The Moment is Enough

Emmett has his own way of getting the day started.  He scuttles up to my pillow and whacks me in the face with his tail.  He’s not subtle, this second-fiddle cat who got promoted to Concert Master last December.  I consider myself trained.

From bedroom to kitchen in the gray, half-light, stiff joints find their rhythm.  The ritual of cat food alchemy and kitchen clean-up come from muscle memory, not any sort of gray matter function.  That, in itself, is a miracle.

It’s been a week since my new Medicare drug insurance ended the two month gap where I had no coverage.  I rationed three weeks of meds over those two months and learned, decisively, that Vyvanse helps the depressive part of my bipolar existence.  Without it, I made piles of my possessions in my mind with Sticky Notes of who should get them.  I slept a good part of the day and stayed in bed the rest.  All the hobgoblins nattered ugliness in my ear. I lived in a different sort of gray world.

With Vyvanse, windows of color open.  Joy slides in with the brush of Emmett’s tail and putting paint to paper.  A different ritual starts to reform—swimming, cafés, doing the next thing.  Gratitude resurfaces—for my weekly yoga class, for my steadfast sister, for the Salty Dog Ruccicino at the Erly Rush coffee drive-through.

A cardinal just flew across the parking lot—a blaze of color in the sunlight.  Limpy, the feral calico, prowls around the cars, waiting for opportunity.  Birds chirp.  Trains rumble.  The thought of getting a massage later in the morning creates a warm spot of anticipation.

In this moment, all is peaceful.  The moment is enough.

13 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Kerri
    Jul 09, 2019 @ 10:34:18

    Love, love, love this! Love your art. Love your blog. Love how you turn the aches and frustrations of daily life into something precious and beautiful. You inspire me to be more awake, to practice gratitude for the little daily joys. Have you ever thought of publishing your blog entries as a book in the form of daily meditations? Something like Mark Nepo’s Book of Awakening? You write beautifully. I really think there is a book in you. Please never stop writing or making art.💕💕

    Reply

    • Sandy Sue
      Jul 09, 2019 @ 11:21:34

      Thank you, Kerri, for all this. I worked on a memoir for a long while, but found that going back over my story just open up old trauma. I’m happy offering my daily ups & downs here & capturing them in my art journals. I think the cards in my Etsy shop carry some of that energy in a more irreverent way…

      Reply

  2. Tanya Rymniak
    Jul 09, 2019 @ 16:24:07

    What a marvelous day

    Reply

  3. Thomas
    Jul 10, 2019 @ 04:20:28

    Beautifully poetic, loved it!

    Reply

  4. Writer Lori
    Jul 10, 2019 @ 04:21:55

    “From bedroom to kitchen in the gray, half-light, stiff joints find their rhythm. The ritual of cat food alchemy and kitchen clean-up come from muscle memory, not any sort of gray matter function.” A complete picture limned in a handful of words…fabulous! So glad that you are feeling better. Viva la Vyvanse!

    Reply

  5. Kiki
    Jul 11, 2019 @ 05:55:04

    As Lori put it so beautifully, I am so glad for you to have found some respite with Vyvanse. You paint such a glorious, wonderful picture with your words and your very stylish and well-thought-out collage – I see the colours, the light, the hope and joy coming from it and I wish you that you can keep all of it for a long, long time!!!!

    Reply

  6. Robert@69
    Jul 24, 2019 @ 11:19:27

    I’d been meaning to write you about flowers and our circumstances made that near impossible as we travelled and now I see i have found you in a much better space after going through 60 days of forced withdrawal and oh God Sandy/Sue I can’t imagine. I love this line you wrote: “windows of color open. Joy slides in with the brush of Emmett’s tail….” windows of color Flowers! I thought and immediately an image of such came to mind….and then it only became sweeter and tender with joy sliding in with a brush of? May each breath become a brush of gentleness to yourself.

    I can and would gladly send you flowers – though not on the web i do have some.

    I think the Raven in me wants to steal that wonderful phrase of yours as it speaks so powerfully to my heart. May i?

    Reply

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