With Gratitude

Dear Sweet Friend and Mr Bee,

It’s Tuesday morning and I am sitting on the veranda drinking an Americano from Ah Cacao and reflecting on what an amazing month I have just experienced here in Playa. I want to tell you both, I will be forever grateful for the time I have spent living with you at Las Olas (the “waves”). The name of your home is very appropriate when I consider the never-ending waves that have washed over me this past four weeks. I loved the ocean waves (of course), but the waves of extreme gratitude, of love and friendship, awareness, and of healing – these were the strongest waves of all. Gracias.

The month has also been about reconnecting with one of the very dearest friends of my heart. I won’t ever forget the night that we met at a recovery meeting back in the day, Sweet Friend. I shared in that meeting that Soul Mate and I were brand new in our beautiful new town. I shared that moving there was a culmination of years of hard work and years of dreaming, but that the dream was tempered with a little bit of fear because I had arrived in our new life with a diagnosis of stage three colon cancer. I was scared. I shared that we had left our kids and family behind and I didn’t know anybody and that I really, really needed a friend. You came up to me at the end of the meeting Sweet Friend, and I knew when you hugged me and I looked into your beautiful green eyes that you would be a friend for life, however long that life was going to be. And so it is.

Here are just a few of my favourite Playa moments and things: 

• Starting each morning with tropical fruit, yogurt and granola
• Tuesday excursions to Xpu-Ha to lie on the beach (whoops, kind of burned myself up a bit yesterday)
• Friday night recovery meetings
• Tacos at “Tacos on Juarez” after Friday night meetings (Ten pesos each, I mean seriously)
• My nearly daily walks to and through the Mega store (can you really ever buy too much hot sauce?)
• Morning meetings with Bruce, solving world peace and other minor issues
• Fish filet dinners, at home or out
• Working on my course work for Recovery Coaching and learning that I am going to love being a coach
• Learning that I like Kundalini yoga
• The many laughs shared three ways
• Shrimp tacos
• A Valentine’s Day trip to Tulum with my Sweet Friend
• Shrimp ceviche at El Camello in Tulum
• Planning the She Recovers retreat that we will hold later this year
• Getting over my fear of walking down Fifth Avenue (the vendors really can’t make me buy stuff)
• The zillions of hours that Sweet Friend and I spent pondering the meaning of our lives and recommitting to our dreams
• A wicked massage on the roof, under a full moon
• More tacos 

So today I start my journey home. I have a lot to go home to. I will be extremely happy to see Soul Mate, First Born, Yoga Kid, and all of the other girls and people in my life. I lead an extraordinary life, and am blessed to have extraordinary people in it. Thank you both for your generosity, and for everything that you have taught me this past four weeks. We are all going to be beyond okay. Skype you soon. 

The next time you are both walking down the beach in Playa, think of me, okay? Oh, and have a taco for me on Friday night after the meeting. Or better yet, have three.

Love

Dawn

One Day, Many Feelings

I haven't blogged in six days. I am not going to lie, not writing has caused me some anxiety. However, I had a good reason for not being on here, I took the days away to spend time with my Best Friend, whose heart has just been ripped apart. We had a lovely weekend, and it felt good to be fully present for her visit. But now, here I am, a little bit scattered, feeling rusty. I am grateful to be putting words into sentences again. Blogging is my practice, my meditation. My check-in, my touchstone, my way of figuring out where I am. Where am I today?

Well, physically I am in my living room, sitting in my favourite easy chair with my feet resting on its matching ottoman. The sun is pouring in through the window, a warm breeze coming through the just cracked window. I am sipping (as opposed to gulping) a most excellent cup of coffee. My father is visiting, but he's still adjusting to time zone changes so he's not up yet. It will be a fun visit, although he doesn't have a clue just how much fun I actually have planned for him. For one thing, this is the first time in four years that my father will have my attention during a visit. I usually work while he is here, even when I take days off. The last time he was here he made a snippy comment about my always being on my Blackberry, and I took note. As I have blogged about on earlier occasions, up until I hit the wall with a thunderous crash a couple of months ago, I had a serious problem with work/life balance. I am beginning to see that my problem with working too much was largely self-created, although the environment I work in clearly contributed. I can only take care of my end of the silliness. I have an amazing therapist, and am making good progress.

Where am I emotionally? I am quite looking forward to a well-hatched scheme that will surprise my father this Thursday. My Baby Sister (I've blogged about her too) is flying in on Thursday night for the Royal Wedding. My dad doesn't know this, but he will be tickled pink. All of his children are scattered across this continent so he rarely gets to spend time with more than one of the four of us at a time. This will only be the second time that my sister, father and I have been together in about six years. My dad is 80. These moments matter. We will drink tea and watch William and Kate get married, and then spend a few days playing tourist and introducing Baby Sister to my lovely town. So happiness here, in anticipation of a father-daughters weekend. I just hope we don't give him a heart attack when she walks in on Thursday night.

My heart is also somewhat heavy. Tomorrow is my mother's death date anniversary. I don't remember ever having my father around on the anniversary of her death. It's often (well, always) a difficult day for me. And I don't want to make it difficult for him. I am not sure how he marks it, or if he does. I am sitting here crying just thinking about how hard it will be for me not to cry tomorrow. Crap.

And finally, I feel a little guilty because I was a bit bitchy to my two daughters last night. I say "a bit" because they were being a tad annoying and pushing my buttons on purpose. I am very rarely bitchy with them, although I am probably a lot of other things such as "bossy," and "controlling," and the like. Still. I know they will forgive me, as I forgive them. But in case they have difficulty, here is a YouTube video I found on forgiveness that I quite love. As I love them.

So, where I am today. Grateful. Hopeful. Excited. Sorry. Sad.

It's bound to be a good day. Hope yours is too.

The Art of Female Friendship

We may not have dressed quite as formally as the Empress Eugenie and her friends in the painting by Franz Xaver Winterhalter, but we all sure gave ourselves the royal treatment at our women's retreat last weekend.

In the end, seven of us gathered at Orveas Bay Beach House for a couple of days of good company, relaxation, gourmet-inspired meals and plenty of tea and coffee. (One boyfriend asked one of the girls why she was going to a place called Ovaries Bay. He's funny like that, but he wasn't far off.) Quite unanimously, we have all declared the retreat a magnificent success. 

The weekend was about sharing. Space. Food. And most of all, stories. Most of the narratives that we shared were similiar to what other groups of women would share in such a setting. We are really just your average ordinarily amazing women. Perhaps the most unique thing about us is that, combined, we share 75 years of twelve step recovery. Still, none of us consider ourself "recovered." Nor do we describe ourselves as sick, or defective, or deficient human beings. I don't think that I would be wrong if I said that all of us were absolutely grateful to be where we were that weekend, not just at Orveas Bay, but where we are in our lives.

Overall, we are a group of generally positive women, each just doing our best to live our best lives. A couple of us are recovering from overwork (including motherwork) and burnout. A couple more are actively working on workaholic tendencies in order not to become like a couple of us. Still, like so many women, most of us continuously struggle to balance our work lives against everything else including relationships, exercise, recovery, hobbies or other passions. At least one of us was seriously sleep-deprived upon arrival (darned toddlers, anyway). We are all at various stages in romantic relationships, from long-time married (me) to newly blossoming love and a couple of women thoughtfully pondering the possibility of remaining single for a spell longer. Not unhappily, I should add. Each of us had the opportunity to contemplate our issues with sugar and wheat, and one of us (not me) actually has the discipline to have given both up. She's our self-care hero, at present.

The pace for the weekend was set at slow to slightly slower. Most of us read, several of us meditated throughout the weekend, a few others strolled. One of us strummed a guitar. I for one climbed an outrageous trail, an activity that I swear nearly killed me, although the two women who were in front of me did fine. (Next time I am going to leave the beautiful beach rocks...on the beach). We made regular trips to the hot tub, one of us swung in a hammock on the porch even though it drizzled rain. We read some more, wrote steps, and a couple of us knit.

The spirit of womanly cooperation was captured beautifully on multiple occasions. Two massive meals came together, were served, and cleaned up, effortlessly. We came up with the fairest and most practical sleeping arrangements that we could manage, and smiled when the youngest of us admitted that she had the hardest bed, but with her tongue in her cheek proudly stated that as the youngest she could handle it. One of us (not me) sat patiently for nearly two hours helping another sort through a tangled ball of yarn. When it was time to pack up on Sunday morning, everybody came together to get tidied up. Again, effortlessly.

When we gave each other hugs before we climbed into our cars for the drive back to town, it seemed clear to each of us that we had shared something special. We all got to know one another, just a little better, and in so doing, came to know ourselves a little better too.

We are already looking forward to doing it again.

Your friends will know you better in the first minute they meet you than your acquaintances will know you in a thousand years.

(Richard Bach)

Cheerio For Now

I am just about to shut off my computer for the the weekend and head off to a beach house with some close female friends. Hope to do a little healing, a lot of laughing, shed a tear, or three. A little bit of step writing. Some healthy eating. A walk by the ocean or two. A hot tub or two. About eight cups of Creamed Earl Grey.

It's a beautiful day in Paradise. Peace out. Here is where you will find me...

Or check out the website:

http://www.orveasbay.com/accommodations.htm



Digging For Gold

Digging around in a trunk full of memories sure does yield interesting results. I keep coming across items that I forgot even existed. I pick each one up and I am blown away by the memories. Last week's findings were really emotional, today's were a little lighter.

You see, I am currently on a rather frenzied search for a sweater that I am sure I knit thirty years ago. Can't find the damned sweater. Surely to god I haven't conjured up a false memory on this? As I blogged about a while back, I seriously remember knitting a pastel coloured baby sweater with unusually long arms. It should have been in the box I located today filled with First Born's baby dresses, but it wasn't. There were, however, some other absolute treasures that I will probably feel compelled to write about in the coming days.

For example, today, I found three poems from my past. Which is quite a lot, given that I've probably written a total of six poems in all of my life. I might have been sixteen when I wrote the first one, but can't say for sure. Best Friend will remember when it was penned. (She never even dabbled in addiction, so she has a much better memory than I.) All I remember is that the poem was about a boy. Not sure which one.

Silent Tears, Secret Fears

I wonder what you would do if you knew you were my life,

Wonder what you would say if you knew what I longed to hear.

Do you miss me the ways I miss you?

Can you feel for me like I feel for you?

I wait.

I wonder.

How ironic is it that I can't even remember for which great love of mine this poem was intended? I am not sure if I forget because I was fickle...or fried. It was definitely in the 70s. Damned boys anyway. Except for this last one who has been hanging around for going on twenty years. He's a keeper. Although I've never written a poem about him...

Girls, now they are a different story altogether. I have been so blessed when it comes to women friends. I have a small handful (Best Friend and the Mouse, in particular) of the most amazing women friends who have been there for me in good times and in bad, for well over three decades. Others I have known and loved for two decades, including some amazing women who have travelled or are travelling the road of recovery with me still. Old or new, these chiclets mean the world to me. I know that I wrote the following peom specifically to convey to Best Friend all the love and appreciation I had for her so many years ago, but tonight the poem goes out to all of the gal friends in my life today.

Forever Friend

Twenty years may pass until next we meet

Yet I will recognize our friendship in your eyes

And if they hold instead

A sad or solemn gleam

I shall cross the boundaries of time

To hold you.

Because as they have all taught me, that's just what girl friends do. Ask Carole King.