for our friends, neighbors, on and on as the circle of love widens. Then I start in on being thankful for good food on the table, warm clothes on our backs, and a roof over our heads. We pray for the heads of the governments around the world, and we pray that the sick people be made well, that scared people feel not scared anymore, that hurt people be healed, and that angry people find happiness. It really takes about 5 minutes every night.

Last night I was tired, so as we lie there, with our eyes closed and our hands clasped, I asked Bill to start. Okay, he said. I smiled. I couldn't wait to hear his sweet prayer. I bet he'd go on and on, kind of like my standard prayer, but with that creative Bill twist he's known for. Maybe he'd be thankful for brownies ("Brownies are God" was his profound statement when he was 2). I just didn't know. I waited. He hesitated a moment, then opened his mouth, and out came his prayer.

"Thanks, God. Amen."

amazingly beautiful

I really don't care who you voted for. I won't tell you who I voted for. But this morning when I woke up and started reading all of the election results, I was moved to tears (I know what you're thinking - I'm ALWAYS moved to tears, but this is a TRUE moved to tears) to see most of my friends make it back into their seats in North Dakota. And as I read what Obama says about being a UNITED States of America, and hear John McCain talk about this historic time, and how he urges everyone to HELP Obama heal our broken nation, well, I'm just so proud to be an American that I'm stupidly tearing up again. In fact, I've been humming that tune for the last two days, "... where at least I know I'm free, and I won't forget the men who died that gave that right to me..." Again, whether or not you believe all that loyal mumbo-jumbo, that's not the point. We're here, people - we've turned a corner. It's not about losing half your portfolio, or being scared about the future. WE CAN DO THIS. I just know we can. I have not a shred of doubt in my whole body.

I think if we all get down on our knees and pray, or sit our butts down in our chairs and meditate, or send healing white light to everyone else in the world, heck, even to the world herself, we've got momentum. It's not good to just sit back and bite our nails or wring our hands and say, "oh oh oh oh." Let's get out there and watch our thoughts - make somebody happy today with a kind smile or word or hand on the shoulder - tell somebody it's going to be okay - donate to the Red Cross or New Life Center - sign up to serve at Churches United - DO SOMETHING. I think it's time we got off our butts (okay, I may just be talking about myself, although I HAVE been doing a lot of great things, and have some great things in the works, but I'm still in progress) and showed the world what we believe in, what we're made of, and just DO IT. It's the "Nike" time right now - movement is finally possible after all of these months (years?) of sitting still in the water. So what will I do about it? I've written up a proposal for some independent work for an organization I dearly love, and will wait to hear if I'll be helping them out. I'm formulating my game plan for some work I'll be starting in 3 years, I'm opening myself up to being the chair of another organization that I believe in, and that will lead to more wonderful opportunities, I just know. I can feel it.

So even if the rain/snow/sleet is coming down, even if thunder and lightning looms, my heart is excited and open and happy and I just can't wait to see what today brings, and tomorrow brings. More of this relieved movement, I'm thinking.

heaven

It's been 4 months today that Mom died. I feel like I'm drifting away from that time, so sometimes I revisit those final hours and see if it still hurts, see if I still cry. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Yesterday a memory hit me so forcefully I had to lie down for a while and just take deep breaths and walk right through it. It was right after Mom died. Peggy and Dad went into the family waiting room to wait for Zanthe from the church to come down. I sat with Mom for a while, then wandered out into the hallway right in front of the nurse's station. All of a sudden I couldn't walk anymore, and slid down the front of the nurse's desk and curled into a ball, hugging my knees, rocking back and forth. They couldn't see me from behind, so I thought I was semi-safe, but at that point I didn't really care. It's amazing what you do when you're in deep grief. You cry in front of anyone, without shame or embarrassment, you squat down and curl into a ball in public, whatever - open season on public displays of embarrassing behavior.

As I'm rocking I feel someone squat down next to me and put their arms around me. I feel someone's head touch the side of mine, and I hear someone whispering, "It's okay, it's okay. I know, it's so hard. It's okay, just cry. It's okay." I didn't know who it was, but I was crying too hard to even care to look up. I thought that was pretty nice of whoever it was, and they didn't try to say anything, really, just sit there with me and keep their arms around me. Note to self: when you're trying to comfort someone who's in a lot of pain, just sit there with them and hold their hand, or put an arm around them, or hold them. Don't say anything.

The mystery comforter eventually got up and left. I had no idea who it was. When I was partially composed, I stood up, wiped my nose on my sleeve (okay, another public display of embarrassing behavior, but not as embarrassing as what was running down my face), and asked the nurses who was there with me. "Trudy," they said. Trudy? Trudy was the nurse that some of my sisters thought had had a little lack of bedside manners, yet she was the one who had sat with me. I dried my eyes and went back into Mom's room to help the nurses get her ready for the funeral home. Leading the team? Trudy.

I can't say "Happy 4 month Anniversary, Mom" because it certainly isn't happy in the traditional sense, so I just acknowledge this day - four months at 12:40PM, Mom, since you started your new adventure. I want to tell you that now it's starting to seem like a dream that you were ever alive, that you were ever here, and I look at pictures of you, and it seems like another life, like there's a big block of wood between that time and this time, and maybe that's the way it's supposed to be, I don't know. I only know that I still miss you, and that I'm so glad we were together this lifetime, for almost 48 years. Thank you. Oh, and isn't heaven just like I thought? I thought it would be - hope you're having fun. I'll see you in my dreams. Love - #5