AND THAT'S A WRAP...

I've been reading year-end lists and "year in review" articles all day.  I realize that so much happens, from the ridiculous to the sublime, to the tragic and the mundane, that for me it all often melds into an "I don't quite recall" mishmash of memory fragments.

So, I decided to go through my old-school Day Planner (I refuse to give those up!) where I can see a Month-At-A-Glance notes and entries, picking out those events that most impacted my 2018.  I wonder if anyone else does the same.  Do any of these resonate with you?

(Most of these highlights ended up in blog posts so look back in the archives for more detail.)

January:  Women's March 2.0 -- A disappointment for me.  There will never, ever, be another day like the first Women's March in 2017; life highlight.

February:  Sitting at Dairy Queen scarfing down a self-celebratory hot fudge sundae on Valentine's Day when the restaurant TV suddenly showed "Breaking News" and the Parkland shooting and it's aftermath was released upon us.  Unfortunately I've been as emotionally devastated with each mass shooting; that wasn't new.  But those Parkland teens and how they rose up in activism inspiring a nation (or at least a part of it) to action still gives me the most hope I've had for the future.  I hope I live long enough to vote for one of those 'kids'.

March:  Hamilton!  Lin-Manuel Miranda,  you are a god.  Gratitude to Son Two and his fiancé for the tix so I could be "in the room where it happened."
Also the "March for our Lives" national event on TV and marching in the local event -- see Parkland above.

April:  Annual trip to Kauai.  Surf, sun, aloha.

May:  Wellness.  Started Weight Watchers and committed to a vigorous and varied schedule of physical fitness activities.  Made progress.

June:  Dove into working on I-1631, the Washington State Clean Air/Clean Energy initiative and working with Common Purpose to register voters with an eye to the mid-terms.  Challenging, inspiring, exhausting.

July:  Stunning health diagnosis and scare for Hub.  Threw us both off kilter and focused us on what needed to be done; all else seemed superfluous.  As usual his calm kept me from completely losing it. (Also I hold the image of our family gathered at the hospital on the day of a procedure Hub had to have, love and support palpable.)  Incredibly grateful for modern medicine, sophisticated testing, smart, skilled doctors, and a diagnosis we can deal with.
Also July --  a Jackson Browne concert; also meeting and attending a workshop with John Pavlovitz, Resistance Hero and true Christian.

August/Sept/October:  Staring August 30 and continuing until October 4 our big trip to Great Britain -- our first to Europe -- on back to back Rick Steves tours.  We were gone for 5 weeks, but the pre-trip prep and post-trip recovery seemed to make for about a 3-month commitment! Amazing, frustrating, awesome, exhausting.
Also October -- Son Two and his gal officially got engaged!

November:  The long-anticipated mid-term elections.  Blue Tsunami in the House of Representatives!  A win for Progressives, diversity, women.  Finally we will have some oversight into all of the crazy, illegal, immoral shenanigans of the current president and administration.

December:  Here we are -- a month of festivities with family and friends; another birthday for me; and deep, deep gratitude for my health, my home, my life, and everyone in it.  My family is the through-line in all of this, the reason for most of what I choose to do.

I am grateful to end this year with a feeling of anticipation and optimism, curious to see where this blog goes in 2019, and hoping you'll be along for the ride.

At least, that's the view from here... ©

CHRISTMAS HITS & MISSES

I have joked for years that my favorite day of the holiday season is December 26th.

I'm not a huge fan of the Christmas Season with it's ever-expanding to-do lists, forced socializing, and excesses of planning, decorating, buying, entertaining, cooking, baking, SUGAR eating....  Even though I've scaled all that back dramatically in recent years (except the sugar binges), it seems there are still moments when I'm  overwhelmed/over-stimulated and just want it all to STOP!  I hit a low point on Saturday 12/22, just prior to leaving for a Winter Solstice Party with friends, but about a quarter of the way into the evening, I rallied and enjoyed walking the traditional spiral path, singing holiday songs and carols, and spending time with my Tribe.

My second wind ended up with us adding to the family plans by buying lights to set up our own backyard spiral for walking on Christmas Eve, which we thought was very beautiful and meaningful, but which was met with what I'd say was tolerance at best by our sons and their people. The grand girls seemed to find it a fine and novel activity, but others were mute about their experience of it.  I guess it's too late to add another "tradition" to the already well-established Christmas Eve family festivities.

But I'm not giving up entirely.  I think I'll move it to my birthday, which is only a couple days before the Solstice.  Plus, I can demand anything on my birthday and get no complaints.  We'll add a bonfire with BD S'mores  and all will be happy.

Many of our friends report that they've passed the baton on holidays to their grown children who now host the big holiday gatherings in their homes instead of at Mom and Dad's.  We still host here because we have a big house, which neither of our sons do, and because it's the old family home that holds all the memories.  I actually love that they come here.  I just don't want to cook for them.

It's well known that cooking and baking are not my thing, and it's a big chore for me.  Over the past few years more and more I've been grateful for sharing this part of the holiday as the youngers bring dishes to share.  The feast they put together for our Christmas Eve buffet this year was a wonder to behold!  Son Two took on the majority of the Christmas Day dinner too.  I felt like a guest in my own home.  A lovely gift to me.

Speaking of gifts.  A few years ago we decided to exchange names amongst the six adults to have only one to buy for. All of us get things for the little girls.  We don't reveal who we have until Christmas Day gift exchange time and it's fun to find out who our Secret Santa was.  The odds of getting the same person, of course, are pretty great since there are so few of us.  I've gotten Son One three years in a row.

Something I appreciate about our family, even the little kids, is how much we love giving gifts -- even more than getting them.   Son One has a particular knack for paying attention all year to the likes and wants of family members and comes up with something that fits that person to a "T".  Since he's helping the girls buy things for the grown ups, his choices are on display in their gifts.  I just love seeing what he comes up with for everyone.

Christmas is renewed through the eyes of children and our grand girls of course are full of anticipation and excitement and thankfully, gratitude, for the whole enterprise from start to finish.  They are catching on to the family traditions around stockings, foods, candles, books, puzzles, games, gifts, etc. and it heartens me to see our holiday rituals taking root in a new generation.

So how am I doing this December 26th?  Less exhausted than usual.  More appreciative.  Not depressed.

 And almost obsessed with being so OVER Christmas that if Hub wasn't standing in my way, all the red and green and Santa-themed decorations would be put away by this afternoon.  I don't mind the "winter" decor with some snow and sparkle, but the obvious Christmas stuff is annoying me now.  As for the tree and outdoor garlands?   I will leave those aglow until New Years, but January 2nd will be a busy day of packing it all away.

The time seems to fly by so quickly that it will all barely be stowed in the attic than it will be time to drag it all out again.  And in spite of my December 26th vows to leave most of it in bins and boxes next year, I'll again get caught in the spirit and out it will come to brighten our home and welcome our family and friends back into the fold of Christmas Magic 2019.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Tired Santa Photo Credit:  www.pixabay.com

THE STOCKINGS WERE HUNG BY THE CHIMNEY WITH CARE....

I was a new mom in 1985 and a bit of an over-achiever type when it came to creating family holiday rituals, so naturally I decided to make hand-sewn Christmas stockings for Hub, our new Baby Boy, and myself.  Hub created a pattern and  I got out my mom's old sewing machine that had been passed along to me and went to town on churning out those three stockings.  In 1987 I added another for Baby Boy #2.

I'm trying to recall if I did much sewing after that.  The sewing machine ended up in the attic and I finally gave it away after years of neglect.

Then along came that first son's fiance and it was time to add another stocking to the growing family of stockings. Exciting!   So several years ago I asked for a portable sewing machine for my birthday (with some vague notion of taking up sewing again).  Making this stocking, however, was not easy since I had no idea how to actually re-create what we did in the mid-80's.  But I just looked at the old ones and was able, with some trial and error, to get another one made.  It has flaws.

I do not believe I've had the machine out of the closet since, so when I recently decided to crank out another stocking for Son Two's fiancé I was looking forward to it, but  soon I found myself staring at the sewing machine with some  trepidation.  I had to get the instructions out to figure out how to thread it.  Then I had to get my bifocals on, then the magnifying glass (!) to get the thread through the needle.  Some things change over the years.  Hmpf.

I had a heck of a time figuring out the pattern this time too.  I am not good at precision projects nor with spatial relationships.  Measuring and cutting fabric and figuring out how it all goes together is a bit of a challenge.  If you show me a diagram of a box flattened out and I'm supposed to pick the next diagram of the box assembled, I have no idea...none.  My brain doesn't work like that. This is why standardized testing and I never got along and why I have to physically move my living room furniture around to see how it will look; cannot visualize the change without actually making the change.

Anyway, I'm embarrassed to tell you how many mistakes I made and how many stitches I had to rip out and do over.  At one point I ended up with something that looked like a hat rather than a stocking.  Not sure how that happened.

As I ripped out yet another seam, I recalled that Son Two told me his future mother-in-law does intricate cross-stitch stockings for everyone in her extended family, each of which she works on all year long.  Of course she does.  Some women are good at the womanly arts of 'fancywork', as my grandma called her stellar detailed embroidery.  I would never adventure into that territory.  I just bought some pre-quilted fabric and pretty trim and tried to put it together into something resembling a Christmas stocking.  Still, what would have taken my crackerjack  seamstress mother about 45 minutes to make took me over 2 hours.  But I persevered.

I decided these things are only out of the box for about two weeks once a year and if anyone wants to inspect my work, they miss the point.  These goofy stockings are all about a tradition that started with a little baby joining our family 33 years ago and everyone who's come along since gets to be officially welcomed with their own version of the originals, except my granddaughters who preferred to choose their own stockings with snowmen on them.  Maybe one day they will request a "grown up" stocking, but they'd better hurry, because I may not remember anything about making the damn things at some point.

Well, the stocking are all hung now and from afar they look pretty nice.  My one regret is that our original pattern may be way too big!  The challenge each year is to fill them up.  I go for bulky stocking stuffers.  Fortunately, all the grown-ups like wine.

At least, that's the view from here...©

REFLECTIONS

I feel an urge, an obligation really, to finish up the posts about our Great Britain trip before the end of December.  I turn these blog posts into  physical book form, a sort of memoir, of each year.  I don't know who will ever read them; for now they line my bookshelf. I fantasize my grandchildren might one day find them after I am gone and will learn something about Grandma and her life.  Or they may get tossed away in the grand 'cleaning out' that inevitably happens at the old family home at some point.  At any rate, I forge ahead and  I want to get the trip documentation in under the 2018 deadline.  

The problem is I'm still having a hard time processing the whole thing.  I have snippets of memories and tons of digital photos I've skimmed through, but find the task of studying them and organizing them rather daunting.  I want to create a slide show as well as a hardbound photo book.  I wonder when that will happen?  Procrastination has been my go-to decision lately.  So until then I find the details of the trip hard to tease out of the impressions of the whole.

Still, as Christmas approaches I find myself conjuring images of Britain as the quintessential Christmas scene -- the winding narrow cobblestone streets of Scotland's Edinburgh and Oban, Wales' Conwy, and England's Bath and York, lined with shops, restaurants, pubs, and inns.  (Every one of which had advertisements about booking holiday meals and  get-aways even when we were there in September.)  I can imagine the sparkling lights, Christmas trees, and festive decor.  I see the soaring cathedrals, robed priests, angelic choirs -- all of which I am sure are now adorned for and anticipating Christmas worship.  I see the hustle and bustle international hub of London brightly lit and busy as ever as a meeting place of cultures and languages and religions gathered in one place, creating a holiday season of rich diversity.  I imagine all those places colder, wetter, and less crowded when we were there; more true to themselves.

I wrote about the trip immediately upon returning home with less than stellar reviews of my experience.  With time I have mellowed and have started to find more and more access to what I loved about it.  I recall the experience now with fondness and with rich, happy memories.  I never negate the challenges life throws at me, but I almost always (eventually) find a way to embrace those aspects of any situation that help me to grow, learn, and find joy in the experience too.

Hub and I were watching a Rick Steves "Christmas in Europe" special the other night and I even allowed as to how I might actually entertain another Rick Steves tour.   Hub was shocked.  I told him this time I would know exactly what to expect, how to navigate the rough spots, and to focus more on the positives than the negatives, knowing the negatives will pass and the positives will prevail in memory.

For now, we are content with planning some in-country travel in 2019, but flirting with the idea of doing one of those Viking River cruises, that I see on PBS, in 2020.   To even find myself at the point of not only considering this, but feeling not even a hint of anxiety about actually doing it, demonstrates my Britain trip this year was a huge success.  I've turned a corner.  I still may not be a world adventurer, but at least I'm willing to leave the confines of the county -- and country -- with my travel anxiety mostly in the rearview mirror.  Bon Voyage!

At least, that's the view from here...©
(I think you can click on the photos to get a larger image.
TOP to BOTTOM: 1. Edinburgh, 2. The Sheep's Heid Inn (Duddingston,Scotland),  3.Bath, 4. York, 5. Wells Cathedral, 6. Conwy (Wales), 7. Trifalger Square, London

CASTLES, CATHEDRALS, AND MARTIN LUTHER

I was watching a Rick Steves visit to Germany show last night on TV -- back to armchair traveling -- and now I've checked that country off my must see list.  Thanks, Rick.

Anyway, he focused a bit on Martin Luther and his famous Reformation.  Hub grew up in a family of Germany-descendents who were conservative Missouri Synod Lutheran teachers and preachers, so he's well-versed in all things Lutheran and, by marriage, so am I.   Instead of dressing up for Halloween every year, Hub and his classmates at his Lutheran elementary school had to watch a grainy old film about Martin Luther and the Reformation, since Reformation Day is also on October 31.  (Hub still harbors resentment about this and suffers from a bit of PTSD.  His school was a stern place, apparently.  And to think at that very same moment I was dressed as a witch gobbling down orange-frosted cupcakes! Heathen public school Methodist!)

Luther was a young monk who was troubled by the Catholic church's selling of indulgences (buying your way out of Purgatory) and other shady religion-focused business practices, so on October 31, 1517 he jotted down his thoughts on the matter and tacked them to the church door in Wittenberg, Germany hoping to stimulate discussion amongst his monk colleagues.  Today he would have posted his thoughts online and been hailed a hero and/or inundated with trolls freaking out.  Well, actually that's sort of what happened anyway.   Luther got some good comments and felt emboldened.  He decided that he'd write the Bible in German so everyone could read it, not just Latin-scholar priests.  He teamed up with a new operating system, called the Gutenberg printing press, and got his German bibles widely distributed.  The people read them and came to realize a bunch of stuff the Church had been telling them wasn't even in the Bible at all!  No mention of the Pope or indulgences or any of that stuff.  His 95 Theses went viral and pretty soon a whole new thing called "Protestantism" was born. The Catholics were not happy.

Which brings me to my recent trip to Great Britain.  (The travelogue continues...)

Our Scottish tour guide joked that people often tire of the non-stop tours of cathedrals and castles.  At the beginning of the trip I couldn't imagine this.  That's what we came to see!!! By the end of the trip I totally got the point.

We saw some absolutely beautiful architecture and the artistic creativity was jaw-dropping.  The ruins of old cathedrals was moving and inspiring.  The art historian in me was in awe.

But the stories we heard over and over and over, were stories of Protestants and Catholics fighting over who was in charge.  Kings and Queens were on the throne or killed off or married off in fits of rage and/or alliances mostly having to do with which religion they practiced.  Places and artifacts of tremendous beauty were destroyed to wipe out any recollection of what had come before in waves of "my turn" changing of power between the religions.  It became grotesque to hear these stories of war, murder, and punishment all carried out in the name of "religion".  If I have to hear one more graphic description of what it means to be "drawn and quartered" I might scream.

So, it came to pass that as I entered a new cathedral or castle on the itinerary, I steeled myself for the stories of death and destruction and power-brokering that went along with the view.  Both of us began to notice that all the lead roles were played by men, or by women who were used in the service of men to get the power they craved.  The patriarchy upon which our historical and religious culture is based was on full display as tourists oohed and ahhed at each stop.  I started to feel depressed that this is our heritage.  I started to long for a different history.

Where were the peacemakers?  The women?  The artisans who saw their masterpieces turned to rubble?   I have always known that history is written by the victor, but I felt that fact viscerally on our trip.    We both sort of rolled our eyes eventually and tuned out the litany of war upon war and the ridiculous religious one-upmanship on display.  We appreciated instead the amazing human ingenuity and creativity of these beautiful places and honored those who toiled to design, build, and decorate something they thought would last.

There has to be another story under the one that we have been taught, because humans seeking power through death and destruction don't really seem to win the day.  We are still here.  There must be a current of a life-affirming energy running through humanity too.   Let's tap in to that.  Let's learn from that.  Let's honor that.

Oh wait....now we're getting to the heart of my religion, the one that celebrates compassion, inclusion, diversity, open-mindedness, hope, humility, laughter, generosity.  I read somewhere that Jesus talked about that stuff but, not being a practicing Christian, I might have that wrong.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Photos:
Top -- Ruins of St. Andrews Cathedral, St. Andrews Scotland
Bottom -- York Minster Cathedral, York England

REMINDER: SAY NO

Taking a break for a minute from travel reporting to ponder what commitment means.

This is the Last Weekend before the mid-term election.  We've been waiting two very long and troubling years for this shot at a do-over.  Of course, the presidency isn't at stake, but we have a chance at electing a Congress that might do its checks and balances job if the Dems succeed in winning one or both of the Houses.  Big governors races and state house races hang in the balance too.  It all matters.

Hub and I and a partial handful close friends have been in total immersion for the past two years, worrying about, working on, and committing significant time to political actions.  We are all tired.  We all need a break.

But Hub is out right now in the pouring rain canvassing again, as he's done nearly every day for the past month (and before that gathering signatures all summer!), to try to pass a state-wide initiative to place a carbon fee on big polluters to fund clean energy development.   I got trained to do Canvass Training for volunteer canvassers and we opened our home to be a Pop-Up Canvassing location every weekday afternoon and twice on Saturdays and Sundays.  People were to sign up, come to be trained, pick up materials, and go out doorbelling.

We've had only a handful of sign-ups, three active canvassers, and a couple of no-shows -- one guy signed up three times and no-showed every time, even though Hub called to confirm with him and he assured us he'd be here.  It's been frustrating, sitting here waiting for our canvassers to show up, training materials at the ready.  But we were here because we said we'd be here.  We cancelled plans, altered our schedules.  Hub went out alone every day, because he'd made a commitment to the campaign...and to himself.

We did all of this because we'd made a commitment to do so.  I made the commitment to people who were counting on me to follow through on what I said I'd do.  I made a commitment to myself to do all I could, and that commitment has resulted in lots of self-judgment today.  Did I REALLY do all I could?

Commitment.  I take that word so seriously that oftentimes it's to my detriment.  My commitments have too often become burdens.  I notice how others carry their commitments. They either never commit to anything or keep their options open with a non-committal "maybe".  Some commit then bail out without a backward glance or second thought.  I've been very judgmental of people like this.

I found myself in tears earlier today because I feel like I'm failing at the mid-term Finish Line because of how much I hate phone banking, but know I should do it.  I think of all the ways in which I could have been more active, more effective than being the Queen of FB posts trying to provide information and motivation for others to take actions too.  I donated money.  I wrote over 200 postcards to likely Democratic voters on behalf of candidates all over the country.  I attended meetings, and trainings, and rallies.  I wrote a letter to the editor (because I said I would when asked at a training) and edited Hub's Guest Commentary for the local paper.  I prepared materials for canvassing and wrote personal emails to 60 friends to urge them to vote for our initiative.  But today I trouble myself that I only did the easy stuff; I didn't challenge myself enough -- didn't do the dreaded doorbell or phone call thing on behalf of candidates I support.

My new commitment after the election Tuesday is to make no ongoing commitments beyond self-care.  I'm committing to my yoga class and a few strength classes at the Y.  I've got a doctor's appointment and I plan to get a massage.  I'll make coffee dates with friends, but only a day or two in advance.  For the foreseeable future I want everything on my calendar to be able to be changed if I change my mind.

I need to take a break from commitment as burden.  I know I sound like a bit of a whiner here.  Not intended.  What I really feel is the lifting of a weight.

There are unexpected lessons in everything we do.  I have killed myself by degrees with commitments for years -- to family, work, church, "causes", groups, and yes, politics at various times.  I commit to one thing and that leads to dozens more things in service to doing my best by the one thing I committed to; if my commitment to the one thing is to be meaningful and complete.

The past two years of trying to rally the troops, to create Resistance/Support groups, to motivate, to act on an obsessive need to do something in the face of what I consider to be an unfettered slide into authoritarianism has been frustrating.  I've not been able to understand how others can just go on with their lives as if nothing awful is happening, even when they agree it is awful.  But I want to slow down and try to get it.  Slow down and watch how others manage their lives with more ease.  I might learn from them to take commitment much, much more lightly.

If anything, I know I need to set a boundary for myself.  I need a "safe word".  I think that word will be NO.  I'll let you know how it goes.....if I feel like it. 😉

At least, that's the view from here...©

ADDENDUM:  OK.  I didn't mean this post to be a cry for advice, attention, affirmation, or encouragement.  But that's what I got from some quarters, so thanks, but really what I was trying to convey was my own inability to hold a healthy boundary and by sharing that, perhaps others could relate and not feel so crazy out there.  That's mostly what I hope the blog will create -- connection and commonality around the human condition.

Also, we lost the Initiative campaign and I cried for 24 hours and ranted about stupid people and lamented that not enough people cared to help us...blah blah blah.  But we will not give up.  Also the Blue Wave continues to crest as late vote counts are tallied and while some major races were losses (Beto -- see you in 2020), Dems handily won back the House (with a huge influx of women and people of color) and I cannot wait until January when checks and balances return to our government.  Hey, current president....Winter is Coming!

HAGGIS & SWEETS

Before our trip I had lost about 12 pounds following the Weight Watchers points system. It's easy!  It works!  I also took some dance classes at the Y, a strength training class, and my usual yoga practice.  I was in a groove of healthfulness and felt great.

Then we left town, and our routines, behind.  The only thing that saved me from gaining more than the three pounds I gained on the 5-week trip was the amount of daily walking we did -- over 200 miles in total; about 6 miles/day.

Breakfast was provided every morning on the tours.   I didn't want to fill up on pancakes, and the eggs, I'm sorry Britain, were always too runny for my taste.  "Traditional" Scottish and English breakfasts include lots of meat, which I don't eat except for the occasional chicken dish and Thanksgiving turkey, so that was out.

But let me say a word here about haggis.  In Scotland, haggis is always on the menu, and it is part of the traditional breakfast.  I swore I would not go anywhere near it; would NOT put even the smallest taste into my mouth.  But....I did.   Our first night in Edinburgh we found a local pub and Hub dove right in and ordered the Haggis, Neeps and Tatties (mashed turnips and mashed potatoes).  I ordered the lentil cottage pie -- a lentil mixture with mashed sweet potato topping. So good!

Here is the Wikipedia definition of haggis, if you are unfamiliar:  Haggis is a savoury pudding containing sheep's pluck (heart, liver, and lungs); minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and cooked while traditionally encased in the animal's stomach though now often in an artificial casing instead.

On the plate it didn't look too gross, so I took a small forkful and found it savory and flavorful and not at all disgusting.  Still, being full of organ meat was a bit of a turn off for this 95% non-meat eater, so that was my one and only foray into the Scottish delicacy.  Hub enjoyed it with most of his breakfasts.

I hit up the Continental breakfast buffets instead and found so many favorites!  Danish!  Croissants!  Pain au chocolat!  Toasts and jams!  Bran flakes (which for some reason are a binge food for me, and binge I did!)  I also ate oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, and nuts, which sounds healthy in normal qualities.  We won't talk about my quantities.

Lunches were on-the-go affairs, rushed in restaurants, so we took to stealing breads and cheeses (and another croissant and a few mini-pastries) from the breakfast buffet to build our own take-along sandwiches and treats, along with an apple (healthy!), and copious numbers of Shortbread cookies -- which became a bit of an obsession.  Also, our nicer hotels provided "snacks" mainly consisting of chocolates that we hoarded in our "treat bag" in my daypack.

Dinners were plentiful, delicious, and unconcerned with caloric intake, but with rarely a salad in sight!  Our English tour guide said salads were traditionally considered "poor man's food" and if you were rich and/or wanted to impress guests, you served meat! Greens were an insult. I'm not sure why this tradition continues in most restaurants.  Salad is healthy!  Still, I was grateful for the variety of vegetarian main dish options, even if no salads.

Most deadly for me, however, was that every single dinner came with a delectable dessert.  Two local favorites became my faves too:  Eton Mess and Sticky Toffee Pudding.  OMG!

Eton mess is a traditional English dessert consisting of a mixture of strawberries, broken meringue, and whipped double cream.

Sticky toffee pudding is a British dessert consisting of a very moist sponge cake, made with finely chopped dates, covered in a toffee sauce and often served with a vanilla custard or vanilla ice-cream.

But even if those weren't on the menu, there were brownies, ice cream, cakes, pies....let me just say I fell off the low-sugar wagon big time.  BIG TIME!

So I swore to get back on Weight Watchers when I returned and get back on my yoga and YMCA schedule.  Good intentions have been thwarted by jet-lag, illness, conflicting commitments, sloth, and sort of an "I don't want to" near-depression blues that has been winning the battle between good and evil.

Now I tell myself that November 7 is my start-over date.  I will have been home for a month, plenty of time to recover, and the mid-term election will be over.  Win or lose I will have to be in good shape for what comes next.  2020 is just around the corner -- the year my younger son will be married and the presidential election is held.  Let the goal-setting commence; a year should be long enough.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Photo Credit: Alamay and  BBC.com

BROKEN

That trip might have broken me.  Going into it I knew I'd face two big challenges:  too long away from home and too many people/socializing.  My introvert NEEDS quiet, alone, downtime between socializing and "going and doing".  And I'm really a homebody with no enormous desire to see the world, although there are some things I'd like to see and do if I could see and do them in an afternoon.  So I entered into the plan for 5 weeks in Great Britain with this trepidation: I might get homesick and suffer a bit from "too many people" burn out.  Well, that was an underestimation.

We started with 4 days in Illinois to attend a 3-day extravaganza of activities to celebration Hub's Class of '68 50th high school reunion.  I was only one year behind Hub so I know all those people too.  It was interesting/fun/tedious.  And frankly it was shocking to see how all those people had aged so much more than Hub and me.  Sad.  😉

Then we hopped a red-eye 747 from Chicago to Edinburgh for the first of our two scheduled tours.  Met the tour director who was a hoot; a woman about our age, native Scot, and full of fun and vitality and interesting stories to tell to enhance our trip.  The other 24 tour-mates were also very nice people; a few quiet ones, a few partiers.   But we didn't go to make lifelong friends, and since we like each other's company a lot, we didn't go out of our way to socialize at every opportunity.  Still....we basically all lived and ate and traveled together for the 10 day tour of Scotland.  Saw some cool things.  (Later blog post.)

When that tour was over, we had exactly 2 days to regroup before meeting our next tour director and tour group in Bath, England for our Best of England and North Wales tour.  One of those in between days was spent with a dear friends who live near Edinburgh who took us to cool, non-touristy places and cooked us a home-cooked meal in their lovely country cottage.  Highlight.  The other day was a flight and bumpy bus ride to Bath.

The new tour group was, shall we say, less vivacious.  And the tour guide rather dour.   We were already tired, wishing we'd only scheduled one tour, and sort of counting the days until it was all over.  We steeled ourselves for what we now knew was ahead -- a nonstop itinerary and living with a new group of people.  We were at this point embarking on a 14 day tour, with 5 days alone in London tacked on to the end.  We had barely begun.

We ended up learning that our tour mates were pleasant enough folks, but the tour guide never did win us over and in fact began to grate on us to the point we mostly tried to ignore him.  He added very little to the information we could read in a guide book.  He had a lot of rules.  We felt reprimanded at times which started us to giggling.  We ended up sitting in the back of the bus binging on shortbread cookies and making fun of him.  Small rebellions.  Saw some cool things.  (Later blog post.)

When that tour was finally, thankfully over, we still had our 5 days in London.  We moved to the luxe hotel we'd scheduled to pamper ourselves and sprung for an even better room -- a suite.  We were so relieved to be finally, blissfully alone.  But I was still homesick, having missed my granddaughters' first day of school, her birthday, her father's (our son's)birthday, and her parent's (our son and daughter in law's) wedding anniversary and likely a million things our other son and his girlfriend were up to.  We kept up with headlines, but gratefully missed the minutiae of the Kavanaugh debacle.  I worried about my garden and whether my friends would remember or recognize me.  I posted daily photos and trip updates to FB (when I had WiFi) to help me remember what we were seeing and doing because it all became a blur.

It really was a whirlwind.  Never enough time to truly ground in any one experience before we were on to the next.  The pace was not our pace.  Active extroverts had a blast.  Introspective introverts got tired.

I was so happy to arrive home!  But it was also disorienting to realize we'd left the end of August when it was still summer and returned in early October in autumn with darkness descending by 6:30 p.m.  I was jet lagged, fighting a head cold, enduring a cluster of every few days migraines, totally exhausted and feeling like I'd never find my equilibrium again.

I am improving but, after two weeks home, still not back 100%.  A friend who traveled to Poland this past summer for an extended stay told me it took him and his wife a month to recover.  I'm half way there.

It feels so incredibly disingenuous to complain when we know we are blessed by the opportunity to have taken this trip.  We saw and did and experienced; learned and grew.  We are truly grateful and with time will be more appreciative and joyful about the experience.  We have about 2000 photos to remind us of all we've forgotten in the blur.  Still, the fact remains:  I'm a homebody and an introvert and next time (there's a hopeful note!) I'll do it differently.

At least, that's the view from here....©

SKIP TO THE LOO

I just got back from five weeks of travel in England, Scotland, and Wales.  I'll have plenty to write about for awhile, but let's start with the restrooms.

Between the tours we took, and the time on our own in London, I believe I visited most of the public restrooms in Great Britain.

First, never call them "restrooms".  If you do, people may do their best to accommodate you by referring you to a place that lets rooms with a bed -- to rest upon.  What we euphemistically call "restrooms", the Brits call out in plain language, "toilets".   It is perfectly polite to inquire, "Where's the toilet?"  Signs everywhere show the way to the Gents and Ladies TOILET.  If you want to be fancy, you can say lavatory, which has been charmingly shortened to "loo".  Our Scotland tour guide would assure us that at several points throughout any given day we'd have ample opportunity on our stops to "Skip to the Loo".

In the US it is sort of a crap shoot (hahahahaha) as to the cleanliness of any given facility.  Not so in Britain, at least in the places I visited which were mostly touristy spots, but still.  They could easily have become degenerate given the high volume traffic they accommodate, but almost without exception they were sparkling clean and fresh-smelling.  The glaring exceptions were one Starbucks and one McDonald's where Hub and I used the facilities in a pinch.  I don't know what that says, or maybe I do.  These are American establishments.  We need to clean up our act!

The British loos were well-maintained, well lit, clean, and sanitary.  There were none of those fastidious paper toilet seat covers, but I never felt I shouldn't put bum skin to seat anyway.  And if I did (hello Starbucks) I merely did the squat and hover thing women have learned to do, and was grateful for my exercise routine that keeps my thighs muscular and my balance steady.

What I loved most about the stalls was how private they were.  None of those open at the top and bottom doors that barely offer a private moment; these were like little rooms!  Full doors that when closed provided a cozy toilet room with no one peaking under or potentially over.  How did you know if they were occupied?  When you closed the always working, never broken latch, the outside showed a red indicator; available showed green.  (Like we see on those gross port-a-potties here.)

Hand washing was a bit of risk, however.  I never learned why but the hot water tap is turned up to boil all over Britain.  Signs warning of VERY HOT WATER were to be taken seriously.  So if you go, be sure to be cautious and get some cold water mixed in, which can be a bit of a chore given that there is often a two faucet set up -- one for scalding hot and one for icy cold.  Many, thankfully, were a one faucet (automatic sensor) set up that provided water that didn't take your skin off.  Another thing that keeps the loos cleaner is that I almost never saw a paper towel dispenser anywhere.  All hand drying is done with those blow drier things on the walls.  I generally get impatient with those and end up wiping my wet hands on my pants, but they did cut down on waste and clutter.

The photo I'm including is from probably the best public toilet, but not by much.  Most were great.  This one is from the Tower of London just outside the Royal Crown Jewels exhibit, so they have a high standard to meet.  You will note that this one has a bit less than the fully enclosed toilet room I described above, but still pretty private and very stylish.

I had hoped to get shots of more loos, but most of the time they were jammed with other tourists, and whipping out a camera would have just seemed creepy.

At least, that's the view from here....©

SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES

A few years ago I went through a period of reading YA Dystopian novels:  The Hunger Games series, the Divergent series.  I loved them.  Great characters, stories, settings.  Now, though, I almost feel like I am in the midst of one of those novels and it's not nearly so much fun.

For one thing, it's hard to breathe.  Not just because the current president and his minions continue to take my breath away with their slash and burn march to an authoritarian state, but because there is so much smoke in the air my eyes burn, my throat feels raw, and my chest feels a bit heavy.  I realize I'm taking shallow breaths, trying not to take in too much particulate matter with what life-giving oxygen is also available.

This is the second summer of weeks of low-hanging smoke, blotting out what should be the Northwest's best weather -- bright blue skies, sunshine, breathtaking (in a good way) views of mountains and water.  Summer is so precious here, I am feeling cheated from days I look forward to all the rest of the year.

Again this year the western United States and Canada seems to be on fire.  Forest fires are everywhere and the smoke drifts into this area from as far away as Siberia!  Why so bad?  The short answer is that summers are hotter and drier, making forests even more vulnerable to fire (due to careless humans or Mother Nature).

Climate change is REAL.  There is no "I believe in or don't believe in" climate change.  It's not a belief statement.  It's a fact.  We've been warned of the harmful effects of our love affair with fossil fuels for decades.  It's all escalating now and the effects are being visited upon us with more frequent and devastating forest fires, more frequent and devastating hurricanes, tornados, and torrential rainfalls and floods.  It's all escalating now with ice caps and glaciers melting at an alarming rate, causing sea levels to rise.  People talk about warmer winters, less snow.

People get confused about the difference between "weather" and "climate".  Short-term changes in the atmosphere is 'weather' and yes, it can be super cold in the winter, or there can be a big snowstorm and still we would be in the throes of global warming because long-term changes over time is "climate".  Scientific studies prove that over time, and rapidly escalating, the earth's climate is warming.  That's not good for the living things that are currently living.  I suppose there might be adaptation over time, for awhile, but not in our lifetimes, nor our grandchildren's.  I wonder if one day humans will be living a Waterworld or Mad Max life?

We are living this week under an "Air Quality Alert", with the pollution currently at a level in my community listed as:

169

Unhealthy

We are to limit outdoor exposure, to stay in with doors and windows closed.  My granddaughter's childcare/preschool is not allowing the kids to play outside -- on a midsummer's day.  That makes me very sad.  We will continue to be impacted as the air quality worsens, as it's predicted to do by tonight through Wednesday.  Some people in Eastern Washington, where Very Unhealthy and Hazardous air quality warnings are stretching into many days, are looking into home air filtration systems and respirator type masks.  Parents are getting desperate to find indoor activities for their housebound kids.

We are on an unstoppable train right now, but we can slow it down and maybe even reverse this trend if we, as a collective human family, have the will to do so.  It feels lately like we don't, at least in the US where the current president was elected on an "anti-regulation" promise and went on to choose Cabinet Secretaries who are happily dismantling their agencies, including Energy and the EPA, and who also exited the US from the Paris Climate Accords, which strives to address global warming concerns.  We stand alone at this point in being outside the Accords' world family.

In Washington state we have a chance to be national leaders on addressing climate impacts on the local level by passing I-1631 which will levy a fee on the most egregious corporate polluters.  The money would go not into the State's general fund, but into a designated fund overseen by a non-partisan citizen's group of environmentalists, health care providers, business leaders, faith groups, and communities of color coalitions.  Over 100 organizational endorsers are on board.  Hundreds of volunteers, including Hub and I, are door belling and reaching out via email and social media to Get Out The Vote.  The opponents are throwing millions of dollars at an "anti-1631 campaign" with advertising and attack ads.  Still, we remain hopeful.


So, as I sit writing inside on this 80-degree day, looking out at the smoke obscuring my usual lovely summer views, I have to wonder if there are any super fashionable respirator masks on Amazon.  I would like a purple one.

At least, that's the (smoke-obscured) view from here...©

RATS IN THE MAZE OF MODERN MEDICINE

AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!  That's me screaming in frustration.

Backstory:  The local multi-specialty medical clinic here was, until a couple of years ago, physician-owned and operated, founded by a handful of doctors in 1924.  When my husband joined the clinic in 1982, there were 33 doctors (one female!)  He went through a round of interviews, two of which included me.  These were social events, but I was aware that we were being evaluated as to whether we'd be a good "fit".  For my part, I was asked if I was sure I wanted to move so far from my midwest home and family -- they didn't want the little wifey to get homesick and demand to move back home to Illinois.  I told them we were looking forward to our new life in Washington.  Assured that he wouldn't flake out and quit, Hub was hired.  The docs in those days committed their entire careers to the clinic.

The clinic has grown tremendously since those early days and now has 500 care providers and 2,000 staff members and dozens of satellite clinics in outlying communities.  My daughter-in-law manages one of them and got the position all on her own!  No nepotism!

In 2016 the Board made the controversial decision to "merge" (which was a sneaky way of saying "sell") to a larger corporate outfit.  Big payouts went to some shareholders, to the consternation of others (us), and many took their wad of cash and quit or retired; everyone was in a state of flux.  No  one knew what to expect of the new bosses.

Well, the new bosses got in over their heads, grew disillusioned with their purchase and now have sold the clinic again!  The new new corporate bosses will come on board within the next year.  So the place is still in a state of flux.  Doctors are bailing left and right because they are overworked and understaffed and the bean counters want them to work harder for longer hours.  Support staff, as well, never know what the new decree from on high will be.

And patients, like me, are being jerked around!  Let's just establish that I admit to being bitter about this whole debacle because of my constant loyalty to and belief in the excellence of this clinic and it's doctors for the 25+ years Hub worked there.  To see it struggle now and to find myself a victim of the transition and the business (not the quality of care) of medicine is aggravating.

I had an excellent primary care physician for a number of years.  I loved her.  We got along great. But she decided to close her practice in 2014 and work in a different medical model (which is really cool and how all medicine should be practiced!)  I went to another doctor the following year and that did not go well.  She treated me like a warm body passing through the exam room, focused primarily on that stupid Medicare questionnaire about whether I've fallen lately and do I eat enough vegetables, etc.  She ignored what was important to me, brushed off my questions, and didn't order any routine labs.  Nope!  Not going back.

So I looked for another doc and found a woman who was sort of great. She helped me through a number of issues and I had a good rapport with her.  Whew!  I was relieved to find a new doctor I could rely upon.  Nope.  She quit.

I was "assigned" a doctor at that point, a man.  I hadn't had a male doctor in decades, but I was a bit worn down and decided just to check him out.  I liked him.  He was friendly and funny and listened to me and we were on the same page about being partners in my care.  I was happy.  I saw him a couple of times....before he quit.

Before leaving he referred me to a woman in the department, an Advanced Registered Nurse Practitioner (ARNP), who are being utilized more and more to "extend physician access".  Basically you don't have a doc, you have a Nurse Practitioner, who are also skilled primary care providers.  Anyway, he said she would be a great fit for me.  She was interested in a holistic approach to health care and would be open to me pursuing my interest a healthy lifestyle rather than taking medications.  I made an appointment in May to see her in August for my first visit with her.

I got a call last week confirming my August 13 appointment.  Then I got a call on Monday telling me she had to reschedule my appointment.  I was annoyed, because my last three doctor visits have been rescheduled due to the doctor needing to change the appointment.  This was becoming a trend.  But oh well.  OK.  I called back to reschedule and the gal in the Resource Center (nowhere near the doctor's office, in a separate building 3 miles away!) told me my new provider was leaving the clinic in September which was why she was cancelling and rescheduling some appointments.

My initial response was to laugh maniacally, I'm sure startling the gal on the phone.  "You've got to be kidding me!" I said.  "I've had 4 primary care providers in 4 years and I haven't even seen this one yet!"  I felt myself becoming angry, then sad, then discounted....I started crying as I talked, then sobbing.  Geez,  I could just imagine this poor young woman putting Behavioral Health on speed dial as she tried to help me with this dilemma.

I quickly calmed down and told her I knew a doc I wanted to see at an outlying clinic 20 minutes from my home, which frustrated me because I live 3 minutes from the main campus but it appears there are NO doctors there!  Whatever.  She checked and then told me the doc I wanted was no longer accepting patients.  I burst into tears again, ranting that I could have gotten in to his practice had I not wasted my time waiting to see the ARNP who had the gall to freaking quit on me!  I assured her several times this was not aimed at her and I was sorry for my reaction and I thanked her for her help.  Still, I hung up without an appointment with anyone.  But just before our goodbye, the gal in the Resource Center whispered, "Bless you."  So I guess I scared her into thinking I was a helpless lunatic.

An hour later I got a voicemail from the clinic from a nurse in the ARNP's office telling me I should have my labs done prior to my appointment on 8/13.  WHAT????  I thought they just told me I had NO appointment!  I called back and after 13 minutes on hold finally talked to the Medical Assistant in the office who confirmed the ARNP is leaving the clinic but she would still see me once and that my appointment shouldn't have been cancelled after all.  NO!  Why would I establish care with a provider who has one foot and half her brain out the door, only to have to establish with another doctor in short order?  The MA agreed this made no sense.  She recommended a few other providers, but I hung up with no appointment.  I have research to do and a letter to write to the CEO and Board President of the clinic.

I'm grateful to be healthy, able to navigate this craziness to some degree, articulate enough and savvy enough to know what I want and have some idea how to get it, but still I feel ultimately at the mercy of a system that no longer treats patients with the respect and care we deserve.  I'm sick of being a "customer" and paid the lip service of being their "#1 Priority"when the reality is anything but.  I'm sad for the many, many people who don't have the confidence, the courage, or the inside info I have to advocate for themselves.  I'm sad for those truly ill, confused, and those with hearing issues who likely can't navigate the six automated options offered every time you call the freaking doctor with a simple question!

We come to health care providers in a vulnerable state.  Our very lives are at stake.  We share with them the most intimate details of our physical and emotional selves.  Being shoved around like rats in a maze, expected to adjust to a new system (devoid of friendly faces now that check-in is completely automated and no receptionist is in sight!), and then expected to accept any care provider who happens to have an opening at any given time  (and who barely look up from their computers and are loathe to see us unclothed or have to touch us) is disrespectful and dismissive.

I guess I'm old enough now to compare this experience to the "good old days" and I hate that stereotype of being stuck in the past.  I'm all for change and modernization and generally welcome it, but in some cases we got it right back then.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Photo Credit:  www.pixabay.com

https://www.nbcnews.com/business/business-news/doctor-out-why-physicians-are-leaving-their-practices-pursue-other-n900921?cid=sm_npd_nn_fb_ma

AWAKE

Well, I had a helluva weekend.

Sometimes you don't know if you've been asleep until you wake up.

I've been having this horrific nightmare that some misogynist, racist, self-serving, unqualified doofus named Donald Trump won the presidency.  Crazy, right?  In my dream he defeated probably the most qualified person ever to run for president, a woman no less, and then went on to choose a cabinet of deplorables who have proceeded to dismantle the very agencies they are overseeing!  Crazy, right?  He regularly lies to everyone, antagonizes allies, buddies up to dictators, and calls our free press the 'enemy of the people'.  Turned out the Russians actually helped him win by attacking our election system with disinformation and hacking into private email servers.  And he's under investigation for colluding with the enemy.  It's one of those nightmares that could be a movie!  Crazy, right?

In my dream I've been a Resistance fighter, nose to the grindstone doing all I can, with a small local group of compadres, and other Resisters nationwide, to stop our rapid descent into authoritarian rule.  People on the other side are outspoken, violent, and rude to say the least.  They believe everything this guy tells them and can't see what he does is at their expense.  I fight for them too.  I could go on and on about the daily horror show, but suffice to say, I've been immersed in disbelief, dismay, and acting upon an urgent call to action.  At times I feel like I'm drowning.  I flail around trying to keep my head above water.  Sometimes I float to the bottom into the darkness.

What I noticed in my dream was that while all of this was going on, I also tried to have a normal life. I socialized, I took trips, I paid bills, I exercised, I went on Weight Watchers, I loved my family, I read books, I crocheted, I cooked and cleaned and got the car washed, I grew some food in my garden and planted some flowers...you know....life.  But a pall was cast over it all.  I felt like every moment NOT dong activism was wasted time in some way.  Intellectually I know better, but that pall was there nonetheless.

Friday night Hub and I had tickets to see Jackson Browne, my all time favorite singer/songwriter/musician.  We've seen him probably 20 times since discovering his music in the 70's.  In many ways his music is the soundtrack of a big chunk of my life.  His lyrics are poetry; perfect whether ballad or rocker or call to action.  So Friday night at the concert I sang along to every word to every song and I was freaking AWAKE!  His music roused me and gave me joy and hope and peace.  I realized at the end of one song, guitars and drums and keyboards blasting with the crowd cheering that I had opened my mouth and screamed; literally screamed at the top of my lungs for about 30 seconds, my primal yell drowned in the wall of sound around me.  As I was doing it I became aware that it wasn't about the music anymore; it was about giving all of my pain and anger and angst and lonliness voice.  It was pure release.

On Saturday I attended a workshop with John Pavolovitz http://johnpavlovitz.com, a pastor, author, blogger, and Resistance hero.  He led us in an exploration of compassion burnout and how to avoid it.  He was kind, welcoming, affirming, articulate, and so funny!  I found myself in tears as he so astutely and eloquently acknowledged how very disorienting and difficult it has been to find our country in this place in time and how exhausting is the daily struggle to remain sane and engaged when all around us chaos swirls.  He "got" exactly how I've been feeling.  He gave voice to my sadness.  His acknowledgment was like a hug, a balm to my spirit.  I felt less alone.

Saturday night, however, was a different awakening.  I sat with a group of friends who meet monthly and we talked about the Pavlovitz workshop and that he gave the advice to be engaged in social media.  (And to also beware of its toxic nature if we get obsessed with it.)  Almost everyone in the circle talked about their aversion to Facebook and social media, finding little of interest there and/or succumbing to the black hole it can become.  Most said they were weaning themselves away, might look but never engage there,  and/or never enjoyed it anyway.

I was stunned.  I went from feeling affirmed by what Pavlovitz had said about finding community on social media, finding support and encouragement, and a source of information, to feeling downright embarrassed about my social media use.

I have spent considerable time using social media to share about my personal life, about political issues, sharing information and calls to action, and hoping to find support and yet here was a group of close friends saying they pretty much wanted to shut down their Facebook pages.  I realized in that moment, that AWAKE moment, that again, I'd been sleeping.  I had not seen that what I'd been doing was only appreciated by a relative handful of people.  Much of my support on social media, at least for political action, comes from strangers in the form of various groups who post there.   No wonder I've often felt I'm whistling into the wind, when my FB friends ignore me and only a few respond.

On Sunday, I went to a concert by the incomparable Jami Sieber www.jamisieber.com.  She played at my yoga teacher's beautiful home and art studio space.  Jami's electric cello is magical and her music transcendent.  It was the calm, meditative, centering finale I so needed after a weekend of turbulent awakening.

Something has shifted now.  I can feel it.  I have screamed in joy and release, cried with compassion for myself, cried again in embarrassment and realization of erroneous assumptions, and laid back in the healing melodies of beautiful song.  I am stronger and more balanced today.

I will never stop being outraged at what is happening to our country, but I can only do so much.  I will do all I can, but not to my own detriment, not to the point of darkness.  And I will stop trying to rally people around me who have little to no interest in being rallied.  I will find my allies and we will march forward with what must be done -- together, in community, with joy, laughter, and music as the soundtrack to Resistance.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Photo credit: www.pixabay.com

FINDING BALANCE - HOW TO GET THROUGH THIS

A friend recently asked me why my blog posts are so few lately.  I've never been particularly prolific compared to many more disciplined bloggers, but the two blogs I write have seen a downturn lately.  I blame the current president.  That should be an absurd laugh line, but unfortunately it's true.

My world slid off center 18 months ago and I have not yet found a way to right it...or myself.  And most recently I think I was done in completely by the "zero tolerance" immigration policy where this administration used the removal of children from their parents as a deterrent to immigrants enter our country either legally or illegally.  Putting children in fenced in "cages" in detention centers, from infancy through age 17, and in many cases eventually shipping them to far away northern states to live in shelters or in foster homes while in hundreds of cases their parents were deported without them, well....  Government sponsored kidnapping sort of tipped me over.  The cruelty never ends with this guy.  My frantic attempts to take action have kicked into a higher gear.

My writing has been of the letter, email, FAX, postcard variety to Congress, Cabinet members, and media outlets.  Every time I sit down to write a blog post, nothing but political issues come to mind.  Every other topic seems frivolous in comparison, so I close the Blogger page and walk away.

I realize I am out of balance.  I realize I've lost touch with essential parts of myself -- my creativity and humor in particular.  Oh, I still laugh, but not as much I don't think.  I have some modicum of creativity on display in my garden and the baby blankets I crochet for the layette program at a local social service agency.  But I've lost a sense of what my life was like "before".  I don't remember that more innocent time anymore or what occupied my thinking and my days.

This weekend, I hope, put me on the healing path to finding myself again.  Among other events that I may write about in other posts, I also signed up for a workshop in my town with John Pavlovitz.  Do you know of him?  He's a liberal Christian pastor (even though once fired from his church since he went public with views some parishioners didn't like), book author, blogger, and media/online hero of the Resistance. https://johnpavlovitz.com

I've read his blog faithfully for over a year.  I've found great resonance and affirmation there.  I've become a Fangirl.  To have the opportunity to hear him speak and to work with him in a small group at a local church was sort of amazing.  He was totally engaging: wise, gentle, smart, articulate, emotionally available, and so funny!

He talked about compassion burnout and how we can work for change and not lose ourselves.  Some of his suggestions:

1.  Engage AND withdraw.  Yes, we must fight and not give up.  And we must take breaks, withdraw into healing and life-affirming practices like creative arts, time in nature, hanging out with friends and family, and just being in silence.  We have to replenish ourselves.

2.  Be engaged in social media.  Yes, he actually said that.  Social media helps us find affinity "tribes", provides information about what's going on, and cultivates hope to see so many similarly engaged and active.  Then he said to get off social media.  Yes, that too.  When we read or hear the same story over and over it compounds what is happening beyond what is real.  It can also be addicting and toxic.  Use it, but with boundaries.

3.  Play.  Cultivate the things in life that make you laugh, that bring you pure enjoyment.  We can have compassion and a passion for activism and still be essentially happy people.

4.  Create.  Follow your muse.  Artists of any genre relate to, interpret, and define the world as it is and as we want it to be.  Use art to vision the future we want to create.

5.  Cultivate gratitude.  Hope is an aspiration for the future.  Gratitude is now, and not dependent upon anything changing.  There is always somethings to be grateful for.  Make a list.

6.  Know who you are not.  The urgency of activism right now creates a "Superman Complex".  Face it.  We are not Superheros.  We are people doing our best.  That's enough.

7.  Share the load.  Don't go it alone.  Find the power of supportive community and act together.  Be a model for activism but know not everyone will follow.  Find your allies.

8.  Take a hope inventory.  What is the vision that propels us?   What keeps us going?  Keep that vision in the forefront as motivation instead of reacting around anger and despair.

Much to contemplate here. I see some I am doing well and others I'm not doing at all.  I see where I'm burned out and why.  I see that being out of balance is only hurting me.  I don't want to hurt me.

This is only one event of the past few days that cracked me open --the others also in ways both lovely and painful.  All of it is fodder for growth....and a few more blog posts.

At least, that's the view from here...©

VISITING A RED STATE

I'm in deep red Trump Country.  This North Idaho county voted for him 64.2% to 27.0% for Clinton, with the rest scattered amongst a number 3rd party candidates.  Seventy-five percent of registered voters voted.  But that was only 59% of those of the voting age population, which always stuns me.  Why in the world don't people register to vote???

Just out of curiosity I looked up some other stats that seem to go along with being a supporter of this president.  In this town, 91% of the population is white.  The median income is $37,000.  Fifteen percent of residents have a college degree or higher.

The high school here has 346 students, mostly white;  8% of students are classified "minority", mostly Hispanic.  Forty percent of the student population are considered economically disadvantaged.  The graduation rate is 83%, an increase over 5 years from 66%, so that's good but the total enrollment is dropping, down 17% over 5 years.  No stats were reported for "college readiness" or for mathematics test scores; students hover around 52% in reading proficiency.

One thing that this town has going for it is a mountain.  A big one.  One that attracts skiers and snowboarders and mountain bikers.  There's also a section of a 72 mile breathtaking bike trail running through town, so trail riders regularly pass through too.  Most of those folks don't live here, but they do bring in some money.  Not enough, though, and the jobs the resort creates are "service industry" low-paying jobs and again, not enough of them.  Statewide the unemployment rate is 3.1%  In this county it's 6.0%

Folks here recall the glory days of the booming economy based on silver mining -- many are waiting for the mines to come back.  There is a proud heritage here of those mining days, the generations of miners who pulled silver from the mountains, supported their families, and lived mostly protected from big city, urban concerns in a valley surrounded by stunning natural beauty.  There were mining "mishaps" and one big disaster to which monuments have been raised.  But it was a good life most say.  They didn't know until much later that the lead from those mines was poisoning the river that runs through town and the dirt on the hillsides and in the yards where their children played.  An EPA Superfund was set up to remediate that...digging down 18 inches to remove contaminated soil and replacing it.  There are still signs up on the bike trail to stay on the asphalt trail and wash well before eating.

I've never lived full time in this small economically-depressed town, but we own property here.  You may ask, "Why?!?"

Hub is an avid snowboarder.  He read in 2006 that this town was on the cusp of being the next big thing...a new Vail.  Our sons were in college in Eastern Washington and we thought it would be a great gathering place for family fun.  I was working full time, those two sons gave me worry fits on occasion, and I was seeing signs of dementia in my aging mother.  I needed an escape; a respite from stress.  It's quiet here.  Plus, the housing was "cheap".  We could buy a house and an empty lot and soon, we were sure, they would prove to be a veritable gold mine as the resort expanded and the hordes rushed in to buy property at premium prices.  Development was just taking off.....but a year later the housing market crashed and we were stuck with a house we thought we'd "flip" in 2-3 years.  It's been 12 years of ownership now.  When I told a financial planner that we thought it would be a good investment, he corrected me and said what it was was a speculation.  An investment is when you can reasonably expect, with good odds and a proven track record, a return on the investment.  Oh.

We almost just dumped the house a few years ago, but then we got a second wind after Hub retired.  He started to come here with his friends for ski/boarding adventures several times during the winter months, and to ride his bike on the trails in the summer.  Our sons never did come here for "family fun" very often, but they both have come for "guys" weekends and seem to like it.  We rented it as a vacation rental for awhile, but that's hard to do long-distance.  We encourage friends to use it.  For now it's working out to hang on to it. The housing market is rebounding a slight bit and a new resort owner has some big plans for continuing the stalled development.  Our home is in a "nicer" part of town.  So we'll see.

But mostly the town itself is still depressed and depressing (to me, anyway).  There are some lovely homes here on quiet tree-lined streets, but interspersed are hard-luck rentals (and their ubiquitous pit bulls behind chain link fences.)  I took an hour long walk "uptown" today and photographed the sad and dilapidated storefronts of this small town USA.

I saw the Trump sign in the window of one home and wondered.....Why?  Why still demonstrating such support?  What magic do these folks believe can trickle down to them from the Golden Tower of Trump?  It makes me sad that they believe he will save them and their children and their children's children.  Maybe it's his promise to similarly strapped West Virginians that "coal is coming back."  Maybe they think the mines here will re-open too.  But he didn't even bother to pander to poor Idaho; no presidential visits here.  These folks just get a constant barrage of FOXified "news" and hopes for better days.

What do I hope?  I hope something will turn around here and that these people can benefit from a new economic base that doesn't displace them from the area they call home.  I understand now that our plan to cash in on the gentrification we'd hoped for is just another form of oppression.  If the town does boom, most here won't be able to afford living here, unless construction jobs, new businesses, and a tourist industry economy raises all boats.   I don't have answers.  But we are paying our taxes, buying in local stores, eating in local restaurants, chatting with our neighbors, and trying to be good citizens, even if only part-time.  And in a few days I'll go back to my urban Blue Bubble and keep wondering about that Trump sign.

At least, that's the view from here...©