Rowe, Rowe, Rowe your boat...

Spent the weekend commuting to a retreat in the Berkshire hills. The subject was "spirit and psyche," the instructor the fabulous former therapist of my dearly beloved, the attendees were, for the most part, dear, sweet people on a quest.

For the most part.

Must admit I was distracted by a person who seemed to think he/she had all the answers, and as said person was barely half my age and seemed to know no more about life than the average person barely half my age, I found this person's all-knowingness irritating in the extreme.

Having all the answers is common in this age range, this I know; it is also common in people around their second year of recovery. The knowing-all phase of the youth/novice is eventually replaced by a growing sense of "I-don't-know-diddly" that comes with mistakes, disappointments, pain, and all the rest of the humbling business that accrues to the aging human being.

But knowing this fact of life and not being irritated by it, this I struggle to do. Often unsuccessfully, I'm sorry to report.

Methinks it has to do with growing up with a vicious know-it-all, a person who lorded her superiority over others (me in particular) with the tact of a bull in a china shop. The person in the retreat did not do this in the least, and obviously came from a place of great, if misdirected, caring--but the person's "Shell Answer Man" approach to the workshop was galling, still.

That small irritation aside, the workshop was very illuminating. Have a real sense of why I've been out of sorts, and while the circumstances of my life have contributed to my general sense of discombobulation, the real reason is far deeper, and far older, than these temporary setbacks. But since this is not a blog put together for the purpose of examining my warp and woof, I'll spare you any further details.

Suffice to say it has to do with my Super Ego (that rat bastard).

But enough about that. The retreat was populated with a number of wonderful people, including one of my gal's exes--small world! She's a dear soul, and it was good to see her. We had most of our meals together, and at one point, Linda was serving food and asked, "Sweetie, would you like some salad?" Her ex admitted she almost responded to that, and we all had a hoot over the situation. It's been eons since they were an item, but old habits die hard, eh?

Also heard something quite helpful from a fellow retreatant, someone who had also had a period of unemployment that seemed to stretch out, without pity, for a long, demoralizing time. She had a 91-year-old friend who told her not to worry, it was not wasted time, she was actually being prepared for what's next.

What's next for me, I'd like to know, but in the meantime, I'm preparing. That helps, somehow (yes, these are desperate times).

Lastly, this weekend also helped Linda and me come to a conclusion. Butler is failing so quickly, suffering so obviously, we have to take action to put him out of his misery. He's long been a contrary creature, so the fact that he's hanging on despite all of the horrors that are happening to his body surprises no one who knows him.

So, unless he leaves of his own accord, we will be taking Butler to the vet tomorrow morning to be euthanized (SP?). It's going to be hard, but it would be harder still to watch him suffer more. And wrong, I think (even though, truth be told, we both hope he decides to go on his own tonight).

One way or another, Butler boy is going home.