This spring, I told Dave he needed to go to Costa Rica. He disagreed it was urgent. We argued. I won.

Honestly, who argues with one’s spouse about taking a solo trip to Costa Rica?

I wanted Dave to experience what I had in CR and hoped that his enthusiasm would match my own. I crossed my fingers that he would return, tanned and sugar-high on pineapples and bananas: “Geez hon once again you were absolutely right! Pack your bags, sell the house and get proper sunglasses for Rumi. Pura Vida here we come!”

He finally agreed to go, the caveat being he might complete some minor work on the condo and bring down a few essential items. As he was worried about our little fur babe, I assured him that Rumi (neutered 2 days prior to the scheduled flight) would be just fine.

Dave finds downtime difficult. If he is not mired in a brow-sweating project, he’s at a bit of a loss. When we were dating, I lived and taught near Bon Echo Provincial Park. Beautiful most of the year. Not a lot to do; a general store for necessities and bookmobile for entertainment. One particular morning during a weekend visit, I suggested that Dave don my moccasins and take his coffee down to the lake – strollable in 2 minutes. The proposition made perfect sense to me. Dave stared as if I had just sprouted ominous smiley-face bobble heads.

We have long been aware of the differences between us. The turtle and sloth are my spirit animals. The beaver and bee are Dave’s.

On flight day, Rumi and I got up early, threw list-checking Dave into the car and hightailed it to the airport. Dave’s Hawaiian shirt, proudly sporting guitar-playing parrots, was pressed and clean. I was proud of him taking this small leap of faith. I have forced him into a few over the years.

It’s All Fun and Games until Buddha Splits Your Head Open

Dave’s visit went pretty well. He marveled at the bountiful fruit stands and spent a small fortune at the fish market. He tooted around town in a golf cart and befriended our kind neighbor Boston Steve, with whom I had spent many enjoyable hours waxing philosophical during my visit. He enjoyed distant lightning displays and sunshiny rain showers. He sat at the beach and watched the sun glide past the ocean horizon.

He also managed to split his forehead open on the bathroom shelf.

When he sent a photo of his injury, I lost my stuffing. I know my husband and suspected the pretty photos were red herrings: he was doing too many “this is unacceptable!” projects (while I can wear rose-colored glasses and ignore certain details, Dave cannot). And that meant he was not feeling CR the way I wanted him to….which meant he was not going to return and fulfill my little fantasy outlined earlier.

“WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING?? You are supposed to be RELAXING down there. Stop DOING and start BEING!!” was my unsympathetic WhatsApp rant. A perfectly sane response.

Dave sent this cryptic message back: Buddha did it.

This was cause for concern. If Dave had concussed himself, we had a big problem on our hands. I knew I could count on Boston Steve to throw Dave into the golf cart and beeline it for the nearest Clinica Medica if required.

I did not sleep well that night. Rumi, high on post-neuter tranquilizers, was the only one in a state of peaceful oblivion.

Thankfully Dave awoke the next morning. No concussion, just a nice juicy cut on his forehead.

Calmer heads prevailed and the full story finally emerged: at the end of a long day, Dave had decided to fix the leaky footbath faucet in the shower, became frustrated with the lack of progress, stood up too quickly and smashed his head on the corner of one of the glass shelves above the toilet. The shelf where Buddha serenely sat.

I apologized for my overreaction, reiterated that I wanted him to relax, not work. I imagined Dave’s reaction:

Karmic Debt Repayment Plan

Dave arrived safely home a few days later. The trip was a success – he completed necessary work and enjoyed himself. A good compromise for us both.

After a couple of days, he started to feel strange. A tad dizzy. A little vertigo. Tired. He went to the cabin to complete some work and had to come home.

I pulled out a rapid test. He swabbed. Almost an instant positive result.

“Uh oh”, he said.

“To the basement”, I said.

And a few days later, the fickle baseball bat of fate swung hard and took me out at the knees. And then sucker punched me in the gut.

Dave’s COVID infection was mild and he was better within a week. Truly a mild flu, which was a blessing as I was sick as a dog for a solid month, during which a derecho hit Ottawa and we lost power for 10 days.

My first 5 days were manageable: sore throat that morphed into laryngitis and a sinus infection. As I started to feel better, I thought: hey this thing ain’t so bad.

Naively, I was squatting in the eye of the storm. What hit me next I thought would kill me. GI issues unlike anything I’d ever known (including those I experienced with colon cancer). At one point I panicked: I am going to crap myself to death. This is a thing. I am experiencing that thing. This is truly not good. The negative feedback loop for this particular bodily function seemed to be failing.

I would have rather concussed myself repeatedly on the Buddha shelf.

Rumi stayed by my side the entire time. In the thick of it, he stared intently at me and cupped one paw around my ankle.

“Rumi just read my aura”, I moaned to Dave. ” Prepare yourself. It’s bad.”

No Mud No Lotus

As I started to regain my health, senses and sanity, Zen and the Art of Saving the Planet by Thich Nhat Hanh found its way to me. It helped me to regain perspective:

There is a deep connection between suffering and happiness; it’s like the connection between the mud and the lotus flower. There are two mistaken views we have about suffering. The first is to think that when we suffer there is only suffering, that all of life is suffering and misery. The second is to believe that only when we remove all suffering can we be happy. This is not true. Just as a lotus flower that wants to keep blooming has to keep standing in the mud that nourishes it, similarly getting in touch with our suffering, embracing and transforming it, generates awakening, insight and compassion.

Zen and the Art of Saving the Planet, Thich Nhat Hanh

I do not like to suffer. I want to be the lotus flower that flourishes and blooms in perpetuity from the most comfortable, fertile soil with sunshine pouring down on petals.

Illness has been a great teacher for me. Sadly I keep forgetting the lessons.

This meditation was outlined in the book. It is called the Five Remembrances and is used in Buddhism to face and transform our natural fears:

1. I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.

2. I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape having ill health.

3. I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.

4. All that is dear to me and everyone I love is of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.

5. I inherit the results of my actions of body, speech, and mind. My actions are my continuation.

It is said each one is a tough stone to swallow.

I will admit I was not reciting the Five Remembrances while my dehydrated butt was stuck on the throne. Sometimes, in the midst of suffering, it is all we can do to take another deep breath and trust that another will be available to us.

Now, with balance somewhat restored, reflection and acceptance are much easier. The mud no longer feels heavy and oppressive. My roots can wiggle around a little bit and take comfort in the cool stability afforded by the Earth. A much preferable state of being, yet just as impermanent as suffering. I am learning to accept that.

I have also learned that when I receive photos of injuries Dave has sustained while on vacation, I need to take a deep breath before responding. WhatsApp rants can be highly unflattering.

Totally unrelated: I found this and it brought a smile to my face. If you enjoy Vivaldi, enjoy this rendition .

Coming Soon: more cabin updates! Stay well everyone.