trying for a zen attitude

I find my thinking somewhat scattered these days. It's partially the typically Vancouver weather (sweet rain, not snow) but mostly it's this business of renovating that I've subjected myself too; it is very wearing on the spirit. Here I am, nine days before Christmas, and still waiting for the guys to be finished in my apartment. They were supposed to be done at the end of November, before my surgery, so it's been a challenge to turn around, every day, and see someone's still here.

Xmas bonsai-d.

Now that I'm pretty much healed up from the galling bit of surgery at the beginning of the month, I've been getting through my days, stepping over the rubble in my house, and getting my Xmas shopping done. I bought my Christmas tree last week in a burst of optimism, and it's sitting, rather forlornly, out on my patio, waiting to come in the door. There's no room for it yet, as my handy-man has his tools in heaps in my living room. I did manage to clean up outside (there was quite a bit of spillover) and put up lights, and a few bobbles in the rhododendrons and the baby bonsai tree.  A bit of cheer in the grey gloom outside.

I've been trying to be zen about the whole thing, not letting it get to me as I go through my days. I mean, they might even finish today, except for the little bits that aren't done. I've been doing as much Xmas prep as I can without actually being able to start anything. (Shortbread is on hold till next week, probably just as well.) And I'm frustrated, because writing has been hard, because what I really need, is quiet, and it's not been quiet, to put it mildly. So I'm ready for these fellows, much as they appreciate the work, to be done.

This stress is all self-induced (well, if these guys were a bit more efficient it would help...) and, I have to admit it, petty.  Because in the grand scheme of problems, it's not much. I mean really, what a whiner I am.

I fret about not getting my tree into the house before Santa shows up, and fuss that I can't clean my house. But I can afford to renovate a bathroom to make it even nicer than it was before. And I'm perfectly aware there are a lot of people out there who can't even find a bathroom at all, let alone a warm and dry place to sleep.  

As I make my way around in this seasonal buying spree, I have to step over and around all the street people. They've become a different kind of rubble piled up on our streets, and it's appalling, both that they are there, and that I can step around them. I feel both churlish and overwhelmed, when I pass by the figures huddled in doorways, or standing, hat held out, in front of all the over-stuffed stores. It's all so Dickensian. (Are there no workhouses? Well, I think actually, it's that there are no mental health services, but that's a whole other rant.)

None of these thoughts mean I don't think I'm perfectly entitled to make my home as cosy as I can. I can do the calculations, and know that I'd be joining them on the street, if I were to give a handout to everyone who asked for one. Even if I'd kept my bathroom the way it was, the money would just get sucked away. And I know that just giving things to people keeps them dependent, or at least that's what all the parenting manuals say.

And I do donate. I make monthly donations, and I responded to the earthquake in Haiti, and the flooding in Pakistan, because, well, I'm so lucky. (And I usually cough up when North Shore Rescue calls, too, but that's more selfishly motivated. I want them operating if I ever stumble when I'm mid-Grouse Grind.) But still I feel guilty as I shake my head at the hand's held out.

So. Repeat after me. This is the season to be jolly. Ommm.