Long time without posting - Residency!
Suddenly it's nearly December. Where did half a year go?
Oh, wait, I know:
Serving on the Ritual Arts team for the first SpiralHeart camp I've been to in years, and my first-ever visit to Four Quarters Farm. A year of preparation, a solid week of amazing work, a lot of post-camp processing. Only my second-ever time on the team that creates the magic. Camp was in mid-July but the work continued into September.
Residency! Working fulltime as a chaplain at a Level One Trauma Center, 9 hours a week of process-and-education work plus 48 hours/ week (on average) of patient care. And charting -- let's not forget the joys of Electronic Medical Records. Why do something with one click, or Apple-level intuitive processing, when you can bury it 10 clicks deep? Bonus if you can make each page load slowly on most computers. (sigh).
(Don't let my complaining fool you; I'm just plain loving the experience, even when I get home bone-weary and heart-heavy.)
Plus the coven I'm in is hiving, and taking several months for the process. We just had our Ritual of Decision, when each of us individually chose whether to stay with the old (a coven formed more than 21 years ago) or move to the new (a coven that won't be officially dedicated until September). Surprised myself by choosing the new one ... and now have some grieving processes and separation anxiety to work my way through.
I've been talking to patients about 'accepting the new normal' after whatever ails them. The abrupt change to a 'new normal' after maiming accident or catastrophic illness is bigger than what's going on for me, but the slow decline of 'normal aging' requires the same kind of adjustments, just more gradually and on a (usually) gentler slope.
I was telling someone the other day about how I burst into tears the day I gave away my ice skates ... and realized that moment is a few years in the past, now. Since then I've had to recognize the importance of bulletin boards at home, and post-it notes at work; I've had to become compulsive about writing down passwords before I fully commit to them; the shoes that were comfortable for a decade suddenly are not, and the manufacturers don't seem to be making anything I like wearing. Not to mention that it's more and more difficult to open bottles and jars; and in noisy environments my hearing aids don't help but neither does turning them off; and you can tell me your name but that doesn't apparently mean I'll recall it.
I'm pleased with life at the moment, with new adventures, with a growing discernment about palliative care, hospice, extraordinary measures, and when to use each. I'm pleased with coven work and degree work, and even a moderate amount of teaching.
Life is rich and full -- and strange.
Blessed be.
Oh, wait, I know:
Serving on the Ritual Arts team for the first SpiralHeart camp I've been to in years, and my first-ever visit to Four Quarters Farm. A year of preparation, a solid week of amazing work, a lot of post-camp processing. Only my second-ever time on the team that creates the magic. Camp was in mid-July but the work continued into September.
Residency! Working fulltime as a chaplain at a Level One Trauma Center, 9 hours a week of process-and-education work plus 48 hours/ week (on average) of patient care. And charting -- let's not forget the joys of Electronic Medical Records. Why do something with one click, or Apple-level intuitive processing, when you can bury it 10 clicks deep? Bonus if you can make each page load slowly on most computers. (sigh).
(Don't let my complaining fool you; I'm just plain loving the experience, even when I get home bone-weary and heart-heavy.)
Plus the coven I'm in is hiving, and taking several months for the process. We just had our Ritual of Decision, when each of us individually chose whether to stay with the old (a coven formed more than 21 years ago) or move to the new (a coven that won't be officially dedicated until September). Surprised myself by choosing the new one ... and now have some grieving processes and separation anxiety to work my way through.
I've been talking to patients about 'accepting the new normal' after whatever ails them. The abrupt change to a 'new normal' after maiming accident or catastrophic illness is bigger than what's going on for me, but the slow decline of 'normal aging' requires the same kind of adjustments, just more gradually and on a (usually) gentler slope.
I was telling someone the other day about how I burst into tears the day I gave away my ice skates ... and realized that moment is a few years in the past, now. Since then I've had to recognize the importance of bulletin boards at home, and post-it notes at work; I've had to become compulsive about writing down passwords before I fully commit to them; the shoes that were comfortable for a decade suddenly are not, and the manufacturers don't seem to be making anything I like wearing. Not to mention that it's more and more difficult to open bottles and jars; and in noisy environments my hearing aids don't help but neither does turning them off; and you can tell me your name but that doesn't apparently mean I'll recall it.
I'm pleased with life at the moment, with new adventures, with a growing discernment about palliative care, hospice, extraordinary measures, and when to use each. I'm pleased with coven work and degree work, and even a moderate amount of teaching.
Life is rich and full -- and strange.
Blessed be.