First house call: I didn’t know he had candy.
Hidden inside the pocket over his heart, a cluster of orange Saf-T-Pops with paper loop handles . . .
The crackle of cellophane. White sleeves rolled, he scrubbed his hands in our sink . . .
Some kind of sweetness came into my room with Doc Pete, a man craggy and calm as Lincoln.
He sat on my bed, black bag on the floor. Tender fingers probed my throat, behind my ears. He checked my forehead as if it sizzled, blew on his hand and winked.
While I was laughing (then coughing), he shook down the mercury in his thermometer. Tucked its cool silver bulb under my tongue.
Once, Doc Pete let me eavesdrop on my own heart, stethoscope bell pressed to my chest.
Dr. Pete left me dosed and Vicks Vapo-rized. He left me soothed. And he left me suckers. To this day, I love orange tootsie roll pops.
Fast forward to last week, me tossing and coughing, wishing for old-fashioned comfort. A little sleep.
I forgot my “Yes” Tank is finite
Saying Yes too often had taken its toll. Too many classes and podcasts, projects and research.
Did family and friends miss me? Yes. Did the dog shred his bed, missing our daily jaunts in the woods? (Tip: Don’t waste duct tape on fleece and fake suede.)
To be fair, there was also an accident; I was rear-ended. I didn’t blame the other driver. But my resentment grew over so many interruptions: shuttling between insurance agents, chiropractor and LMT, car repairs (twice), texts and mailings and follow-up phone calls.
I glossed over annoyance.
When the head cold hit, I parked this sorry-for-myself body on the couch. “Sleepless on the Sofa”: my new reality show.
Considering whiplash plus my overextended energies, no wonder the virus engulfed me.
Still, my agenda meter kept ticking.
Pressures mounted.
Coiled around me.
We’re talking serious tentacles. Like eight anacondas—with octopi suckers—enwrapping head (and heart) with a squeeeeeze.
Leaving little circles all over my face.
Pressure marks.
Did I keep plugging my agenda meter, turn out my pockets to get more done? I finally said “Uncle.” Shut off the pressure valve.
I needed Doc Pete. I needed a house call. (Maybe he’d had trouble with Yes, too.)
I needed grace to sweeten my attitude over all the lost time.
Voila! House Call
A friend brought me a rose, a card, a bottle of wine and tiny embossed charms for the wine glasses.
She’s a yoghini, among other marvels, and at my request she adjusted my Standing Tree Pose (which I practice while nuking my neck wrap).
I’d been forgetting to settle into Mountain Pose first. “I lift up my eyes to the mountains . . . My help comes from the Lord” (Ps. 121:1-2a NIV).
Together, we planted each foot with a slow roll, inside to outer edge, spreading and laying down one toe at a time.
She treated me tenderly as Doc Pete, corrected my stance, feet to thighs to torso to head. It felt natural and true. Resentment’s tentacles dropped away, then vaporized.
Instead of muscling one foot against my opposite calf, I moved from my core with fluid, kindly intention. Balanced. Soothed.
And here is the hand position she taught me. She calls it the Humility Mudra.
Rest thumb on first joint of each index finger, allowing fingers to curve naturally—a gentle, receiving gesture.
My big plan for this week?
- Park soul clear of occupational octopi
- Embody the gesture of receiving
- Prayerfully evaluate the next Yes
Even now, I am resting at the keyboard. Eavesdropping again, on my own heart. Hoping you view this post as a house call (minus the suckers—sorry).
MAKING IT PERSONAL
Where are you parking your soul lately? Might you be someone else’s house call today?
Many thanks to John Lindsay for helping me piece together memories of Doc Pete, the man who tended and healed us both in our youth, and so many others in our small Midwestern town.
Laurie, I would concur; when everything sounds good we often mistake it for God.
Here’s to more prayerful ‘yesses.’
(so sorry to hear about the accident…take care of yourself!)
Jody, I appreciate your summation: “when everything sounds good we often mistake it for God.” So true! Discernment is an ongoing enterprise (and gift). I admire what you’re doing with Glory Writers and am grateful you included me. Thanks again. May your yeses and nos be clear as you continue to guide and inspire us, friend!
This was lovely, Laurie. Very engaging and very much what so many of us need to hear…and heed. Thank you for modeling gentleness and peace in a culture that is savagely hurried.
Kimberly, I’ve been without power for four days and am just now catching up with correspondence. What lovely encouragement at the beginning of my day. Thank you for stopping by and reflecting back!
Just me, chiming in to add another to your sweet memories of Dr. Pete:
After Marilyn (Howlett, Doc’s nurse) ushered us into his office, I always checked the back of the door where he had hastily hung his tweedy sport coat. It was always there – and so was he when we needed him.
I had Gunnar with me on this particular visit. He needed a shot, and he let it be known that he needed his sucker before, not after the shot. To dissipate the meltdown, Dr. Pete drew me aside suggesting we step outside and close the door ’til he calmed down. It became very quiet, and opening the door we found out why. Gunnar was standing on his desk with his hand in the sucker jar. Of course, the shot and the sucker were delivered, and the funny picture of the two of them remains indelible in my memory.
Susie, what a delightful memory. I can see it. Weren’t we blessed to have him in our lives!! Thanks for sharing the story.
just sittin’ here smilin’ – the suckers are Saf-T-Pops. They’re in transit. Distribute to your minions! Too bad there isn’t a way to e-mail a sucker. They were a major part of his healing repertoire! Also a boon to his dentist friends. Sorry about the bumping about, you’ll be good as new shortly – take two suckers and call me in the morning. When the clinic was still downtown, next to the hotel and the newsstand, I went to see him after I got sent home from school with a sore throat. He sent me to Rassmussens Rexall with a prescription for an ice cream cone – they had no fountain, so I had to settle for one wrapped in paper, but as I recall, it was ok.
I can’t believe you mailed me Saf-T-PopS!! I am sucking on two as I type (everything’s better in stereo). I Just emailed you two Action Shots. 🙂 mmmMMM. My neck will heal twice as fast now, I’m sure.
Gentle friend, I felt a tug to settle in today for a read from your scribing. I heard every word you said. Thank you and namaste
Katherine, my beautiful yoghini friend, what a difference your visit made in many ways. Thank you for tending me gently and lavishly.
Oh, Laurie. How delicate and powerful this is. I could hear Katherine’s voice in each pose. I could taste orange and chocolate. I can take the healing with me into today ~ wondering how I could have managed without it.
Or you.
Judi, my dear friend, may the potent delicacy of Monday grace go with you each step of this day. Thanks for your lovely comments. Please, please keep writing as time allows. Your gift with words is a balm this bruised and broken world needs.