YEAR-END REVIEW - OUT OF THE STORM, A RAINBOW

I'm seeing all the year-end, and decade-end, retrospectives coming out this week. As a documentarian and a sentimentalist, I love that stuff.  It's why I keep decades worth of old journals, both handwritten and electronic, and bins and files of photographs and a file drawer of basically old documents from various groups I've been involved with and greeting cards I've received.  I love seeing all those things that were (and many that remain) important to me, that formed my life, and contributed to who I am today.  So, in that spirit, let's run through the old-school hand-noted Day Planner for 2019, as I did last year, and choose some highlights:

January:  Hard.  Hard conversations with Hub.  Home alone for two weeks while he was away on the first of three annual monthly winter snowboard trips.  Started yoga teacher training and wondered if I had what it takes to keep going.  Came home from my first intensive training weekend exhausted, overwhelmed, in tears, unsure.  2019 did not start out so great.

February:  Snowpacalypse!  Record-setting snowfall in the lowlands while I was home alone again for a week during yoga teacher training weekend.  Big anxiety about ongoing relationship issues, driving in the slippery snow up hills, and the challenges of the training resulted in massive multi-day migraines.  Still, the kindness of one of our Yoga instructors saved me and others with an offer to spend the weekend at her amazingly artistic and nurturing home instead of braving the elements and barely passable roadways.  I survived!  And felt a growing connection to my sister yoginis.  A community was forming, born of hardship.

March:  Hub's last snowboard trip and finally feeling settled and excited about the Yoga Teacher Training.  Learning so much!  Then off to our annual Kauai vacation, where depression and exhilaration danced together in an odd off-kilter jig.  At least it was warm.

April:  Another week of migraines and from the looks of my calendar, a too-busy month with something scheduled every day.  But the end of the month took us to the Southeast to see friends near Charleston, South Carolina (where we lived for two years on a barrier island) and to Savannah, Georgia to see family.  Fun trip full of memories of times past.

May:  Hub's total knee replacement and difficulties navigating the caregiver/patient dynamics.  Glad for modern medicine, amazing technology, and Hub's ahead-of-schedule and better-than-most progress, likely at least partially due to his "I'll do it myself" insistence on independence during recovery.  I had to learn not to hover.

June:  A Girls Getaway to the ocean beach with friends.  Days of talk, laughter, ritual-making, and important insights.  The respite I needed under sunny skies and starlit nights, embraced in loving friendship.

July:  Migraines, GI issues, sadness.  I felt lousy a lot of the time early in the month.  I worried something was majorly wrong with me.  (Relieved to find there wasn't).  The end of yoga teacher training came late in the month with a 5-day learning retreat in the North Cascade mountains before a big graduation celebration.   The close bond we'd formed as a group left us all amazed and grateful.  After spending 200 hours together over 6 months of intensive learning and practice, it was both a relief and a bit sad to say goodbye to the experience...and to each other.

August:  We were off to Minneapolis for Al Gore's Climate Reality Leadership Team training. Discovered an unexpected fondness for Minneapolis (in the summer!)  and had fun exploring the city when not in sessions in a freezing hotel ballroom.  The majority of the month was very, very, very difficult.  Hub was gone for bit on an annual camping trip and then home to lots of very hard conversations that shook me to the core.  I didn't know I was capable of rage, but I am and it was cleansing.  Big learning in hard times.  Life-changing, actually.  I know myself and my limits and boundaries and strength in ways unknown before.  The tremors I'd been feeling between us for, well, quite a long while, finally shook my foundation.  It was no fun.

September:  Rebuilding.  Hub was away again to a favorite camping site for several days, then home to more relationship work, big epiphanies, intentional recommitment and reason for hope.  Forty-seven years into our marriage and this felt like a new beginning; a second honeymoon.  Gratitude and Grace abound.  Also a family trip to my great-niece's wedding in Scottsdale and late in the month a perfect trip for Hub and me to NYC.  Did I mention honeymoon? 😉

October:  Hub left with an adventurer friend for 3 weeks in Nepal, on a trip planned for months, to sightsee and also to visit the two students whose educations we have been sponsoring for 5 years.  Big Adventure!  Instead listening to me whine about staying home alone, my friends invited me to join them in Maui for 10 days where I soaked up all the warmth, sun, and silky warm waters I could before returning to the 'wet months' in the Pacific Northwest.

November:  Hub got home mid-month and we shifted into a very low gear, reconnecting and resting up for the holidays to come.

December:  And here we are.  (I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that the current president was impeached and that was awesome, but of course, not the end of his reign, yet.)

This has been the most mellow holiday season I can ever recall.  Family, friends, our annual seaside getaway, a couple of holiday outings....and all of it felt manageable and easy. 

The absolute highlight was shopping together for a modest, understated, but very lovely diamond wedding band -- a tangible reminder of what we'd come through this year resulting in a recommitment to our long marriage, promising to go forward with renewed intention, honesty, love, respect, and care.  When I look down at my hand and see that sparkle, I feel blessed beyond words.

It wasn't the easiest year, but a necessary one.  Into 2020 I take a revitalized marriage, my devotion to family, my treasured friends, memories of, and plans for more travels, a deep and joyful spiritual practice, and a determination to right the upside-down world of our national political landscape.  Into 2020 I take happiness, contentment, and optimism, which is such an unexpected blessing that I feel like I've had a personality transplant.  Well, I'll take it.

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

POST-CHRISTMAS HEALTH CONTEMPLATION

I'm thinking a lot about health as this year ends.  It's been a challenging year in some ways and I was not at all well for many months of GI distress and migraines and general stress and anxiety and overwhelm due to that "little" (haha) relationship disruption I wrote about previously.  My therapist was rather alarmed at my lack of sleeping and eating, or leaving the couch. Sigh.  So, yeah, I wasn't taking very good care of myself there for awhile.

Now, being back on track emotionally gave me the space to take a look at my physical symptoms and decide to do something different, like sleep....

This morning, I was up by 5:00 a.m.  Again.  Still, my Fitbit tells me I had a FAIR night's sleep, likely marked down some by not hitting my 7 hour minimum sleep goal, but hitting all other benchmarks for the sleep cycles.  So many variables go into the calculation of the Fitbit "sleep score", which has become my barometer for knowing if I slept well or not, instead of trusting my body and the degree to which I feel rested. 

Lest you think I'm the only one Fitbit dependent, a friend of mine made an emergency doctor visit after a period of time in which her Fitbit did not give her any sleep score at all due to being unable to gather enough data while she was asleep.  She first, wisely (haha), bought a new Fitbit but when that didn't solve the problem she was off to the doctor to have her heart checked. They sent her home reassured, and we all had a stern talk with her Fitbit for playing naughty tricks on her...and learned that maybe these tracking devices are not infallible.  Go figure.

Anyway, my Fitbit also sends data to my Medicare Advantage Preventative Health plan which gives me "dollars" to spend on gift cards, as allocated by how many "active days" (based on steps taken) and exercise classes, etc I take with Silver Sneakers or on my own, as well as keeping up on preventative medical visits and tests.  This year I've earned $160 to spend on gift cards and mine will all go to the Amazon option.  This is a mere pittance of what I'd earn if they paid for ALL my classes. (They only allow you to "claim" 4 classes a year!  Ridiculous! I take that many in a week.)  But I'll enjoy a few freebies from Amazon, so that's some motivation, I guess.

In addition to sleeping better, I decided to eat better too.  After watching the documentary (on Netflix -- check it out) "Forks Over Knives",  I started in early November to eat a mostly plant-based diet.  No land or air meat at all.  Maybe every 10 days or so some prawns.  (Holding out on a decision on salmon next year when it's back in season.)  For a few weeks I was vegan and ate no dairy and no eggs, but I've eased up on being that restrictive.  I eat those infrequently, but without hesitation.  And guess what?  I feel so much better!  I know it could be the relieved stress helping my symptoms, but I just feel so much better overall I can hardly believe it.   I'm sticking with it.

The biggest hurdle this holiday season, as every year, is my descent into sugar addiction.  I swore it would not happen this year, given my new healthful eating plan.  But it did.  Cake, cookies, brownies, pastries, candy, ice cream, mochas, eggnog lattes...oh my.  These are my drugs of choice.  I am powerless.

So yesterday, in a fit of disgust, I Googled "giving up sugar".  There are hundreds of "hits" for articles, books, documentaries, essays, ads....  I settled on two guides to start with:  "Beating Sugar Addiction for Dummies" (cuz I find those "dummy" books about complex subjects to be very readable, so I guess I'm the target "dummy" audience) and "Year of No Sugar" by Eve O Schaub, whose memoir writing is so funny and down-to-earth true; I love her.  This one is about how her whole family spent a year not eating any added fructose in anything!  I don't know if I can go that far, but what I've read about the way sugar ravages our bodies makes me want to purge 69 years of sugar consumption and get on the stump with a megaphone.  I'm going to start with just eliminating anything I know to be purposely sweet -- the aforementioned cakes, cookies, sugar drinks, etc.  -- and not worry too much yet about what sugar there is in my Dave's thin-sliced multi-grain bread.  I will leave off the jam though.

Like any good resolution-maker, I'm starting in earnest on January 1.  This will be VERY challenging for me.  Society uses sugar in so many ways that have nothing to do with nutrition (of which there is none) -- it's used to say "I love you"; "Let's celebrate"; "Feel better", etc etc.  Sugar is everywhere -- not just the hidden kind (read the labels!) but the obvious kind too.  There are whole cookie aisles! Whole bakeries within the supermarket!  I know!  I love them!!!

I am heartened, however, to realize I've already given up cigarettes (1982, but with a very occasional, like on average less than once/year "cheat", until 2011), alcohol (2011), red meat (sometime over the past 15 years; not sure when exactly), and the rest of the land/air animal flesh 6 weeks ago (OK, two chicken cheats) and now I miss none of it and don't feel weird or socially out of place (most of the time) with my choices.  So I hold out hope for this to be difficult for awhile (2 weeks is the typical 'withdrawal/craving' timeframe for sugar addiction) and then, hopefully, easy. (Easier.)

If you've gone before me on this sugarless path, send suggestions for not gnawing my fingers off.  I can't help but assume there is some trace fructose in my new Lemon-Rosemary Balm hand lotion and it will sound awfully good in a few days...I can see myself licking my paws like a cat, can't you?

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

PS:  I just checked my Dave's bread:  2 grams sugar per slice in the form of organic fruit juices to supply the "sweet".  Ms. Schaub would have eliminated this from her diet.  I'm not gonna.  Yet.  I get into trouble and have zero long-term follow-through when I go all or nothing on things like this.  Baby steps.

Photo Credit:  www.pixabay.com

HOLIDAY PEACE

Something strange is happening to me.  I am 11 days into December and I am still feeling the Christmas spirit.

Usually I peak too early; like around November 30 to about December 5 I'm full of anticipation and love the fa-la-la-la-la-ing of it all.  I get the tree up and house decorated in that time frame.  I listen to a few Christmas CDs.  Then as the holiday grows closer, my Grinch becomes activated and by the 25th I'm well and done with the whole thing.  I know, this is only the 11th, so I have a ways to go, but today I feel calm and bright.  I'm still looking forward to the activities and events and gatherings instead of dreading them with the wish it would all be over.

December is super jam-packed each year since I also have a birthday, as do my son and one of my best friends.  It makes for lots of extra celebrating.   The big group of our friends who gather monthly have a Christmas party.  Throw in the annual December trip to a nearby waterfront town Hub and I take to celebrate my BD and we are away for 3 days in the midst of everything else.  The family get-togethers increase due to those birthdays, as well as extra grandkid childcare so mom and dad can do Santa shopping, and our traditional family Christmas Eve and Christmas Day gathering.  It can feel like a whirlwind.  This year it feels like fun.  Is this how normal people have always done December?

I think being retired has helped calm the storm.  Not having to work, not having office parties, not buying extra gifts for co-workers, etc. is a relief.  Our family now exchanges names instead of buying gifts for each person (except the grandkids, of course) and that eases the shopping burden.  Hub and I never exchange gifts, feeling we have enough and those solar panels on the roof this year are gift enough.

And we are selective about what special holiday activities we do.  Last week we went to dinner and a musical performance "A Celtic Christmas" with friends.  Next week we will do the annual Luminary River Walk (lighted luminaries along the riverfront trail -- a festive community event).   Our trip will be restful and fun, as always.  That's about it this year, even though I've seen dozens more cool-sounding holiday performances and activities that we could do.  I've learned that piling one outing atop the other in an overabundance of "joy" just makes me tired and cranky.

Maybe the key to finding holiday peace is to scale it all way back and find that peace not in the doing but in the being.  This year has been a time of deep reflection, a lot of grief, a lot of joy, learning, growing, finding unexpected connection, and growing community among family and friends.  I'm grateful for all of that and that's what I'll focus on this season.  It's what I should have focused on all along.

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

WITH AGE...

In my mid-late 40's, I think, I was first diagnosed with "borderline" high blood pressure.  I was shocked.  I went on meds, was advised to lose weight, and exercise more, de-stress.  The usual.  When asking why my BP was suddenly a problem, I was told for the first time, "Well, with age...."

This phrase has prefaced so many medical discussions over the ensuing 20 or so years, I've come to anticipate it.

Cholesterol:  "Well, with age...."
Keratosis:  "Well, with age..."
Osteopenia:  "Well, with age...."
Weight settling around the mid-region:  "Well, with age..."
Knees aching on occasion:  "Well, with age...."
Dry skin, age spots, dull complexion, wrinkles:  "Well, with age...."
Interrupted sleep/waking early: "Well, with age...."
Blurred vision/cataracts:  "Well, with age...."
Hearing impairment: "Well, with age...."

You probably have a list too.

As 2019 comes to a close,  I feel like it's a full time job to keep my body going.  There are only so many hours in the day to do all I want/need to do, and physical care is taking up more and more of my time.  Age is only a number, but well, with age....the only way to manipulate that number is to attend to age-related changes in our physical health.

I do not believe in using age as an excuse -- we have a lot of control over how we age by attending to what we can to mitigate some of the limiting aspects of age and health.  But age is an explanation for why I'm suddenly at the clinic for things that weren't an issue a few years ago.

I had my annual physical in October and went on a higher dose statin for cholesterol and have to do home BP checks to see if my BP meds are keeping that under control....borderline for increasing the doseage.  I've lost weight and get more exercise than in my 40's but, well, with age...

A couple of weeks ago I had my annual dermatology visit for a full body check. I've had a couple of basal cell carcinoma thingies removed and one squamous cell spot, so I'm a candidate for constantly checking the vast expanse of northern European/Scandinavian white skin that I foolishly thought would "tan" in my 20's and 30's.  The minimal tan and maximal sunburns of those years have now come back to haunt me.  Once again I'll be applying topical chemical therapies to my hands and a couple spots on my face to keep the damaged cells there from freaking out and becoming something ominous.  This will be my third round of such treatment.  We also talked about a better skin care regimen for my face. (I'm notoriously lax in that area -- wash, slap on some drugstore moisturizer, call it good.)

This fall I had two cataract surgeries.  I am so incredibly amazed and delighted to be able to see clearly again, even at night, even when driving in the rain!  I had curtailed my nighttime driving to basically emergencies only and it was very limiting.  Now I am confident that on the off chance I have an evening activity (Well, with age... I actually prefer to be home most nights) I can see where I'm going and not be a danger to myself or others.  I hope this miracle lasts, even with advancing age.

Last week I also went in for my first-ever hearing test.  I have tinnitus (that annoying ringing in the ears) and had also noticed I can't hear a thing in noisy restaurants with all the echoing, clanging, music, etc in the background.  I also noticed I used to be able to hear my husband talking to me from a couple rooms away, but now it's just a mumbling muddle.  I was told both of these scenarios are very common, so I was reassured.

Then I had the tests.  I now have a new "with age..." diagnosis:  mild to moderate hearing loss.  This is mostly in the very upper registers of tone.  (I think they were employing a dog whistle and admonishing me for not hearing it.  I am not a Poodle!)  Not time for hearing aides, but something to re-test in a year.  Sheesh!

In the meantime, I'm to adjust my environment by avoiding those noisy restaurants, which I mostly do anyway; by talking to my "communication partners" about talking to me face to face; by using hearing protection any time I am around noise that is loud and repetitive for any length of time:  concerts, sporting events, generators, lawn equipment like hedge trimmers, lawnmowers, power washers, etc, even hairdryers, and blenders in the kitchen.  I've ordered the type of ear plugs musicians use that fit inside the ear and reduce decibels without reducing the ability to hear what one wants to hear.

What I'm noticing is that humility comes "with age..." as well.  I used to be so impatient with my mom about all the doctor visits, diagnoses, limitations, and adaptations.  My arrogance was such that there were times when I felt she just wasn't trying hard enough.  OMG!  As she started to age, maybe mentioning the changes she saw in her 50s and onward, that woman ate well, went for daily walks, did Yoga Sun Salutation every morning, strength trained with exercise bands, had annual physicals, took all her meds, did not drink or smoke, quit driving when she started to feel insecure behind the wheel, wore hearing aides and glasses....she did all she could and still ended up with vascular dementia in her later years and died a month shy of 88 of stroke, so at a certain point something will get ya.

But now she is my role model for taking responsibility for my physical body for as long as I have it.  No one gets out alive, but how we age can often be within our control.  It takes commitment, diligence, and an inordinate amount of time.  I'm looking at my calendar and figuring out how I can fit in my yoga practice, classes at the new YMCA, and walks in the 'hood into my already sort of jammed social and "work" (meetings, household duties, childcare dates, writing, etc.) schedule.  More and more time goes to the body, leaving less for other activities.  I also suspect I can be more efficient with my time and probably find a new schedule that doesn't feel like I'm sacrificing for my health.

With age one is better able to discern what is truly important (maybe not scrolling Facebook) and how best to live in health -- with acceptance, adaptation, grace, and humility.

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

HAPPY & THANKFUL

I'm happy.  It's an odd feeling.

It occurs to me, not for the first time, that my default to depression, anxiety, and worrywart overwhelm is exhausting.  But it's sort of what I've come to expect. Any respite into actual happiness seemed transitory.  Most could not tell this about me and have expressed surprise when I'd talk about it.  I've spent 68 years putting on a happy public face even when I was anything but happy.  And no, I'm not constantly in a state of mental health crisis of epic proportions, but I've lived with the low-level hum of worry and pessimism playing in the background on and off most of my life.

This year has been particularly challenging.  Right out of the January gate it became clear that Hub and I had not been communicating and connecting as well as we might.  Disagreements, frustrations, building resentments, and anger mingled more often than usual with the ease, contentment, and routine of a long, close marriage.  On the surface all was well to the casual observer.  We appeared to sail along on calm seas -- even we convinced ourselves skies were mostly sunny.  Under the surface, however, the nuclear reactors on our separate submarines were about to melt down.  Hello August. (aka Hell Month).

No, you don't get to hear the details of our running aground. (Is my metaphor getting lost?  Subs don't run aground do they?  Let's pretend we are back on the sailboat and find ourselves stranded at low tide.)

Suffice to say, even a relationship of over 50 years (counting dating before marrying), even when the partners are emotionally literate and talk about most everything ad nauseum, even when decades of individual and joint personal growth work have been accomplished, a crisis point can occur when one realizes there is apparently more work to do: more talking, more emoting, more uncovering. There is more to learn about ourselves and each other at this age and stage of life. There is a marriage to tend, with care and compassion.  We've been focused on gratefully, intentionally, tending it for the past few months.

So, I find myself unnaturally happy, optimistic, and even joyful, not only about my marriage but also about, well, me.  These are not states of being that have come naturally for me.  I looked at myself in the mirror a couple of weeks ago and smiled, genuinely loving the person looking back.  I think that was a first.

Why the shift?  I took some emotional risks in the past several months that never in a million years did I think I could.  I learned that anger is warranted at times and does not need to be squelched for the 'greater good' and the world doesn't fall apart when it's expressed.  I learned that compassion can live alongside anger and be the balm that calms.  I learned that it takes Herculean effort to set clear boundaries and be ready to hold them, along with learning that the strength it takes to choose complete vulnerability can be terrifying and exhilarating.

I learned that both Hub and I are willing to look at our choices and decisions, habits and default behaviors with tenderness, strength, and compassion for ourselves and each other, even when it's most difficult, even when the urge is to retreat in hurt or defensiveness.

I learned that the personal and relationship work we've done in the past has supported and sustained us through this storm.  I've learned it's good to ask for help.  I've learned, again, that both of us being open, honest, vulnerable, and willing to change is painful and challenging -- and essential to a committed relationship.

I've learned that grace shows up when we open to it, creating a path to re-discovering our essential selves and to recommitting to a marriage that still stands the test of time.  I've learned (dare I say it?) to be happy.

This is a very personal post and I hesitate to hit "publish".  I actually wrote it in early October, but held back.  Thanksgiving seems to be a right time to share it, with deep gratitude for where I/we are today.

My writing, always, is to create connection and to offer "you're not alone" reassurance to others who live a human life of challenge and joy.  We're all in this together.  Let's hold each other tenderly.

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

TAKING UP THE MANTLE

Today I'm thinking about time....passing.  I have no turkey in waiting, no bread to prepare for the stuffing, no 'fridge full of holiday foods to assemble, no list of what gets made when; no "good dishes" set out, nor cloth napkins ironed, nor fancy candles to light; nor extra chairs at the table; nor anticipation of the family arriving tomorrow from 'over the river and through the woods (or at least from across town and up I-5) to grandmother's house they go'.

This year the torch is passed.  Son One and his family moved into their beautiful new home 6 weeks ago and they are excited to christen it with the joy of family gathered for Thanksgiving.  For all my grousing at times about a holiday centered around one meal and how much work it is to pull off and clean up after (I'm not a cook), I admit to shedding a tear or two about this transition.

That said, I also admit to the tear-fest being exceedingly brief.  I saw immediately the perks of going elsewhere.  With the youngers taking on the food planning, shopping, and prep, finding enough chairs, setting the table, and cleaning up afterward, all I need do is show up with yams and brussels sprouts at the appointed hour.  With sons and daughters-in-law who love to shop, organize, and cook this is actually a dream come true.  And, in spite of the fact that in my family of origin the women hosted until they were no longer "able", I can let go of that outdated tradition and enjoy, while still perfectly able, NOT doing the day at my house.

So yes, my home seems a bit bare today and uncharacteristically quiet with no kitchen hubbub of preparations.  It is also peaceful, and I feel a sense of relief, as I look around at all my autumn decorations, sipping my coffee, feeling gratitude for my family and their not just willingness, but eagerness, to take up the mantle and continue the tradition of sitting down to a holiday meal together in celebration of thankfulness.

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

PALETTES AND PATTERNS

The time change last weekend means it is dark here at 5:00.  In a few weeks it will be mostly dark by 4:30 (and barely light in the morning by 8!)  I just ordered two new Peter Pauper Press - Studio Series ("for colorists of all ages") coloring books, which sort of elevates the whole "coloring" idea in my judgement.  I also have a new set of my favorite brush tip watercolor markers.  I'm ready.  I alternate between coloring and crocheting this time of year while I watch TV in the long winter evenings.  And that, my friends, is how I can tell I have become my mother.  The adult coloring book craze didn't exist then, but she did knit or crochet at night and I thought "What a boring life! I'll never waste my time like that!"  Hmmm....

I've come to realize that any creative outlet that is enjoyable and relaxing is not a waste of time -- or of a life.   She sewed, knitted, crocheted, embroidered, painted landscapes, wrote family histories and short stories, drew the plans for the building of my teenager years home (her dream house in 1966), went to school and opened her own business -- a beauty shop in our home -- at age 43, and did all the traditional "housewife" stuff that a woman did in her adult life in the 1940's, 50's, 60's, 70's, and beyond.  She took great pride in "keeping house" while caring for our family.

If I possessed half her creative talents and had half her energy, I'd be happy.  My life is more of the contemplative, personal growth, activist, and spiritual quest variety.  My nod to traditional creative pursuits lies only in writing, crocheting (only blankets and scarves -- nothing that has to actually fit anyone!) and coloring (within the lines someone else has drawn, in low light conditions, maybe without my reading glasses.)  I've painted a few little watercolors that I like and many more that ended in the recycling bin.  I like to take photographs but don't like the technical aspects of "real" photography.  I keep thinking "maybe someday I'll do something with all those photos".  Maybe.  Someday.

As I settle in to the dark season my thoughts turn to settling into the Autumn of my life as well.  I like to tell my doctors I fully expect to live another 30 or more years.  Yet I know that would be beating the odds a bit.  My plan is to do all I can within my power to keep myself healthy, but there is so much that is out of our control that my other plan is to make peace with whatever comes that I will never foresee.

And I know that 30 years is not that long.  I've already seen projections of projects and plans around various political aspirations and community planning ideas that are that far out and more.  I realize these are plans for others, not for me.  I won't be here to see them come to fruition.  I've reached that stage in life when I both mourn that reality and pray for all these wonderful things to become manifest for my children and their children.  All I can do is do what I can now to help further those goals for future generations.  I find some peace in that.

I don't mean to sound maudlin here.  I'm not really.  I'm just finding myself in a place of contemplation and acceptance.  I don't mind a bit slowing my pace, sorting out priorities, making a meaningful life in connection with others, prioritizing home and family and contentment.

I'll still take to the streets and bug my representatives and practice yoga and hang out with my grandkids and travel a bit....

But I'll also leave ample time for color books and crochet projects -- choosing palettes and patterns that speak to me, that a provide a fleeting bright spot of beauty as darkness engulfs for a time, before the return of the light and the cycle begins anew.

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

ONE-EYED CLARITY

OMG! OMG!  I can see!!!  Well, out of one eye anyway.

I've been having "eye issues" for a few years.    I had lasik surgery 16 years ago and my vision was corrected one eye for close and one for far (mono-vision).  I swore for years it was the best thing I'd ever done for myself.  But even that came with a bit of frustration -- in low light conditions (nighttime, dark-ish days, inside stores sometimes), my "close up" eye became dominant and my vision blurred.  I had to wear glasses in certain situations.  A couple of years ago I noticed I couldn't do computer work for any length of time before my vision blurred, so I got "mid-range" glasses for computer work.  Most recently reading small print became impossible, and by small I mean anything I couldn't enlarge on my Kindle, so I gave up on real books and most magazines for the most part.  My eyes would water and blur otherwise.

Then, last winter I sat talking to Hub and suddenly realized one of my eyes seemed to be seeing as if through a gray veil.  The other seemed fine.  We got so concerned that I called the clinic and got in that day.  Was I having a stroke????

Nope, I was having a cataract.  I knew there was one brewing, but had been told at my last eye exam that it was small and not at all needing attention.  But at this exam, the doc said, "Yikes" (or maybe she was less startled; it might have been me saying "Yikes!")  It had grown fast and right on top of my pupil.  She recommended surgery as soon as I wanted to do it.  I wanted it that day, but her recitation of post-op restrictions including no bending at the waist or weight lifting or strenuous activity for a time gave me pause.  I had just started my Yoga Teacher Training.  I'd be doing a lot of bending at the waist, weight-bearing, and moving about.  She told me to wait.  So I did -- for six months to complete the training and another two to get on the surgery schedule.

During those 8 months, my vision deteriorated and the little cataract on the other eye started to grow over that pupil. I stopped driving at night.  I fought with my various pairs of glasses trying to see up close, far away, mid-range...none of it was crystal clear. 

Last week I went in for the left eye cataract removal surgery. I had anticipated the surgery taking away the gray film, but that I'd need glasses to see.  Au Contraire!  My surgeon told me she could insert a corrected lens directly into my eye that would allow me to have my old mono-vision OR both eyes corrected for distance.  I opted for that.  I was tired of having two different fields of vision.

I came out of surgery with a bionic lens that is allowing me to see more clearly than I have in years.  It's a miracle!  Well, it's actually science, technology, and a skilled surgeon and I am deeply grateful for all of it.  Next month I'll get the other eye fixed up.  I cannot wait!  I have not worn my distance or mid-range glasses since surgery.  I bought some drug store readers for up close (and they work well with the computer) and I can focus with ease.

I see that trees are not just green blobs, but have individual leaves!  Street signs are legible!  Car lights at night don't look like bright blinding stars aiming right for me!  Colors are brilliant!

But, as with everything, there is a downside.  No eye make-up for a week post-op.  My eyes disappear into oblivion if I don't wear at least a bit of mascara.  Still, I was diligent and threw vanity to the wind and went without.  But every time I looked in the mirror, I was a bit shocked.  I realized my face looked entirely different....more exposed, more wrinkly.  I thought, "Wow, that eye make-up really makes a big difference!"  So the first day I could use it again, I was eager.  Yet after applying it I didn't notice that much difference in my face.  The wrinkles were still there!  Exactly where they'd always been as it turns out.  I just couldn't see them clearly before.  I was looking at my face through my cataract as if in a soft-focus photograph, all imperfections sort of blurred away.

I find this turn of events rather startling and I think someone maybe should have told me how much I've aged.  I had no idea!!!  There is, however, a remedy that Hub suggested.  I can discourage everyone else from getting cataract surgery and I will then maintain my youthful--ish appearance in their eyes, at least.   Great idea!

At least that's the (clear) view from here...©

Photo Credit: www.pixabay.com

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

I've been home for a week from a 6-day vacation in NYC with Hub.  We had a blast!  I am so grateful for a life that affords me opportunities to travel to places I love.  As you know, I don't travel a lot by some standards, so when I do I always hope I'll have a great time and see and do cool things.  This trip filled the bill.

I already know I love New York.  What's not to love?  There is so much to see and do -- one couple on the elevator of the place we stayed was heading out one morning to what they said was the "dog museum".  They seemed pretty excited and ready to go outside! (The American Kennel Club Museum of the Dog -- I looked it up.)

We headed out each day with destinations in mind too.  We bought a three site City Pass so before we even got there we knew we'd see the 911 Museum/Memorial, the Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island.  We also got tickets to a play: Come From Away.  We had a dinner date planned with NYC friends.  Other than that, our days were ours to create spontaneously.

We walked the High Line trail, came across Bella Abzug Park, found and explored the new "Vessel" at Hudson Yards, ate yummy pizza at Julianna's in DUMBO, walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, explored The Heights (Brooklyn), strolled through Central Park, picnicked in Bryant Park, and in Washington Square in Greenwich Village, gawked in Times Square, road the subway everywhere, and walked miles and miles and miles making our Fitbit step counter very happy.

Here are some things I noticed (along with some tips) with the caveat that I am describing a Manhattan experience:

1.  It's OK to talk to yourself or sing at the top of your lungs on city streets.  Many do.

2.  Or maybe it just seems like people are talking to themselves given the frequency of people talking on their cell phones via wireless ear buds that make it appear they are just walking along having a nice self-referential conversation.

3.  Cell phones were, of course, ubiquitous and at first I found this annoying, but I did occasional unscientific studies where I glanced around at the first 10 random people I saw and only about 40% were looking at screens.  That's still a lot and who knows what they were doing?  We used ours for navigating at times and that seems to be a purposeful rather than mindless usage.

4. Subway stations are gross and dirty.  Don't touch anything.  It's also very very hot down under.  Try not to think how far underground you are.  There are levels of underground!

5. Subway cars are surprising bright and clean and safe.  (Well...a story will follow later in this post.)

6. Subway workers, when you can find one, are surly.

7. People (locals and tourists) walking around NYC are very fit.  It must be all that walking.

8. Many Italians visit NYC.

9. Cops are super friendly.  So are the locals.  We were offered assistance many times and observed many instances of people helping people out.  It was heartening.

10.  Sirens never stop.  Ever.  Day or night.  Same with honking horns.  This horn honking seemed to have absolutely no bearing on traffic moving any faster.

11.  Be careful crossing the street, although on the Don't Walk sign you have far longer than you might think, so don't just stand there either.  Always watch for turning cars; don't assume they will stop.

12.  Bicyclists are ruthless.  They ride a jillion miles per hour with a whistle between their teeth and will blow it relentlessly loudly to alert you to MOVE cuz they ain't gonna slow down.  Annoying.

13.  Do not, for God's sake, block the sidewalk!  Millions of people live in and visit NYC and we all are trying to get somewhere.  When you walk 3-4 abreast with a sauntering gait, you create a roadblock.  There is a flow to walking in NYC similar to driving on the freeway.  Keep right and let those walking faster pass.  (One of my favorite city things is to walk fast and weave in and out of the pedestrian traffic.  I feel like Fast and Furious -- on foot!)

14.  Our taxi into Midtown from JFK was over $80.00 and took over an hour to go 16 miles on a Sunday afternoon!  We investigated:  The Long Island Railroad (LIRR) leaves Penn Station about every 15 minutes to Jamaica Queens near JFK.  It was $8.00/each.  Then you transfer to the AirTran ($5.00/each) and it stops right at your JFK terminal.  It took us 45 minutes, avoiding Friday rush hour traffic.  A cab would have cost waaaaayyyy more (hotel said likely $100) and 1-1/2 to 2 hours sitting in traffic.  You're welcome.

Any downside?  Well, we did ride the subway from Midtown to Lower Manhattan one morning and a woman got on carrying all her worldly possessions.  She was obviously mentally ill and in full profanity-laden rant for about 10 minutes.  It was uncomfortable, but you know, city life.  Then she unzipped her jeans, pulled them down, squatted in the aisle and peed.  Hmmm...not cool.  Everyone around her found other seats on either end of the subway car.  One couple we'd talked to briefly said they were from Kansas; they sat very close together and held hands looking startled.  Hub leaned over and said to them, "Well, you're not in Kansas anymore."  HaHa

To his credit, a young man who was likely very familiar with the variety of humanity riding the subways in his city, said, "Well, when ya gotta go ya gotta go.  Let's sing!"  And he started singing "Stand By Me" like a rock star.  Everyone in the car sang along.  As he exited with cap extended before him he collected a nice amount of change and waved goodbye.

New York! New York!

At least that's the view from here. ©

ACHING FEET, JOYFUL HEART

My buddy, former VP Al Gore, would be proud of me.  I logged 12, 667 steps on my Fitbit yesterday at the Seattle Climate Strike March and Rally.  I expect that this whole climate crisis thing is now taken care of.  Done and dusted. You're welcome.

Wait?  What?  It's not fixed?  Damn!  There were marches worldwide yesterday, with millions of people taking to the streets over every continent.  In Seattle the only figure I can find this morning is "thousands" so I guess no one was doing an actual head count, but I can attest to the "thousands" number as marchers stretched for blocks from a festival type rally at a neighborhood park, then marched for a little over a mile on closed city streets to City Hall downtown.  I was one of those, as was Hub.

We got up early, hopped on a bus for the 25 mile trip to downtown Seattle, transferred to another bus to get to the park and felt pretty proud of ourselves -- we used no fossil fuels, did not contribute to clogged freeway lanes, spent a total of $2.00 using our Senior transit cards and ended up a block from where we were to meet up with the group we marched with:  Washington Physicians for Social Responsibility.   

We were part of that organization in the early 1980's fighting nuclear proliferation and the siting of a Navy base on the waterfront 1/2 mile from our home.  Yes, the base is here, but we slowed them down and helped reduce the number of ships homeported in our town.  Small victories.  Alas, some of those ships still house nuclear reactors and carry nuclear weapons and we hope to this day that none of our warnings about accidents and incidents come to pass.  Anyway, we are back with WPSR, now working with their Climate Change Task Force, and helping to organize a chapter in our county.

The park was jammed with people of all ages, toddlers to great-grandparents, carrying signs, staffing booths of local organizations, listening to youth speakers, and an air of hopeful enthusiasm infused the festivities. It was actually sort of a Progressive Nirvana.  

We noticed 3 black-clad Antifa types standing around looking like middle-school gangbanger wanna-bes, not intimidating anyone in the least.  The crowd would likely have overwhelmed them with rainbows and unicorns and Progressive talking points, so they remained mostly marginalized.  (Also there was a significant police presence in that area of the park, watchful, but relaxed and smiling at the crowd.)

Once the march began people filled the streets and spilled over onto the sidewalks, mostly chatting, smiling, taking photos, waving signs.  It was the typical Seattle crowd of polite, happy, optimistic, enthusiastic, and slightly self-righteous do-gooders who are earnest about their causes and ready to join with others to make change happen in whatever way it must.  (And, of course, along the route was the usual one guy with a megaphone shrieking about humanity's sinful ways and that we cannot save the earth because God will destroy it, as prophesized, to punish us.  Seriously?  Jesus, if you are listening, please do come back and set them straight.)

This event originated with 16-year-old Swedish Climate Activist Greta Thunberg, spread worldwide, and made way for local youth to lead.  All the speakers at the park were teens, as were the march leaders, and city hall speakers.  It felt amazing to literally follow this generation and to cheer their determination to make a better world for themselves and all who come after.

Hub and I had gone to Minneapolis in early August to take part in and be trained and certified as Climate Reality Leaders, an opportunity offered by Al Gore's Climate Reality organization.  Generally twice a year in the US and once a year internationally, Climate Reality trains folks to spread the word on the climate crisis, to become educators and activists locally.  There were 1200 people in our 3 day training, the typical number.  Gore was integrally involved, not just giving the opening and closing statements, but also taking the stage for his famous slide show presentation (which we now have in our possession to use as we want adapting it to a variety of audiences), moderating panel discussions, and recognizing outstanding volunteers for the organization.  His closing speech had everyone on their feet cheering and clapping.  (That guy should run for something! HA)

I thought of that training yesterday as we marched, as I looked around at the crowd, as I watched news reports covering marches worldwide, as I watched the two-part special on the Climate Crisis hosted by Chris Hayes on MSNBC this past Thursday and Friday evenings, as I watched the 2020 Democratic Candidate Climate 7-hour Town Hall a couple of weeks ago.

It wasn't that long ago that no one was paying attention, that people like Al Gore were shouting into a relative void.  His decades-long fight to get the attention of the country on this issue must have been an exercise in total frustration.  But he and others have persevered.  Now, finally, as the effects of climate change are all around us and impacting everyone, people are waking up.  A good thing, since time is running out to change the inevitable course we are on.

Al Gore often quotes the late Rudy Dorenbush,  MIT economist:  "Things always seem to take longer to happen than you think they will, but when they do, they happen faster than you ever thought they could."  I hope so.

We may be at a tipping point.  People are ditching plastic straws and plastic bags, doubling down on recycling, taking the bus more often, changing to LED light bulbs, but the biggest, most lasting and impactful actions are those we take at the policy level.  We have an administration in office now which not only denies climate change, but is actively contributing to it.  The best action we can take is to work like hell to vote them out and to vote in politicians who will act on policy that addresses the #1 existential threat to humanity.

I looked around yesterday, proud to be part of movement that will not give up or give in; proud to be marching with a new generation of leaders and activists.  And every step of the way I held my grandchildren close in my heart.  One older woman held a sign that spoke for me:  "I'll be dead; I'm marching for my grandkids."  Me too.

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

SEISMIC EVENT

These days you hear a lot about the climate crisis. Still, probably on some level you just take it for granted that things will always be there in the same way, forever and ever, amen, with the earth... and with your life.

Oh sure, there may be the occasional windstorm, a few lightening strikes, a brush fire, but nothing that we don't have the tools and the wherewithal to handle quite handily.

You are aware, of course, that the threat of a tornado or hurricane or earthquake is a reality, but really, don't those bad things happen to other people???

The barely perceptible tremors can be explained away or ignored for a long time.  Maybe a larger rumble comes out of the blue, but it's over quickly and, well, who wants to worry about what that might mean?

Then one day you wake up and realize that actually you have been worrying, you have been wondering, you have been a bit stressed, and you've been stockpiling for the day the big one hits by wrapping yourself in a protective coating of "I don't care; I can handle anything."

Then, BOOM, the earth shakes, you lose your footing, you grab for anything solid to hang onto, but in spite of your best efforts the walls come tumbling down and you are standing in rubble.  You look around and wonder how this could have happened.  You thought your structure was strong -- stronger than most.  But you were wrong.

You wander around dazed for awhile, kicking at loose bricks, breathing the dust of powdered mortar. You search for signs of life and find none.  So you turn away from that futile task and start to research how this happened.  What did you miss?  How could this have been prevented?  Why are you reacting as if death were at the door when others who face similar messes just whistle while they sweep?  How can you get through the devastation?  How do you rebuild?

You call a couple of friends in to take a look.  They seem to be a bit shocked too, but wise also, and  they sit down in the rubble with you and start to knock the stuck mortar off the individual bricks.  Dust flies in the air and lands in buckets where you mix it with tears and it grows thick and strong.  You have the materials, but how to reassemble what once stood?  You call in professionals for advice.  They mostly tell you things you already know, but they also offer empathy for the job ahead, assurance you are up to the task, and affirmation that the mess is not yours alone to deal with.  You do not live alone in that house.

And one day sooner than you thought possible, you are not alone anymore.  Your partner is standing with you in front of what once was your home.  There are two walls, standing parallel to each other, but the roof and adjoining walls are gone.  There isn't much supporting those two remaining walls.  Still, you look at each other and decide, "We like this house; we have to save it."  And you each pick up a brick and from opposite ends of the expanse and you begin to build again.  You lay one brick, then another and another, spreading the mortar on thick.  One or the other of you gets tired, frustrated, feels hopeless.  One or the other smiles, laughs, reaches out with an encouraging hug.  Every brick brings you closer together until there is a partial wall built to bolster the two that had been standing alone.  One expanse has been filled, strengthening the whole.  It feels like hope.

Soon the two of you find yourselves doing what you do best; making blueprints, gathering tools, setting to work, celebrating each other's joys and acknowledging the frustrations inevitable with any project worth undertaking.  At night you lie in the dark, entwined, and marvel that something new and stronger is being built from the devastation.  And you vow to keep building.

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

CLEARING SPACE

I got up this morning desperate to DO something about the overwhelm and sadness I've been feeling.  I feel like I'm drowning in the "clutter" of life -- can't figure out what's important to fight for, what's to be ignored, or what's to be discarded.  Can't figure out when my world started to tilt toward unrecognizable...

And I've decided it wasn't all of a sudden.  It wasn't November 8, 2016 and it wasn't 6 months ago or 3 days ago. The conditions for shock waves slowly take hold in unseen spaces as we blindly live lives we think we know, are sure of, will always be.  We think we've done the work of feminism, of democracy, of equality, of community-building, of relationships, of personal growth, of spiritual awakening, of health, of contentment...then suddenly the tectonic plates that have been inexorably shifting out of sight reach the point of no return and an earthquake erupts.  If you survive, there's a big mess to clean up.

So I got up this morning, headed to my office and attacked my bookshelf:  I'm cleaning up messes.  I've done a drastic clearing out of old books and made many book donations over the past couple of years.  But I cling to some that have special meaning and fond memories, some that I think 'someday' I'll read, some that seem like good references for future projects or topics of interest.

Today I let a huge number of my beloved books go.  Why hang on to old memories, when those times are gone?  Why assume I'll eventually read a book I never pick up to read?  Why assume I'll suddenly tackle a project I never prioritize?  Why continue to maintain a shelf of memories, forgotten dreams, and good intentions?  Even the well-read books seemed to sit there inert and dead in a way, no longer held in my hands, fingers giddily flipping pages of an engrossing story, hoping it never ends.  Everything ends.  Then the closed book taunts me to try to recreate that first blush of joy that can never be regained by merely keeping it around, its cover a reminder of the past.  Into the donation box.  Letting go of what was and what I thought might be there again.

I know many people my age who are doing the downsizing dance; selling their big homes and gardens and responsibilities and moving to smaller houses, apartments, condos.  They are neck deep in clearing out decades of "clutter" -- some junk and some beloved.  I admire their ability to cry through the hard parts and still to let things go.  I remain in my house, which I love, and  I wander through my gardens, still finding pleasure there.  I don't want to leave here yet.  Still, it's time to let so much of what has accumulated here go.  There's really no need for most of what's jammed on closet shelves, infrequently or never used, shuttered in the dark.  There's no need to try to predict what I might need someday. Predictions are a fool's errand.  Do I need it now?  No?  Gone.

Hardest for me is ridding the house of me.  I'm the family documentarian.  I keep bins of photographs and the computer hard drive full of even more; old journals, clippings of published pieces, poetry, essays, writing workshop first drafts; blog books I've created from these postings; mementos; cards I've received from loved ones with handwritten notes -- but, why hang onto to all that?  I think for me it is the fear of being forgotten.  If those things go away, so will I.  No one will know who I was or what was important to me or what brought me joy or sorrow, how I moved in the world, interpreting it and acting upon it.

How egotistical does that sound?  The quest for immortality?  The reality, of course, is that within three generations we are forgotten; my great-grandchildren won't have a clue who I was, nor care all that much.  One day all that stuff will be for someone else to discard, without a thought.  Well, maybe I'll leave it to them to do.  I'm not ready, today, to be disappeared.

But I am ready to let go of the things that no longer serve me: the physical "stuff" that grows moldy with neglect; the psychic "stuff" that haunts the mind; the precious "stuff" that breaks the heart.  There's a big mess to clean up.

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

Photo Credit:  www.pixabay.com

IN THE MINORITY

I'm definitely in the minority it seems.

This whole legalization of marijuana thing is taking off in state after state, my own being one of them.  I'm not opposed.  It's crazy how this substance has been vilified and criminalized for far too long, given some of its benefits and relative safety, compared say, to alcohol  -- or tobacco, which is deadly.  While both remain hugely destructive forces in people's lives, alcohol is still as socially-acceptable as breathing.  (Tobacco less so as people see the damage done, not to only the worst offenders, but eventually to almost everyone who smokes.)  I'm the weird one at most social gatherings for eschewing alcohol.  And now also for not indulging in the pot craze.

I get that it is relatively safe and not too addictive or destructive. (C'mon...it's NOT a gateway drug unless one is already predisposed to wanting to try as many drugs as possible, which begs the question: "What's that all about?")  When I say, "not too addictive or destructive" I'm not talking about a physical addiction, which is disproven, but my judgement does start to show.  I know plenty of people who need their daily dose to feel good about their lives or good in the moment -- not unlike a nightly glass or two or three of wine, perhaps.   And I know plenty of people who seem to be, shall we say, less motivated to ambition or clear thinking when occasionally imbibing or particularly when making their usage a regular habit.  "Pot-head" has its genesis in some reality.  Others self-assess that they handle it fine.

One thing I hear is that getting high gives one a "broader psychic perspective" and stimulates creativity.  OK.  I wonder at what point the creativity really kicks in since it seems all those good ideas fade with the high, but maybe I'm wrong....or just recalling all those nights of brilliant insight in the 70s and having not much to show for it the next day.  Maybe I'd be a better writer if I got high?  Don't know.  Don't care.

I also find it annoying, actually,  how the Boomer generation has embraced this legalization with enthusiastic giggly-ness.  There is still a modicum of disbelief that the stuff is sold in mini-mall storefronts; with senior discount days an added bonus!  For some there seems to be an "I'm being naughty" smirk about going there to score their drug.  Although as it becomes more commonplace I also notice it's done with no more excitement than stopping off for a gallon of milk.  It is amazing to realize the wide variety of types and dosages available depending on desired effect.  I visited a store with friends once and was shocked at the variety of products available -- from pot in bags, to pot in pills, to pot in gummy bears and suckers and cookies, and lotions, and potions, and rubs... Overwhelming, really, but the pot shop people are knowledgable and helpful -- like your neighborhood pharmacist.  Still, I walked out empty-handed.

Even with some guidance, however, each person responds uniquely to the strain or dose.  What's mellow for some is a horror for others.  What is a "low dose" for some puts others on their butts in a chair, unable to speak coherently.  It's a trial and error process until one finds their sweet spot, I guess.

In the illegal heyday of my 20's (in the 70's), we'd pass one or two joints around, not having any idea what we were actually smoking, and tried to see if we'd get high.  We did, but it was short-lived and mostly just caused the infamous munchies and lots of silliness.  Today, one hit can put you on your ass.  It's much more pure and much more potent.  I found this out one New Year's Eve a few years ago, right after it became legal here.  I wanted to see what all the fuss what about; why some of my friends and some in my immediate and extended family were so enamored.  I took two hits of what was supposed to be a very mild low dosage: my head started to spin, I felt sick and scared and went to bed for 4 hours.  It was awful!!!  Never again.  And I was so pissed I'd screwed up my "sobriety" for that, having quit alcohol years beforehand.  I'm not doing AA or NA or anything, so I didn't have to confess to anyone, but I was mad at myself, and vowed that I would never use intoxicants of any kind again.  I haven't.  This body is a Temple; a substance-free zone.

Which I am told can make me a wee bit judge-y.  I know it has its place -- as an anti-nausea remedy for folks on chemotherapy; as a sleep aid instead of sleeping pills; some pain relief for aches and pains (with the "high" being a bonus side-effect for those who enjoy that feeling).  But it seems to me most people just use it to get high; to alter reality.   And  I mostly try to steer clear of anyone who is obviously high, or drunk for that matter.  It makes them hard to talk to, to relate with, and they just appear ridiculous to those not mutually indulging.

And I worry that I am sounding just like an old-time-y Prohibitionist.  I'm not a prude, honestly.  But I do find that I'm not as open to things in the "vice" category as I used to be.  Upon reflection, I see now that my wilder days and the activities I engaged in were to escape from stresses, to cover for insecurity, to fit in, to feel fun or sexy or "crazy" in a way that was not really me, but that I thought should be....all the usual reasons for dulling one's senses.  I've worked damned hard on my personal and spiritual growth to the point that I now don't need or want those things in my life.  Being clear-eyed, clear-headed, and open-hearted is trippy enough in this crazy world.

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


DISCLAIMER/CONFESSION:  I have used CBD oil/creme (the non-intoxicating part of the plant) to alleviate pain in my knee and migraine headache. They even sell it at local pharmacies now.  It contains trace amounts of THC, but I don't feel any effect from that, while I do get some pain relief, which is great.  So there's that.

Also, for the uninitiated, here's a link to a menu at a local pot shop.  Sheesh!  https://snohomish-menu.budhut.net

PROWLER AND MUSINGS

A couple weeks ago at 1:52 a.m. my phone dinged, waking me from a light sleep, with an alert from our security camera showing a man walking up my driveway and around our garage.  What?!?  Then another "ding" and the back camera picked him up on the patio heading for the door that would lead into the house that is well-hidden from anyone's view.  He walked up to the door, looked up at the little row of windows at the top, and immediately turned and left briskly.  I think he saw the 24 hr security monitoring system sticker.  If he'd opened the door, the alarm would have gone off and police would be called.  Nonetheless, my heart was pounding as I dialed 911.  In short order I saw the squad car pull to within a block of our house, lights off; three officers walked toward our house and once at our driveway, three large and bright flashlights illuminated the whole area as they walked around the whole house.  Nothing.  He was gone.

Earplugs firmly in place, Hub slept through the whole thing, including my 911 call.  People ask why I didn't wake him and I don't really know.  He wouldn't have done any more than I already did and I guess I wanted to just handle it.

I'm practicing individuation.  I've had anxiety probably my whole life as I look back on it, but I never used to have the degree of anxiety that I currently do about feeling vulnerable.  I think it's an age and stage thing.  It started with my "fainting out of the blue for no diagnosable reason" spells 8 or so years ago and when I write that I'm stunned I'm still carrying fear of it happening again after all this time.  I just seem to hold onto bad experiences and let them dictate how I live my life sometimes.  The whole reason we have a security system in the first place is because a guy broke into our home in 1985 when I was home alone with my newborn Son One.  No one has broken in since (although apparently we had a very recent close call.) And my fear of flying was from a horrific flight in 1981!  I've had dozens of great flights since, but still I get queasy every time I board a plane.  Sheesh!

Anyway, Hub travels a fair amount, leaving me home alone and every time he's away it's such an effort to remain calm and centered and anxiety-free.  It's exhausting, actually.  And ridiculous.  It's not as if he is some Ninja-trained, Secret Service style 007-skilled security force ready to jump into action as my protector.   He's just a guy who likely would be pretty freaked out too.  He just calms down faster with a rational rather than an emotional response to most things.  So I'm trying harder to handle things on my own, in my own way, cutting him out of the picture as if I'm a single lady, as strong and capable as all the women I know who live alone in what appears to me to be some strange brew of a silly, saavy, sassy, strong, and determined mindset.  I so admire it.

I also disappoint my feminist self and feel I'm not walking my talk if on the one hand I rail against the patriarchy and on the other I'm a wee bit afraid to be alone, which is weird cuz it's mostly men who are the "bad guys" of my nightmares and mostly men who I think can keep me safe.  That dualistic
thinking gets me into trouble.  The patriarchy IS bad and most criminals are men.  And men are also built to have more physical strength and protect-the-hearth hormones.  But the fact remains I feel like a wuss.

I realize I'm just thinking "out loud" on the page here.  Mostly musing about how couples negotiate their lives together.  Thinking about gender roles and how they shift over time.  Thinking about change and how hard it is. Thinking about ages and stages and how shocked I am that there are still growing pains in a body and mind bumping up against 70 years old and in a marriage bumping up against 50 years long.

I will post this, as I always do, hoping a reader will be able to relate and not feel alone with his/her own struggles to be free, safe, in love, and alone.

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

Photo Credit: www.pixabay.com

POINT. COUNTERPOINT.

How did my life become one of living on a point system?  Earning and spending points has become insidious and obsessive for many.  I am afraid I'm one....

When I shop at a Kroger-owned grocery outlet (there are three locally -- Safeway, Fred Meyer, QFC), I earn gas points to be used at the FM or Safeway gas stations for a discount.  So, of course, those are the stores I most frequent for incidental groceries.  Gas is expensive; discounts help.

For most of our groceries and almost everything else, we shop at Costco.  Hub is a dedicated and joyful Costco shopper.  He goes weekly, preferring "Sample Days" where he darts to each sample station like a starving man in a desert.  It's disconcerting to be with him.  I stand by the cart and check my FB "feed" during his different sort of feeding frenzy.  Costco has a points system of sorts in their partnership with a Citibank Costco credit card which nets a percentage return at the end of the year on annual dollars spent. For us, it's a tidy sum.

Airline miles are also a points program, basically, in that you accumulate miles to spend on a "free" ticket based on miles accumulated in air travel with the various airlines.  We are mostly Alaska flyers, because we like them and because we want our mileage program to accumulate, plus we get that  once a year companion fare thing which gets us to Hawaii each spring for almost 2-for-1 airfare.

Recently we cashed in some miles for an unexpected trip coming up in August.  Hub didn't have quite enough for his fare, so I transferred some of my miles to his account.  It cost $10 per 1000 miles in "transfer fees" which I found ridiculous since I was doing all the work myself, with the transfer happening instantaneously as I completed the transaction.  I guess Alaska has to maintain the software to make this happen, but I gotta think $10/1000 is a hefty premium!  Oh well...such is the system.

Also, we own a week of timeshare in addition to travel points to anywhere we want to go!  We can cash in our week for points and stay longer than a week in Hawaii, or hoard them for awhile and use them later for other destinations.  Recently we discovered we'd kept a stash of points so long they were about to expire, so we quickly planned a stay in Hilton Head -- using our airline miles and our vacation points in combination!  WOW!  Point goals!

My Fitbit is linked to my Medicare Advantage Wellness program and I can earn points toward merchandise or gift cards, from meager ($25 GC) to great (i-Pad!) depending on how many points I've accumulated for exercise and wellness activities (preventative care medical visits) over the year.  I use it all for Amazon Gift Cards!

And of course there's Starbucks.  You accumulate points in the form of "stars".  How many times have I been taken in by my 'double star day'; 'buy three items by Friday to get 50 bonus stars!'; 'play monolopy!' (I draw the line there; I don't even like the board game.)  I've been enticed to buy a lot of coffee to get the occasional free drink which I generally allow Hub to choose for himself because of course I'll get a Venti of whatever is most expensive as my freebie, but I can't drink that much by myself.  I am a little annoyed that Starbucks used to give me anything on the menu for my accumulated 150 stars or whatever, but now they have tiered their points so that you have to earn even more for my favorite Starbucks salad.  I don't have that kind of patience.

The current point program I am most intimate with is Weight Watchers.  I track semi-religiously into the app every food I eat and it adds up my daily and weekly points, with some magic math to take my "activity" efforts into consideration.  It's an easy and doable program and I've lost weight on it, so I like it.  It keeps me semi-honest.  (I might 'forget' to log that extra bowl of popcorn...)

But last week my points programs collided.  Starbucks encouraged my purchase of a Tazo Tea and bakery item to get me a whopping bonus 75 points!  How could I resist?  Plus, how many WW points could that possibly be?  Not that many, right?  I got a Grande Chai Tea latte and a chocolate chip cookie.  Yum!  And I got my bonus points!  But when I logged that little treat later it added up to a whopping 27 WW points, 4 points over my entire daily allotment.  That did not go well; no "blue dot day" for me. (They reward you a little colored-in blue dot on days you stay within your point total.)

When did our lives become a sticker chart of points for good behavior?  Or for retail indulgences?  It's all very math-y for me and I get confused and the points start to duel with each other and I'm left realizing all these points programs are simply a way of controlling behavior and rewarding us for doing what they want.  Like toilet training a toddler -- eventually we learn the behavior even if there is no immediate reward.  Beware, if all point programs disappear and your behavior remains the same, you'll know you are thoroughly trained!

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

GARDENING LIKE A FOUR-YEAR-OLD

Well, it's been spring for awhile.  Beautiful weather and the gardeners are out en force planning, shopping, planting, and pruning.  I'm late due to trips, travels, Hub's knee replacement surgery, yoga training weekend intensives.  I feel like I just woke up to spring and it's nearly summer!

Yesterday Hub and I went plant shopping at one of my favorite locally-owned garden centers and I was aghast at what I saw -- nearly empty tables, empty greenhouses, and outdoor spaces with only a smattering of plants.  In a panic I asked if they were going out of business.  Nope. They are selling out as fast as they get deliveries!  The gal said if I wanted anything in particular, I should ask for it and be there the minute the shipment arrives.  I've never encountered this before there.  And it totally goes against my gardening style. How in the world will I know what I want before I get there???

I decided today that I garden like a 4 year old.  I had an overnight guest last night of that age, so I know whereof I speak.  Spontaneous, impulsive, messy, disorganized, confident, confused, impatient, and joyful.  

Today my charge and I went to a local arboretum plant sale.  It's an annual thing, but I'd never been.  Others knew just how to navigate the event; we did not.  First of all, BYO wagon or boxes or "borrowed" grocery cart.  They had a few small wheelbarrows for shoppers, but they were at such a premium that I'd still be there waiting my turn at one if I'd bothered.  We decided that in spite of the great prices and selection, we really could only buy what we could carry.  I got a flat of something small that goes in containers and trails over the edges.  I have no idea what things are called -- "little white flower", my partner said.   She got a teeny, tiny succulent in a stone owl container: $1.00.  Bargain Hunter!

After I took her home, I went to the big box hardware/garden store for more plants.  They have carts. I was pretty successful there, I guess.  I chose some random flowering plants and spent some more money anyway and was able to find real steals on the discounted table!   When I got home and tipped those plants out of the containers though I found they were severely root bound, which necessitated the first interruption of my planting schedule.  

Google is as much a part of my gardening adventure as is a shovel.  

I'm forever realizing how little I know about garden stuff and constantly have to stop and look things up.  I feel this is another of my "adulting" failings.  Women of my age seem to  have been gardening for decades and know all the names of their plants and where to put them, how much sun and water and food they need, and how to troubleshoot the occasional disaster.  I know nothing.

Today, in addition to looking up "how to plant root bound flowers" (shave or cut through the worst and try to loosen the dirt around the rootball), I looked up "soil for succulents" (well-draining cactus mix -- which necessitated me replanting since I'd already planted them in normal potting soil), "do succulents needs full sun all day?" (surprisingly not -- they like a little shade; mine from last year likely struggled and/or died due to overwatering since the sprinkler system hits the container, or cold since I left them out all winter), "how to keep squirrels from eating (my) holly tree" (shoot them (seriously!) or spray the tree with hot pepper oil -- which in my case would be impossible since the tree is about 25 feet tall!)

I make lots of messes too, as I never plan ahead.  Today I watered a hanging basket on the floor of the deck then raised it up overhead to hang it on the hook.  Water started to drain out of the bottom all over my head!  Wouldn't an adult have foreseen this?

I also don't pay attention to soil falling from the pots onto the porch or sidewalk or stone paths; I just dive in wherever the plants and pots happen to be sitting.  Why don't I just move the operation to the grass?

I tend to wear flip flops instead of changing into sensible shoes and I generally wear no gloves (I can't feel what I'm doing with gloves on!), so I'm a muddy, dirty mess when I'm finished, with dirt stains under my nails for days.

Yesterday I cut myself on a disintegrating clay pot and immediately decided I'd now have sepsis.  I don't really trust dirt.  Isn't it, like, dirty?!?  It was bleeding, which I thought good since it would wash the germs out.  I ran in and washed it with bacteria-busting soap, slathered on some Neosporin and a bandaid and waited for symptoms.  None so far.  

In spite of my impulsivity and lack of any real knowledge, I always plant with the utmost confidence that all will be well.  This is some uncharacteristic Pollyanna-ish thinking on my part, but it just seems like things grow here with little tending.  I don't pick any persnickety plants -- just ones that seem to thrive on benign neglect for the most part and keep coming back for more.  I walk through my gardens with a sense of pride and accomplishment.  But really, digging a hole and filling it with a living thing and watching it grow is amazingly easy.  I tip my hat to the gardeners who have figured out the right soil mix for me to buy or create, the right plant for me to put either in the shade or sun, and for a sprinkler system and a couple of watering cans.

This is easy like a 4 year old's life is easy -- someone else is leading, teaching, and talking me through the hard parts (thanks, Google and garden center folk) and joining me in the joy of the result by continuing to make plants available for me to randomly choose from each spring with a big grin of unfounded confidence.  BYO wagon.

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

P.S.  A few weeks ago, aforementioned 4 year old helped me plant seeds in the veggie beds.  All started to grow except the peas!  I was stumped, but figured I hadn't watered enough.  So I went back to the package to grab some more to replant.  The package had never been opened!  Then I recalled, she had to go potty at some point in the planting and that interruption likely resulted in forgetting to plant the peas!  See?  I'm a 4 year old when it comes to being on top of this gardening thing; we'd probably moved on to painting a picture or something.  Another worthy endeavor, albeit messy.  (A theme emerges....) ©

DOCTOR, PATIENT, NURSE...OH MY!

Well, it's been a helluva month.  My writing took a backseat as it so often does when I'm overwhelmed and distracted.  I am a most undisciplined writer!  I know the half dozen of you who read this must grow frustrated with me.  LOL

Earlier this month we retuned from our Southeast trip (see last post) and I did another Weekend Intensive for my Yoga teacher training.  Then, on May 15 I drove Hub to a 5:30 a.m. check in at the hospital 30 minutes from where we live to have his total knee replacement surgery, which has been on the horizon for many months.  He was eager to get on with it, anticipating a great outcome and a return to snowboarding by December.

I was a jangle of nerves, full of anxiety about the logistics of getting him there and back, medical anxiety about just having to be in the hospital environment for the day, performance anxiety about whether I could adequately perform the nursing duties I was expected to do post-operatively, and all the attendant "OMG what if he dies on the operating table?" anxiety as outlined in the release forms he signed.

I so admire people who handle these things with ease.  I was mostly short of breath, (fearing my own heart attack), a little light-headed and befuddled (I was momentarily overwhelmed navigating the hospital's vast cafeteria), and made several trips to the restroom to relieve my GI distress.  Classic anxiety attack territory.   I soothed myself by eating the absolutely biggest apple fritter I've ever seen in my life, thus blowing a hole in my Weight Watcher points for the week, but it was an emergency.

Turns out, Hub came through surgery without incident and all went "perfectly" according to the surgeon.  When I got the word, he said I'd be able to see him in about 45 minutes.  I waited, waited, waited...nearly 2 hours passed during which time I imagined all sorts of unexpected post-operative emergencies -- heart attack (he does have that little teeny blockage thing they discovered last summer), blood clot (ample warnings on that one!), stroke.  You name it, I imagined it.  But when I was finally ushered into Recovery, I found him fully dressed, sitting up, sipping a Starbucks.  I was almost mad at him.  The long wait wasn't his fault of course and he was frustrated too, just wanting to go home; it was a "short-staffed" snafu of moving patients through the various post-operative stages.

His surgery began at 7:30 a.m. and by noon we were on our way home.  Son One met us at the house, ready to usher his dad up the stairs of our completely stair-laden home and into bed.  Hub was not having it.  He felt great!  Wanted to navigate the initial stairway from the garage on his own.  He didn't want to continue up the next flight of stairs to the bedroom, which we'd set up as a Long Term Recovery Space with all kinds of pillows, tables, chairs, computer, books, etc etc for him to access during his initial recovery time.  He propped his leg up in the living room and spent the day saying how great he felt.  I think there was residual anesthesia on board which would have made me drowsy and puke-y, but seemed to make him talkative and upbeat.  Weird.

Since that day his recovery has been steady and successful.  We've had visiting nurses here, home physical therapy appointments, adjustments to the realities of recovery vs the anticipation in our imaginations of what it would be like, based on the information the doctor gave us.  Hub is way ahead of schedule in regaining his range of motion and strength, but he works like a fiend on his PT exercises, being highly motivated to be at full strength as soon as possible.

As for my nursing anxiety?  All for naught.  I forgot along the way, that my husband is an "I'll do it" man who prizes self-sufficiency and who, in this case, felt anything he could do for himself would only make him stronger in the long run.  My attempts to "help" were rebuffed for the most part, with my role relegated to fetching ice packs and food.  He even navigated our stairways alone.

This created within me a feeling of being unnecessary and rejected, having mentally prepared and studied the manual sent home with us about post-op care.  I really wasn't needed very much at all and I was sad...and angry to be shut out.  But how can you argue with a man who, as a doctor himself, is dead set on managing his own care and recovery and didn't need my hovering around?  I'm still trying to find the answer to why I grew so resentful of a situation many would envy...I hear tales of caregivers run ragged by the constant demands of their patients!  As with all disagreements, we've talked and talked with neither giving ground, but better to talk than to seethe, so we are pushing on.

Yesterday was his two week post-op appointment and the Medical Assistant we saw (I guess the surgeon will never appear to us again) was most pleased with Hub's progress.  Next on the horizon will be to continue PT, increase walking distances, and regain driving privileges.  None of this was as onerous as I'd imagined it would be.  When will I learn that my anxiety creates scenarios so far from the reality of a situation that it becomes a fiction of the mind?

Turns out that, thankfully, all is well.

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

P.S.  The surgeon texted me photos of the inside of Hub's knee with before and after shots.  Just let me know if you want to see them.  Gross! And fascinating!