Peg Kerr's Journal

The Winter Solstice has slowly been growing in importance for me over the years. It's odd: I pay very little attention to the Summer Solstice. But when you have seasonal affective disorder, the Winter Solstice (particularly in northern climes, where sunlight is scarce in winter) is a REALLY BIG DEAL. I held a Solstice party a few years ago, and were it not for the pandemic, I would have held it again this year: a quiet gathering with friends, mulled wine, and delicious food. *sigh* But I celebrated it this year in my own way.

Churches are beginning to notice this, too: a growing trend in congregations is a service before Christmas, around the Solstice, which some have dubbed "Blue Christmas." My church has always had an outreach to people suffering from mental illness, so this is right in our wheelhouse. As it happens, I have had no issues with seasonal affective disorder this year at all (thank heavens), which I attribute to good diet, regular exercise, and the fact that I have finally conquered my struggles with sleep for the first time in almost half a decade (thank you, Sleep Boot Camp). Coming into this darkest period of winter, I feel good.

Anyway, Blue Christmas. My church held a quiet, elegant, lovely service called "The Longest Night" last night. We incorporated two songs by Peter Mayer, one of my favorite singers (I introduced his music to our music director and she has taken to him as much as I have). One song was "Green," which I sang as a solo, and then the congregations joined as we segued into "Joy to the World."



The other song included in the service is one of my favorite pieces of Solstice music of all time, "The Longest Night." I incorporated some of the lyrics into this week's card.



After Pastor Sara's reflection, the small gathering wrote their prayers on slips of paper left in the manger and then came to the center of the circle to light candles.

I went home and turned off all the lights and lit candles throughout the downstairs. Lots and lots of candles. I listened to a peaceful solstice mix of music, roasted some chestnuts, and brewed myself a mug of mulled wine.



Delicious. Then, utterly at peace with myself and the world, I sat down and created this card.

Solstice



Just one more card and then I'm done for the year! I have had so much fun with this project and have found it to be so valuable (both in terms of creativity and in working things through for myself) that I have already decided that this project will continue next year. I will start a new gallery after the first of the year, but will include a link from the prior gallery to direct people.

Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

For the most part, the collages that I've created this year for this project reflect whatever I've been thinking about that particular week. Sometimes it's just sort of a general over-arching theme. This one, however, stems from a specific incident that happened to me this week and I've been thinking about it ever since.

I have been increasingly worried about my personal safety in my neighborhood. Carjackings, sometimes quite violent, are up over 500% in the Twin Cities. This is not merely theoretical: they've happened a mere two blocks from my home. ( Here is a map depicting carjacking locations in Minneapolis in the past year )

So I've been thinking about this and reading safety tips. One of the things I've done is to stash a lot of stuff I used to carry in my purse in my pockets instead, so that if a fifteen-year-old decides to stick a gun in my face, I maybe have a chance of keeping a few essential items, even if I lose the car. I've separated my car key from the rest of my keys, and I've taken my e-reader out of my purse so I'm not bringing it with me on errands anymore.

Besides being stressful af, this is also frustratingly inconvenient. I have to check multiple locations to make sure I have everything, and yeah, I've dropped things because I'm continually taking things in and out of pockets.

I decided last week to go for a walk on the path around Lake Nokomis. Once out of the car, I was separately juggling my car key, my other keys, my phone, my iPod, and my bluetooth ear buds. About 3/4 of the way around the lake, I realized I had dropped one of my gloves as I was taking stuff in and out of my pockets. I had an appointment in about 45 minutes when I realized this, and I didn't have time to retrace my steps the two or three miles around. Argh, what to do? A bad idea to be caught without a pair of gloves in December in Minnesota. And I liked those gloves; I'd worn them for years.

I got in the car and drove around the lake, hoping I'd spot them on the path. But the path was out of the view of the road for the most part, and I didn't see them. I had just about decided to give up and go home, kissing the lost glove goodbye, when a certain stubbornness arose. I whipped the car around in a U-turn, heading back in the opposite direction, and I stopped to park the car on the lake parkway. Perhaps I could trot over to the path and look down it in both directions and spot the glove that way? If I stopped at five or six spots around the lake, perhaps I'd get lucky?

I headed to the path, and I saw a woman pushing a stroller. I recognized her; she'd passed me going in the opposite direction while I was on my walk. "Excuse me," I said, "I saw you earlier this morning, and I wanted to ask: did you happen to see a woman's black glove somewhere along the path? I dropped it somewhere on my way around the lake."

Her face lit up. "Why, yes! And not only did I see it, I picked it up. Here it is, in the basket of my stroller."

I was absolutely astounded. Understand, I passed probably thirty or forty people on my walk around the lake. What were the chances that the very first person I asked had not only seen the glove but picked it up?

I had been feeling so . . . I don't know. Depressed, I guess, at the thought of the rise in crime. Besides the inconvenience of not feeling safe carrying a purse, I hated the feeling of having to be always on the alert, and a little afraid, and suspicious of anyone coming toward me. It was such a relief to have an interaction with someone in my neighborhood that was about kindness, and connection, and civic responsibility (I imagine she'd picked it up to turn it in to the park's lost and found) and the universe moving in its strange way to return something lost to me.

Gloves



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

Not very happy with this one aesthetically, but it's my own darned fault. I was too busy enjoying Thanksgiving dinner with my family to think of taking pictures. Well, I DID think of taking pictures, but I pulled out my camera in order to take pictures of the girls and myself and our respective sweeties, with plans to use them for a holiday card.

The next day, I did quite a bit of facepalming as I realized I had taken no pictures at all of the table set with the Thanksgiving feast with all the smiling faces around it. So, regrettably, I had to resort to stock art instead of using anything that really reflected the day as I experienced it. The one part of this collage that has a personal connection is the wooden figurine of the turkey and pumpkin. These are long-time holiday decorations that I put out on my front table during this season.

Sorry. I guess that it is inevitable that occasionally I do a collage that's somewhat lame. But that's just because I was concentrating on other things, which in this case I think was justifiable.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. I certainly did.

Thanksgiving



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

I read a Facebook post essay this week that gave me much food for thought. The writer recounted his experience going through his possessions as he and his wife were downsizing, and his realization that he achieved peace and satisfaction at his discovery that what he had, in the end, was ENOUGH. Someone in the comments recounted the tale of Joseph Heller the time he went to a party at the home of hugely rich hedge fund manager. Another guest told Heller that the host had made more money in the past year than Heller had made from thirty years of his royalties from his book Catch-22.

Heller retorted that on the contrary, he had something much preferable that his host could never hope to have. He had enough.

The essay made me think about the line I discovered in a list of life goals that Rob wrote out in his twenties. He wanted to be not poor--but not rich, either. He just wanted enough.

That impressed me. I thought it was rather wise.

I realized over the course of this week that in fact, I have been mulling this concept over in a number of different aspects of my life.

Of course, I have been posting quite a bit over the past few years about culling possessions in the aftermath of Rob's death. What is the right amount of things, of stuff, to have around? How much is enough?

What is the right balance to strike in things like my diet? My exercise program?

I have been thinking about my neighborhood, because there has been, unhappily, a rise in crime in my area, and I have been thinking about personal security. How much of a sense of safety is enough? (I have in the past jokingly described myself as a Gryffindor with high security needs).

I have always said that part of the appeal I find in tarot is that it emphasizes and guides toward moderation.

Edited to add: see also my comment about the children’s book The King’s Equal.

The thinking I've done about this helped determine the design of the card: back when Rob was alive, when I was most exasperated with the glut of his possessions, I used to say that if it were not for his insistence on keeping so much stuff around, my bedroom would ideally only contain a simple bed and a vase with pussy willows.

Enough



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

I took this past week off work. Over the past couple of years, I have rather dreaded taking vacations, because I haven't done much to make them fun. Instead, I've been going through boxes of Rob's stuff, which has always been a difficult/boring/dirty/painfully emotional task.

But over the past three-plus years, I've tackled most of the low-hanging fruit. I've emptied a lot of boxes, and I'm getting down to the last, toughest things to make decisions about.

It occurred to me that really, the things I have to decide about are down to just a few boxes worth. I always had a keepsake box for each girl when they were growing up. Why not put these last few precious things into one box for Rob? Or perhaps two or three at most?

So I bought three plastic bins, and I have been filling one today. I put in the newspaper printed on the day he was born and the newspaper with his obituary. His high school, college, and law school diplomas. Three of his most beautiful/meaningful neckties. A couple of shirts and sweaters I couldn't bear to throw out. His Minicon badges. Various other random items and documents (poems and essays from elementary school. The letter he wrote to Isaac Asimov, trying to convince him to come to Minicon. The badges he earned as a Boy Scout. A few of his business cards and his CompUSA and Best Buy name tags).

And I will move the plastic bin down to the basement (now dry, due to the newly installed drain tile) so I won't have to look at these things every day.

But for the most part, I have not been dealing with boxes this week. Instead, I've been enjoying a staycation. I have walked around the lake, and I've done yoga. I've eaten too many pastries and gone out to eat and ordered wine with dinner. I went shopping in Excelsior (the background for this card is from a photo of a rack of cards in a gift shop there). I bought a couple of sansevieria plants to put in my living room. I went to see Dune at the Riverview Theater. I listened to jazz (the "Friday Coffee" picture is from a live jazz station on YouTube). I lit all the candles in my living room, curled up on the couch, and read fanfiction.

I relaxed and enjoyed myself.

Oh. That's what vacation is for. Well, aside from going somewhere, which is difficult to do without worry during a pandemic. I think I spent the week as well as I could.

Staycation



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

This card grew out of several different threads of thought this week.

One: I'm continuing to do yoga every day and have been thinking about the instructor's continual reminders that of course, you should do your best, but at the same time be satisfied with where you are/what your body can do at this particular moment (which can vary from day to day).

It reminds me of the thinking I've done over the years about the Holy Tree described in Yeat's poem The Two Trees: There is a beautiful and blessed Tree in each of us, a manifestation of the divine within, if you will, and the temptation is to see it as a barren and twisted tree--but this is a lie, suggested by the "glass" (i.e., mirror) "the demons hold." I've written about this before (in fact, this blog is named after this poem): You have to have faith that the Holy Tree is within, but it is hard to see/recognize it in oneself (I have come to recognize the "glass [the demons hold]" as depression--distorted, overly critical thinking about oneself).

Two: I'm continuing to do various actions to improve things: I've started doing hamstring stretches each morning before getting out of bed. Continuing to diligently practice Sleep Boot Camp to try to address my insomnia. Trying to eat Whole Food Plant-Based. Working to stay within my budget. Fixing up my house (a new bathroom faucet went in this week). Taking walks. Using my lightbox.

Possibly because I've been practicing yoga, I'm been paying more attention to what's going on within me--mindfulness. I can hear the inner sotto voce voice running continually in commentary inside my mind. It can be helpful, as it is an extension of my superego trying to help me live my very best life: Add some more vegetables to that stir fry! Don't forget to do your hamstring stretches! Maybe it would be a good idea to read this book right now--learn something new! But that voice can easily tip over into angry critical noise, as the light fades in the autumn and especially whenever I'm tired or bothered with grief: You didn't balance your budget like you told yourself you would do. When are you going to buckle down and do it? Careless! Lazy! Ugh, are you really eating that? Quit wasting your time reading fanfiction! You should be writing! Why haven't you picked up your hand weights? When are you going to wash the kitchen floor? What a slob you are!

Three: I re-took the IDI assessment (Intercultural Development Inventory) which I last took in 2017. It measures where you are on a continuum of intercultural competency.



I was disappointed in my score again, as I was back then. I had progressed further along the continuum, however. In addition, the assessment evaluates where you think you are versus where you actually are--and the disparity had lessened somewhat, which indicates I'm perceiving myself and my inner work to become less racist more realistically.

So: all week I've been thinking about all the things about myself (and things around myself over which I have control, i.e., the house, the budget, etc.) where I am trying to improve things. It took me quite a while to hit upon the one word that summed up this week's theme. "Self-improvement" was my first thought, but that wasn't quite right. The term 'self-improvement,' as one of my friends in today's coffee group remarked, has been rather ruined by the self-improvement industry. It can smack of a somewhat smug self-absorption, of a tendency toward perfectionism. And what I was trying to pin down is not just about me, but about things around me (like the house, for example).

After messing around with a thesaurus for while, I finally hit upon the word "betterment."

I do not think perfectionism is at all helpful. From my own experience, I know that trying to become perfect is a hopeless business and a setup for depression and anxiety. No, I do not want to be perfect.

But I want to be better. Maybe my hamstrings will be a little more flexible today. Maybe I will manage to squirrel away a bit more money. Maybe I will eat more vegetables than I did yesterday. Perhaps I will be more patient, kinder, less insufferable, a better parent and friend.

It is a sort of mental trick I am trying to master, holding two possibly mutually exclusive precepts in the mind simultaneously: I want to be better, and yet, I don't want to live a life where I am continually unhappy with where I am. I try to remember that the Holy Tree is always within, whether I see it or not. That's what the guidance from the yoga instructor I have been watching on YouTube is all about: strive for improvement, yes, but accept and honor where you are at each particular moment. "You already have within you," the instructor tells her students, "everything that you need."

The background of this card is the pattern of my yoga mat, which I picked because it reminds me of the Holy Tree. Over that I laid what at my office we call the Wellness Wheel: we talk about how our lives are made up of all these different aspects (financial, work, spiritual, mental, creative, etc.) and they are all part of the whole.

As I was mulling over this theme for the week, the line from Hamilton soundtrack jumped out at me in my memory: "I've never been satisfied." So I put in the logo from Hamilton, with his outstretched, reaching hand (always reaching, always striving) pointing to the center of the Wellness Wheel ("Your Life"). Over the star of the Hamilton logo, I pulled the world icon from the IDI logo. That world icon echoes the Wellness Wheel in shape.

I could have stuck more elements into it, reflecting all of the aspects in myself I'm trying to improve, but instead, I decided to go for more simplicity. I ended up rather pleased with this one, aesthetically.

Betterment



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

I mark Fridays as the day I do a digital collage to depict the previous week. This is week 39, meaning I am 3/4 of the way through the year. Generally, by about Wednesday, I am giving serious thought to what the week's theme might be so that I can depict it in a collage, but this week was difficult. This is the first time I really floundered settling on a central idea or concept for the week.

There were things I had thought about, but I'd done collages about them already: sleep. Reading fanfiction. Trying to get healthier. What was individual and distinctive about this week? If anyone had asked me about what my life was like this week, I would have said, "Routine." I wasn't bored. I got up and went about my day. I exercised, I cooked, I ate, I did the dishes, I worked, I read, I watered the plants, I talked on the phone. I slept.

In this weird pandemic time, the days definitely seem to run together. Eventually, it begins to feel a little like Bill Murray's movie Groundhog Day. What makes this day different than the day before? Perhaps I feel it more acutely because I live alone. (It also made making this card annoying, too: all the pictures of me here show only one hand at the most because I am taking the picture with my other.)

It wasn't a difficult week (well, aside from the rigors of sleep boot camp). As I said I wasn't bored. I just . . . was.

Once I figured out what the week was about, the concept came together rather quickly, and I'm pleased with the result. You can't quite tell because of the transparency overlay, but in the upper left corner I am washing dishes and in the upper right corner I am cooking. The other pictures are pretty straightforward, I believe.

Routine



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

The CPAP machine has not solved my sleep disturbances. I still wake up multiple times a night, sometimes lying awake for hours. Sometimes I conk out and fall into bed as early as 6:30 pm; other days I can't fall asleep until after 2:00 a.m. The fact that the problems have continued has been a rather crushing disappointment. I had SO hoped that going on CPAP would make the insomnia go away, but alas, it hasn't.

I finally got in for a video appointment this week with an insomnia specialist. After reviewing my sleep diary, he determined I was sleeping (with wild variations) an average of 6 1/2 hours a night. So he gave me a set time of seven hours--I am to get into bed at exactly 11:30 pm and get out of bed at exactly 6:30 a.m., in an effort to re-set my internal hormonal alarms. He warned me that this would be rather difficult at first (in fact, he dubbed the regime "Sleep Boot Camp.") But if I stick to it, it should put enough pressure on my physiology and reset my hormonal clock sufficiently that my body will actually sleep when I'm in bed. Hopefully.

Last night was the first night. I gotta say, it was really tough to stay awake until 11:30 p.m. when I was dying to get into bed at 8:30 p.m. I wonder how long it will take me to adjust.

If I hadn't decided at the beginning of the year that each collage card title should be one word, "Sleep Boot Camp" would be this week's collage title. I mulled over the problem for a while and finally hit upon the word "Reveille." That made me think of the Andrews Sisters, and their song "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy."

Maybe having my own personal trumpeter would make it easier for me to get out of bed on the mornings that I'm groggy because I've only slept four hours.

Reveille



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

I'm having my house repainted. It's been ten years since the whole thing has been done. I repainted the east wall last year (the one that was the most badly peeling) and hoped that would be sufficient to stave off doing the whole job for a while. But the company that painted it ten years ago called me and offer a deal: they'd repaint it for the same price I paid ten years ago.

Sign me up.

I chose the same Sherwin-Williams color because I've always loved it. The company calls it "Cosmos" but I always think of it as morning glory blue.

Here is what the front porch looked like last week:



and here is what it looks like freshly repainted:



The frame around the image is the exact color of the paint. Here is one wall that is halfway done. You can see the old (faded) color up on top and the new color below.

Paint



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.

I had a hard time deciding on a theme for the week since my life has been pretty uneventful recently. I thought about doing a card called "Fatigue," which would be about both my sleep disorder and Covid pandemic fatigue. But I didn't know what I could use for images, and I wasn't inclined to do yet another depressing card.

But then it occurred to me: I have started to walk around a nearby lake known as Lake Nokomis. It's about three miles around, and it's a lovely walk. For those of you who aren't in the Twin Cities: we have a beautiful chain of lakes here in the city, and I've gone through periods where I've walked regularly around Lake Harriet, which is pleasant, too. But why have I never gotten into the habit of regularly walking around the closest lake to my home? I have no idea, but after trying it a time or two this week, I have decided I'd like to do this regularly.

What's more, on one of my walks this week, I ran into a couple of excellent long-time friends I haven't seen much of recently: Pat Wrede (Patricia C. Wrede, one of my writing mentors who helped me so much when I was writing my first book) and Beth Friedman (carbonel). It turns out that the two of them walk the lake three times a week, and so I'm going to be joining them at least two of those three days. I'm really pleased about this: companionship will make it more likely I'll keep up the habit.

I took a bunch of pictures around Lake Nokomis, thinking I'd assemble them into a collage, but I particularly like the composition of this one (although I did do some simple editing to take out a couple of errant sticks) and decided to use it alone. That makes this the second card I've done this year which is just one image.

Nokomis



Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.