BLOG 10TH ANNIVERSARY! BYE-BYE 22!

First, THANK YOU!  If you are reading this, you are among a handful of my friends who do.  👍🏼  As this year ends, I'm celebrating the 10th ANNIVERSARY OF THIS BLOG.  I started with some trepidation.  "How dare I write about my life for others to read?  Who cares?"  But I was motivated by noticing that when I share my truth, others are encouraged to share theirs and a burden is lessened.  My hope that is we can find commonality in human experience together and no one feels alone with their emotions, experiences, and challenges.  I also hope I've been at times funny or entertaining, but I fear my sense of humor is often lost here as some posts I meant to be ironic were taken seriously.  Oops.  And I guess I tend toward a more introspective, "serious" vibe here, in spite of craving whimsy, absurdity, and laugh-out-loud humor in my life.   I looked back at early posts recently and see in some I wrote with more brevity and humor, less angst.  I'll try to get back to that. 

As for readers....I guess I still have some trepidation.  This blog is not "marketed" on any blogger indexes or even open to public searches.  My privacy still takes primacy over being widely read.  (Plus I don't want to deal with trolls and hackers and unauthorized links to porn sites, which happens with disgusting regularity in the blogging community.)  While I fantasize about being popular and famous, I know the competition out there is significant and I wouldn't be in the same ballpark as the truly greats.  So I keep my profile low (and mostly private) sharing with only those on my Facebook friends list (about 125 people) and a few others who have asked to be on an email reminder list as new posts come out.  I do, however, encourage YOU to share links to my blog if you feel like it.  Word of mouth is good.  

I get very few comments here on the blog.  I get more via email and FB feedback.  I treasure all of it.  But mostly I don't hear anything and at times it's like writing into a void.  But I also realize I'm doing this for me as much as for any readers.  It's a personal chronicle of my life that one day may be read and appreciated by my family.  I have the blog printed at the end of each year into a hardcopy paperback book, the collection of which sits on my bookshelf waiting to be discovered by future generations (hello grandkids!).  I tease my adult sons and daughters-in-law that a stipulation of my Will will be they have to prove they've read my blog books to get their inheritance.  They are currently 10 years behind, having shown no interest.  Oh well...they will have homework to do.  (I feel a kinship with Emily Dickinson -- another prolific, mostly private writer, who gained historic stature and esteem long after her death.*)  

So, dear select readers.  I am incredibly grateful to you for reading.  Thank you!  🙏🏽

2022 RECAP:

As years go lately, 2022, on the personal front, was...fine.  (There were some ongoing challenges, but I have a good therapist.)  I wrote about our 50th anniversary, trips to Kauai, Hilton Head, and Ireland as standouts.  Here are a few other highlights on my mind today, but not necessarily the most important of the year: 

For historical reference: Covid continued to rage for awhile with new strains breaking out to get us.   Even so, vaccines work and numbers went down, so mask mandates were suspended.  I don't care...I am still very careful and wear my mask in public.  Nevertheless I got Covid in July (from a family member) and while I called it a "mild case" come to find out it really wasn't, compared to a lot of other people's experiences and according to the notes in my medical chart.  I was pretty sick, but thanks to vaccines I was not fighting for my life -- just miserable for a week or so.  Hub has yet to "catch" it unless he's had such a mild case at some point we never knew it.  He credits his immune boosting supplements.  Maybe...and luck.  Hoping the current winter trifecta surge of Covid, flu, and RSV pass our family by.  Hospitals are jammed again.

We have not downsized yet:  Hub did two huge projects at home this year:  He laid nearly 1000 square feet of flagstone to create a long walk-way and patio behind our house. It took a physical toll, from which he is mostly recovered, but he got it done and it's beautiful.  He also installed landscape lighting which we are so enjoying.  Inside I/we undertook an update in home decor and furnishings, ditching  foo-foo traditional for a more contemporary look and I absolutely love it.  Our home remains a source of toil, trouble, and great comfort and joy for us.

Family is my heart place:  The other comfort and joy is our family.  The adults seem to have an appropriate balance of life-stress and fun in their lives, dealing with demanding jobs, home ownership, dogs, kids, friends and finding joy amidst the challenges.  

The grandkids are getting big.  My nearly 8 y/o granddaughter still thinks I'm the best friend she's ever had and says she loves our "chats".  She is curious, precocious, and insightful, so we do actually have some good talks.  Yesterday she asked me, "Grandma,  I've been meaning ask you a question...what is the meaning of life?"  That was a surprise.  So we talked about that for about 10 minutes.  She's my girl, digging deep into the Big Questions!  

My 13 y/o granddaughter has blossomed into a teen and has moved her BFF allegiance from me to her  group of girlfriends from school, as it should be.  She is still as lovely, sweet, polite, creative, funny, and interesting as she's always been, but I notice the age-appropriate search for her own identity as she has become the quiet observer of all things "adult" at our family gatherings.  She doesn't join her sister in playing and coloring; she sits at the table and listens, joining in with grown-up conversation.  I love watching her grow into herself, even if I feel a bittersweet distancing from her now and again.

Birthdays and the concept of time: People my age (I turned 72 this month) say it over and over -- where does the time go?  The years fly by and it's always a shock to realize some memory of an event that I think maybe happened 3 or 4 years ago was actually 7 or 8!  I read an article recently that explained that one week to an 80 year old is a tiny little portion of our lives compared to a week in the life of an 8 year old.  Also some of us spend a lot of time reminiscing instead of being mindful of this present moment.  And part of the "time flies" feeling is also the phenomenon of 'sameness'.  Our lives become ones of routine and familiarity with nothing novel to mark our days as "different", so it all runs together.  The advice was to seek new experiences, add variety to our interests and to our daily plans, and be totally present to each moment. All of this helps to keep us from feeling like life is a blur and flying by way too fast.

So here we go....Hello 2023.  What ya got for me?  I'm curious.  In the meantime, I'll just keep writing.

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

*If you have Apple+ TV streaming, watch "Dickinson".  It's one of my fave shows.  I plan to re-watch every episode of its 3 seasons as this winter's binge.  It's a 30 minute per episode quirky, funny, fictionalized contemporary/historical mash-up of Emily Dickinson's life, from which I learned more about her and her  poetry than I ever did in English class.  

Photo Credit: www.pixabay.com

CHRISTMAS WRAP

Well, it's over.  Christmas.  I guess it's still the holiday season so our tree is still up (until January 1) and I left a few "winter" decorations out, but yesterday I put away anything that was red, green, or Santa-related.  As I observe every year,  things that once looked so festive in early December become gaudy and cloying as soon as the last guests leave on Christmas night.  I'm finished.  

Still, my love/hate relationship with the holidays mellowed this year.  I had some sweet and happy times, some stressed and tired times, a couple of sad times, a migraine too much of the time, but mostly sort of neutral "this is fine, not awful, not great" times.  I scaled my activity, traditions, and expectations way back to the point where often nothing felt particularly magical.  

In thinking about that I realize part of the reason this year didn't feel very "Christmas-y" to me was how little effort I put into it.  I let so much of the work and stress go that I also let go of the very few things I love to do:  bring in greens from our big fir trees to decorate, bake and frost sugar cookies in shapes of Santa and trees and bells, play classic Christmas music (OK - I tried -- it annoyed me this year -- not sure why), put a holiday table cloth on the dining room table for our Christmas Eve finger-food buffet, get out and read my sons' old Christmas books from their little kid years, reading "The Night Before Christmas" aloud to my family on Christmas Eve (no one noticed we didn't do that this year, so there's that.)

I guess I'm still grateful for a feeling of "neutral" in some way though.  While the emotional roller coaster of my past Christmases was stimulating in a weird way, it was also exhausting.  And no, I'm not on any "even out the moods" meds.  I'm doing a new (to me) therapeutic modality that finally seems to be the answer to my woes (most of the time): Radical Acceptance. Maybe I'll write about that in the new year.  For now, with the exception of missing a few of my favorite things, I'm experiencing a strange low-level hum of....contentment, just being with what is.  Is this how other people live all of the time?  Weird!

I did send Christmas cards this year.  I always look forward to choosing family photos for the cards, sending them out for printing, getting them back, then spending time pouring over my old address book, remembering friends near and far, who I don't see often, but still care about, with a short note on each card before it goes in the envelop to be addressed and stamped.  Years ago I sent about 50-60 cards each year.  As fewer and fewer people reciprocated, I've scaled that number way back to about 25 in recent years.   I still get excited when the mail carrier comes.  I'm always hopeful for a card, even better if it has a Christmas letter inside -- it's widely ridiculed, but I love that people take the time to share their lives in this way.  Last year I got about a dozen cards in the mail.  This year I'm absolutely and finally giving up all hope and I'm ready to admit card sending is a dying (dead?) tradition.  I sent my 25.  I received 6, most with no personal note at all, let alone a letter.  Now I just feel embarrassed that I sent mine -- especially a card with photos and notes!  Sheesh.  Like, who cares, right?  LOL  But I'm pretty sure I'll do it again next year because I love doing it.  It's MY holiday tradition and it makes ME feel happy.  I'll just scale back again -- to 1, for my BFF who shares my love (and nostalgia) for Christmas cards.

I read the other day that the week between Christmas and New Year's is "liminal time" - a time of transition.  The article recommended we suspend all responsibilities, obligations, work, worry, and stress, and stay in our jammie clothes all day sipping tea, and reading one of the books we got for Christmas (that would be "The Light We Carry" by Michelle Obama for me).  I know many still in the outside-the-home work-world don't have this luxury, but some of us do and I love the notion of just letting ourselves settle and rest.  

I'm trying to do that, with some limited success.  My migraine "helped" as I gave myself (finally!) a full afternoon on 12/26 to just lie in bed, reading and napping, and it seems to have chased the several days in a row headache away, for now.  (Although I'm feeling very lethargic...)  Tomorrow I think I'll teach my Zoom yoga class to my merry band of yoginis.  No other plans for the week.  I'm going to try to guard that time against any incursion of a case of the "shoulds" and just flow with whatever I want to do -- getting well, being quiet, reflective, self-nurturing, and gentle with myself -- mindful of each precious moment of this time of transition, which is actually every moment, isn't it? 

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

STRANGE HOLIDAY VIBE

This is the weirdest holiday season in recent memory.  Except for the Covid year, which will forever be the pinnacle of "weird", and does not count. 

We had an unusual stretch of dry, sunny November days so Hub put up the outdoor lights earlier than ever.  We didn't turn them on right away and I swore we'd wait until at least the first week of December, but on Thanksgiving night, turkey leftovers barely cold in the 'fridge, the lights went on.  Then a couple days later the tree went up.   My birthday is December 19 and when I was a kid that was the day we put up the tree!  Can you imagine?  In this day and age, December 19 is so late as to feel we've completely missed the season!

But starting so early has meant my whole internal holiday clock is off.  I feel like the season is either stretching out for months...or it's flying by and I'm in a rush to be ready, as if Christmas is later today (!),  rather than still nearly two weeks off.

Our 13 year old granddaughter made the 7th grade girls volleyball team about which she was beyond thrilled.  We've been going to twice/weekly games. I love it!!!  It's a bit akin to watching my boys playing 2nd grade coach pitch baseball.  They've got the general idea, but are not too proficient at the finer points.  And just like those little boys, they couldn't be cuter or more enthusiastic or more into team commaradarie even if they were having a winning season.  She declares she loves it and loves hanging out with and playing volleyball with her friends, and that is what 7th grade is all about anyway.  But any grandkid Christmas outings we imagined are not happening (yet).  It's been all volleyball all the time.

I'm also thrown off by people traveling.  When did that become a thing?  Son Two and our dear DIL just got back from Italy where they traveled over Thanksgiving.  Friends are posting on FB from the tip of South America, half-way through a southern hemisphere monthlong cruise.  Other friends spent time recently in the Galapagos Islands.  I'm confused.  Isn't the holiday season (Halloween to New Year's, basically) time for family, home, and hearth?  I suppose that hearkens back to my Illinois childhood when two weeks was the grand total of time off all year for my dad working at the textile factory. Vacation meant going to Indiana to visit Grandma and Grandpa in, like, July.

Unfortunately, the Hallmark movies are annoying this year for the most part. We've spent our usual 20 minutes sampling one or another before taking a vote: watch or ditch. We've ditched more than we've watched.  The formula is predictable, the plots almost identical, and the writing and acting lazy, but this year there isn't even a sufficient dose of over the top Pinterest decor to help me feel the spirit!

We did have a weekend of our own Christmas movie magic early in the month.  There is a town 100 miles east over the mountain pass that has a hokey Bavarian theme which hosts "festivals" of various types year round with Christmas being the biggest.  So many lights!  So many shops!  So much snow!  Horse drawn carriages and live music in the park.  Hot chocolate, candy canes, spiced cider.  We stayed at a B&B 10 minutes out of town in the middle of the forest.  Star-studded nights, crisp sunny days, lots of snowshoeing to complement the towny Winter Carnival atmosphere.  That was nice. 

Yet, I notice I have no interest in receiving any gifts.  I DON'T WANT ANY MORE STUFF!!!  Which has had an unfortunate carryover into also not wanting to GIVE any gifts.  I can't think of one creative gift-giving idea and besides, WHO NEEDS MORE STUFF?!?  Consequently I've purchased only one gift for one grandchild.  Panic will set in shortly.

Also, I've scheduled a few visits with my therapist, so I'm distracted by working to become a new and improved version of my already awesome, but occasionally malfunctioning, self.  It takes some energy and is a bit disorienting to change familiar but unhelpful thought and emotional/behavioral patterns using new therapeutic modalities that take me off auto-pilot and ask me to forge a new route with both of my hands on the wheel.  Sheesh.  Who undertakes this at Christmas time?!?

So mostly the season feels like a mashup of life as usual, strange new things, and a dollop of Christmas.  Maybe my birthday really will kick off the season after all.  I'll let you know.

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

END OF AN ERA

I'm having flashbacks of my parents sitting quietly in their living room easy chairs, each absorbed in their preferred sections of our hometown newspaper, The Beacon.  It served our small city of 60,000+ as well as the surrounding more rural areas of the county.  So many conversations with family and friends started with, "I saw it in the Beacon...", "The Beacon says...", "It will be in the Beacon..."  Our daily newspaper was a lifeline to our community, our nation, and the world (along with the Huntley/Brinkley Nightly News.)   When my mom died in 2008, I sent an obituary to be published in The Beacon for any who might be still in the area and would remember her living there for all but the last 10 years of her life when she moved here, near me.

When I grew up and lived in a Chicago suburb I took the "el" into the city daily to work. It seemed everyone had their Chicago Sun Times or Chicago Tribune broadsheets folded to a manageable size, like some sort of urban commuter origami, to read while seated on cracked pleather bench seats or standing swaying in time with the clickity-clack of the train on the tracks.  Often they would leave the paper behind and I felt lucky to score a slightly used copy, not having any money for my own subscription.

Living on a barrier island near Charleston SC we read the Post and Courier, delivered every morning to our palm-tree lined driveway.  We mostly checked the tide tables and restaurant reviews, but the paper also gave us insight into this strange and new place we'd committed two years of our lives to inhabiting.  

One of the very first things we did when we moved to our current city in the Pacific Northwest was to subscribe to the Daily Herald.  For 40+ years we've had home delivery -- at first it was in the traditional manner of a boy on a bike tossing the paper in the vicinity of our driveway after school.  Then it switched to being a morning paper, so adults drove multiple paper routes to string together a job that provided some income, delivering the paper in the wee dark hours so it was at our home well before 6:00 a.m.  

The Herald, when we moved here, was owned by the Washington Post and was considered one of the finest smaller city newspapers, with multiple sections, experienced and respected publishers and editors, a stable of fine and talented reporters, photographers, and columnists.  It was printed at the Herald offices and presses just blocks from our home.  We relied on the Herald for everything local and it was a great resource for national and world news too.  Editorially it leaned slightly left, so we liked that as well.  (Not all did -- there was always a lively exchange of opinion in the Letters to the Editor.)

But now....I'm in mourning this morning.  There will be no Herald delivered to my front steps.

It's no secret that newspapers, large and small, are struggling to stay afloat and in fact are shutting down with startling regularity as online resources for news and opinion are the preferred medium for consumers and advertisers alike.  Our Herald was sold a number of years ago and its content has shrunk precipitously, often to a thin one-section of news I've already heard about from online sources like Facebook and Twitter.  The huge Herald office was abandoned then sold, the printing press they use is now one they share with other papers, located 60 miles away. The offices are now in a shared building (the old GTE telephone building, another relic of by-gone days).  

The newspaper often is delivered late now; press problems and inclement weather create delays;  newspaper carriers are hard to retain.  I should not have been surprised when I got word this week that home delivery would cease.  But I was.  Shocked.  Anyone subscribing to the paper edition would begin to get theirs from the post office, with their mail, starting January 1.  (Side note: even our mail lately has not been delivered daily if they are short-staffed on mail carriers.)

I noticed the Herald more and more often encouraging readers to use the digital edition of the newspaper, even offering online tutorials on how to do that.  I've been tempted to go digital for a couple of years, but our newspaper carrier has been "our guy" for several years.  He lives 40 miles north and I have to think this job is one he needs, to be willing to get up in the middle of the night to deliver newspapers.  He's at my house between 4-5:00 (I see the headlights if I'm awake).  I kept home delivery, and hoped others would too, so he'd have his job.  Now I feel a bit like I was refusing to buy a refrigerator to keep the iceman employed.

When he told us about the cessation of home delivery, I decided I'd quit the paper edition.  I made the call yesterday.  They told me that today I'd have no paper on my front steps.  It's just that simple.  That abrupt. 

It will take some getting used to.  My first thought this morning was to go out the front door, down our long flight of stairs to the driveway, and grab the paper.  We once had a Golden Retriever who we trained to do that job for us.  When he died it took me weeks to get used to the void of that morning routine.  Now I will have to let go of my own newspaper retrieval habit.

Instead I poured a cup of coffee, opened my computer, and clicked on the digital Herald.  It's not the same.  And I'm sad.

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

LIGHTS, TRAVELS, FOOD

Well....HELLO!  It's been a month since I've shown up here on the View page and I realize in the 10 years I've been doing this blog, I've never missed a calendar month of at least one post, so here I am!  

My more disciplined blogger friend in Michigan writes twice weekly and sets up prompts for herself to do so.  I just wait for the Muse, who is often on vacation.  She might show up at 3 a.m. with great ideas and beautiful turns of phrase, but by 7 a.m. she's long gone and so are her good ideas and lovely words.  Then I'm just stuck with me.  Like now.  Let's talk about the weather -- the refuge of challenged conversationalists everywhere.

It's dark and rainy here, finally.  We've had the sunniest, driest November on record and it has been totally great and totally weird.  November is usually very wet and blustery.  We might have some lowland snow next week, but I hope the mountain passes aren't too awful because we are heading east on Friday so I can go to a body-work, mostly silent, nurturing retreat for women at a forest retreat center north of a fake Bavarian mountain town that will be decked out for Christmas.  It's the town's annual WinterFest season, which brings in thousands of tourists.  So I'll have no cell/no wi-fi in the forest, but crazy Christmas excess in town.  It should be both relaxing and fun.  Hub is going along even though I will abandon him for my full day of introspection, massage, journalizing, silence, and sister-connections with 14 other women.  He's planning a hike, I think. Or soaking in the retreat center outdoor hot tubs.  Not a bad way to pass the time.

Anyway, Hub has taken advantage of the cold bright weather this month to install landscape lighting around our property -- something that's been on the "to-do" list for 40 years.  Better late than never?  YES!  It looks just as lovely as we'd envisioned.  We can see now driving up our long steep driveway and walking up our long flight of stairs to the front door.  (A little late on that one, since no one of our age-cohort visits, especially after dark, anymore.  Some struggle to navigate the stairs due to creaky knees and/or decreased lung capacity as well.  Whatever the reason most of us just stay home.)  We aimed some spotlights up into trees and bushes, one on the side of the house on the brick face, and a couple on some yard art in our garden.  I hope it's not too much -- I'd rather not look like a museum, although I do love the MET.  Anyway, we are delighted with the whole thing.  No one can see the garden art since it's behind our "privacy fence" of arborvitae, but if you can brave a nighttime visit, we'd love to show you around! 

Thanksgiving has come and gone.  We had a nice day with Son-One and his family.  Son Two and my DIL ditched us all (her family and ours) to travel in Italy over Thanksgiving.  They FaceTimed us from Salerno.  I'm not at all miffed that they decided to travel over the holiday.  Covid Times taught me life goes on when traditions are smashed, and in fact it's a bit freeing.  I'm actually envious.  I have long wanted to ditch Thanksgiving.  To me it's a day devoted to non-stop cooking, eating, and cleaning up.  And gluttony.  It's a little gross.  But I get the whole Norman Rockwell thing.  And I will say in my family of origin and in the family I created, we pretty much fit the painting.  We do all the traditional foods (mostly my mom's recipes) and everyone is in good spirits, feeling deeply grateful for family, food, and warmth.  Son One is our tradition-holder and would never let me not be here for the big holidays, and I love that about him.  So, I won't indulge my Thanksgiving fantasy of ignoring the whole thing.  Bring on the stuffing!

Speaking of stuffing...my new healthy Noom body FREAKED OUT in the middle of the night after our Thanksgiving indulgence. I did not pig out at all and was rather proud of my mostly modest portions (except for the pies -- yes, plural.)  Nevertheless I was miserable for a few wee-morning hours and I believe it was the realization that in spite of my enviable portion control skills, every single bite I took was full of butter/fat!  I am not at all used to that anymore.  Thinking it through, I know how much butter I used in the stuffing and candied yams (a lot).  I watched my DIL make mashed potatoes with half n' half and gravy with pan drippings.  The green bean casserole was full of fresh veggie goodness held together with a rich white sauce.  You can't have dinner rolls without butter.  And my DIL's delicious Dutch Apple Pie and Pumpkin Cheesecake may have also had a tab bit of fat in them.  Arrrrgggghhhhh.  The only items not drenched in butter or fat were the brussel sprouts and cranberry sauce.  

Yesterday I ate a bit of unadorned left over turkey, a few brussel sprouts, and a huge salad.  Yesterday we were also back to the intermittent fast thing Hub and I are doing -- 16:8  No food for 16 hours (for us that's from 7 p.m. to 11:00 a.m.) and all of our meals are within the remaining 8 hours (11 a.m. to 7 p.m.).  It's supposed to be a way to help the body clear toxins or something.  Adds to longevity.  We're a week into it (except for Thursday) and I was starting to feel really great.  But it's early days...

Anyway, lesson learned on that whole fat thing.  With Christmas coming right up, I'll be VERY aware of what I'm shoving into my mouth.  But we don't really do a huge Christmas meal anyway.  We do a mostly finger-food buffet on Christmas Eve, so I can just take the healthy stuff (lots of crab and shrimp!)  On Christmas we have buffet leftovers and maybe some roasted turkey breast sandwiches.  It's cleaner eating, although can be sugar-heavy, which is my everyday nemesis anyway.  I'm already craving frosted sugar cookies in the shapes of Christmas trees.  But I can walk off all the calories taking night strolls through my lighted garden.

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

MY WOW MOMENT IN IRELAND

Post tour, Rick Steves Europe (our tour company) sends out a survey that is quite extensive.  They seem to really care what went well and what didn't, asking for feedback on the itinerary, the tour guide, the accommodations, the food, etc etc.  And he asks overall, "What was your WOW moment?"

It's a fun question.  Out of a two-week jam-packed itinerary, is it possible to isolate one standout moment?  I'm sitting here now, back home for a month and a day post tour, having looked at my travel diary once or twice in the last few weeks, looked at photos with Hub a couple of times, but I'm stopping myself from pouring back over it all to come up with my "WOW" moment for Rick's survey.  I'm relying on my brain to bring something to the fore that organically stands out -- with no journal entry or photo reminder to prompt me.

It has to be the Falconry.  Our group was dropped off at the grounds of the Ashford Castle, formerly a real castle and now an elegant hotel and country estate in County Mayo on beautifully manicured grounds.  We walked a gravel path through the forest and gardens for about 15 minutes to arrive at the Falconry where birds of prey are housed, cared for by naturalists who were remarkably devoted to honoring these majestic creatures for what they are -- not for what they might provide a tourist.  The birds are not trained to perform, per se.  They are rewarded for being the birds they are which means they are given dead mouse parts when they fly back to the naturalist.  They like the easy-pickin's of relative captivity so they do learn to come back.  But they could just as easily decide not to.

We were shown several of the birds, with the naturalist explaining their features and habits.  Then we were led to an open area where we each were given the opportunity to don the traditional leather glove, protecting our arm and hand from the deadly talons of the Harris Hawk accompanying us.  The hawk flew free through the trees until we came to the appointed spot on the trail.  Each person who wanted the experience stepped forward one at a time, assuming the position of holding the arm out to the side signaling to the hawk that a little mousie treat was forthcoming should she decide to fly in to grab it.  She always did.  

When it was my turn, I felt perfectly at ease.  I held out my arm and with surprising ease and near total silence, she glided from treetop to just above the ground, then upward to my outstretched arm, where she landed with effortless and nearly weightless grace.  She sat there looking about, sometimes looking right into my eyes, until she was ready to fly away again and off she went.  It was a brief moment, but such a stunning experience.  It was my WOW moment for sure.  

We saw and did so much and there are many things I will joyfully revisit in my memories, but other tour highlights that come mind right now, again without benefit of prompting my memory (photos below): The Library at Trinity College in Dublin, our nurturing and beautiful accommodations in Dingle at the Castlewood House, our spontaneous "just us" bluff trek overlooking the Blasket Islands near Dingle, and the hike at the Giants Causeway on the Antrim Coast of Northern Ireland.

I am grateful for our trip. I have mostly fond memories now since the hard parts seem to fade after a bit.  I am recovered from my weariness.  And grateful we came home healthy, having spent our entire Covid-caution budget on being in close proximity to so many people -- mostly in restaurants where masking was not possible.

Here's an admission: we laughed at our son (behind his back, I'm ashamed to say) when before we left he said to us rather wistfully, "I miss Dublin."  We thought it a silly thing to say, he having only visited there once briefly.  But now....well, I sorta see his point.  I had heard so many nearly swoon-worthy reviews of Ireland from so many people that I was skeptical it could ever live up to the hype.  And I'm not sure it really did, hype is hype after all.  And yet.  There is something...something...something about Ireland that seeps in and stays. 

 Slainte, Ireland.  I think I miss you.

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

Photo Credit:  Hub, Official Trip Photographer

LUCK 'O THE IRISH? A LITTLE HISTORY

Hub and I are going through the photos of our recent trip to Ireland, and by "photos" I don't just mean a film roll of 36 frames, half of which would be tossed for being blurry or blank.  Digital means a person (Hub) can take, let's see, about one-thousand photos with the promise of culling them after getting back home.  This becomes a daunting task.  It's also a nice way (until interest and energy wane) to re-visit in great detail sites and memories of the trip. 

People have asked us what stood out for us from our Ireland tour.  Frankly, it has all sort of run together.  As I've already blogged, the itinerary was packed and we were no sooner in one place than it was time to move on to another.  It was hard to stay grounded in any one experience before we were off to the next, such that "impressions" of Ireland come to the fore more readily than specifics.  The photos help with the specifics and I'll get to that in the next post.

For now...impressions:  The Republic of Ireland isn't all that lucky.  

But it is beautiful.  The coastline is rugged with the wild Atlantic crashing into towering cliffs.  Cities are vibrant, modern, busy.  The countryside is green.  And rural.  And there are dairy cows and woolly sheep everywhere.  Especially sheep.  Always sheep.  Rolling hills, old stone fences for miles dividing multi-green-hued pastures, on surprisingly open land.  I thought there would be more trees.  But no...

The invading Normans first decided to take a whack at the native forest lands in the 12th and 13th centuries to create farm land.  In the 16th century Ireland fell under British rule and the British pretty much decimated the rest of the forests for farming, for open space for military maneuvers, to deprive the Irish rebels of shelter, to harvest timber for ship-building and construction in England, really for whatever they wanted. This went on throughout Irish history until now 80% of Ireland's native forestland is no more.  So, while lovely, Ireland still looks nothing like it should, which is one of the many ways in which Ireland has been a victim of invaders, oppressors, and bullies.  

The Irish never did fully surrender to their British occupation given that Britain was a cruel and oppressive "colonizer".  In 1601, an event that turned a tide and set in motion animosities that remain to this day, was the Battle of Kinsale.  The Catholic Spanish sailed to Ireland to help their Catholic brethren reject British rule and chase them back to Britain.  Since this is not a history book, I won't recount all the twists and turns that enterprise endured, but it was dramatic.  The Spanish Armada sailed, arrived off course (not to Cork but to Kinsale) and fought with the Irish against the British.  Alas, fortunes turned, and the Irish began to withdraw, as did the Spanish who surrendered and went back home to Spain, leaving the exhausted and outnumbered Irish to suffer a terrible defeat at the hands of the British.  About 10 years later, after the chieftains of the northern areas of Ireland were forced out, the British rewarded these lands to Anglican (Protestant) loyalists who established this area forever for Britain, foreshadowing what would come later.

The  famous Irish "potato famine" looms large in history and still seems oddly current to the Irish.  They have not really gotten over it. There is bitterness.  We saw many monuments and cemeteries and memorials throughout the Republic to victims of the "The Great Hunger", which some call that period.  I grew to believe this is an apt description.  Potatoes grew prolifically and were a staple of the Irish diet, since the ruling British forbid Irish folk from owning land.  They rented small plots from British landlords and subsisted mostly on the crop that could grow -- potatoes. Then came 1845 and a potato virus from faraway Mexico that turned harvested potatoes to rotting mush.  Nearly 1 million Irish died and 2 million emigrated  to Britain and/or  got aboard "coffin ships" that sailed with starving, diseased, and dying Irish to the United States and Canada.  The population of Ireland was decreased in years to come by 50% and still has not reached pre-famine numbers.  

While the rotten potatoes created a dietary deficit, it was the British (again!) who caused the misery and the Great Hunger -- they did not come to the aid of the starving Irish with any formalized social outreach. The churches doled out  watery soup to families who waited in line all day to get it. The British continued to export nutritious meat, dairy products and vegetables from Irish farms to British mouths while the Irish starved.  The Great Hunger is still mourned to this day, with nearly everyone having an ancestor who died or emigrated in this period.

The Irish Rebellion of 1916 was yet another attempt, of many, of the Irish to break free from British rule.  The rebels thought they might have the advantage while the British were busy with WWI.  But no, again, the uprising was quickly quashed leaving hundreds dead and rebel leaders to be tried and summarily executed at the infamous Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin.  These men and women are remembered as martyrs. 

The Irish War of Independence (Easter Uprising) began in 1920 after the Republic announced it had seceded from Britain.  It resulted in thousands of deaths until finally in 1921 an agreement was reached with the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty establishing the Irish Free State.  Unfortunately this did not end the fighting which went on in an attempt to bring Northern Ireland into the Free Republic, but the Republic was defeated by the Northern Loyalists who fought to remain with Britain.

Thus we have "The Troubles" in Northern Ireland in the 20th Century. Remember in 1601 the British basically took Northern Ireland and gave it to the Protestants after the Irish  defeat at the Battle of Kinsale.  And after the Independence Easter Uprising, the north fought to stay with Britain. Frankly this North/South conflict is so woven into history, oppressor and oppressed, power plays, politics, religion and a wee bit of "it's all OK now; let's not talk about" denial that I am still confused about when, why, and how it started and whether it will ever really end in spite of that Good Friday Agreement when President Clinton brokered a peace between Loyalist Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.  

Let me just say that while we were there, Queen Elizabeth died and the Republic shrugged, while in Northern Ireland the Union Jack was at half mast and the funeral day was a Bank Holiday.  Some in the Republic are still agitating for a "United Ireland" while in the north they, today!, refuse to seat a government because the "unification party", the Sinn Fein, won a majority for the first time ever but the loyalists won't let them participate in governing.  (Think Mitch McConnell thwarting Obama, the former president deciding not to recognize the new one, etc.)  At least that's how my simple brain comprehends it.  I refer you any number of Google-able sources that have long confusing stories about this.

So, I guess my impression is that Ireland is a small island nation with a long history of oppression and a sad history of North/South internal conflict that seems to have started centuries ago.  It is a beautiful country of contrasts: Melancholy and hopeful. Safe. (The police do not carry weapons.) But the history of violence is memorialized everywhere. The people: Friendly. Warm. Welcoming.  Realistic. Proud. Resilient.  The culture: Steeped in the past, moving to the future.  Festive.  Musical.  Creative.  Fun.  

As for luck?  Wikipedia says the "luck o' the Irish" saying comes from the California Gold Rush where many of the most successful miners were Irish or Irish-American.  Good on them. 🍀

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

Sources:  A bunch of Wikipedia articles, ABC News, The Economist, History, Irish Central, Kinsale (book by Barry Molony), and my own faulty memory.

Photo credits:  Hub, Official Trip Photographer:  (CLICK ON PHOTO TO ENLARGE) Irish coastline, Irish countryside, colorful Kinsale, artist's iron sculpture of a "coffin ship" with skeletons surrounding the masts, plaque at the Easter Rebellion Uprising Memorial, sculpture in Northern Ireland with figures reaching out in friendship -- but not quite touching.

IRELAND: DITCHING THE HIGHLIGHT REEL

Our first trip "across the pond" was four years ago.  We did back-to-back Rick Steves tours of Scotland (10 days) and England (14 days).  I came home with a bad cold, exhausted, and swearing never another tour!  People apparently thought I'd had a miserable time.  I didn't. They just caught me moaning in overwhelm and exhaustion. (See previous post about my highly sensitive traits.)  I actually had a wonderful time.  As I did on our recent trip to Ireland -- another 14 day tour.

Yes, we jumped back in.  We bid on a Rick Steves tour at an auction for an organization we support.  We got into a good-natured "bidding war" with another guy, until he dropped out!!!  What?  We won.  So what to do?  We scheduled a tour with some trepidation, but feeling we'd do better this time.  First of all, NEVER do two tours together!  And we decided to do our best to pace ourselves, find times for quiet and aloneness, pack lighter.  (RS makes everyone lug their own luggage.)  We were not entirely successful.  It might be impossible.

I posted each day's activities to Facebook, as a travel journal for me and as virtual travel for those who appreciate going along vicariously with others who travel.  On Facebook it looked magical, perfect, with quintessential Irish culture and sites in abundance, us always smiling.  

What no one saw was the fact that I slept abysmally about 1/3 of the time.  We changed hotels on average every 2 nights as we made our way around the island.  The longest stay was 3 nights, the shortest were two 1-night stays.  This means we lived out of our suitcases.   (Highly sensitive to new places/clutter/chaos.)  NOTE:  Even once home, I woke up for the first few mornings wondering, "Where am I and which way to the bathroom?"  LOL)

Accommodations on RS tours are interesting -- he tries to choose only local, family owned inns which can be absolutely lovely or maybe a bit dated and threadbare.  All are clean and very adequate, but often small.  In one room I had to step over my open suitcase to get to the bathroom.  But most of the places on this trip were pretty 'luxe, one or two being fabulous.  I will say the proprietors are mostly wonderful and I love the idea of supporting them.

We were two of 26 on the tour with a guide and a driver (all masked per RS Covid policy, FYI).  To cover the whole island there were a couple of long days of travel on the "coach".  We made stops, of course, but it's a bus, ya know?  At least we were lucky enough to get to sit in one of the first 3 rows most of the time.  There is a request that if you get the "front row" one day, you'll relinquish it to others the next day and so forth.  NO ONE wanted the front seat most of the time!  I guess they were partying in the back (albeit quietly since I didn't hear a thing from back there...maybe they were napping?) so after offering that prime real estate to others, we took it if no one spoke up.  I loved looking out the big front windows at the road ahead, which also helped with my tendency toward motion sickness.  (Highly sensitive to body sensation/movement.)

Breakfast is always provided but generally service started at 7:30, so we set our alarm for 6:30 most days.  If I wasn't already awake from not sleeping, the jarring alarm startled me upright with an adrenalin rush, pounding heart, feeling tired and disoriented.  The breakfasts were mostly buffet style, some really good, some really not so good.

About half of the dinners are provided, eating as a group in pre-chosen restaurants.  The restaurants were great and the food delicious!  (A couple from the Michelin Guide were particularly good!) I was amazed at the creative and really tasty vegetarian meals I had.  I go into any restaurant and give the menu a quick look;  I don't want alcohol, rich sauces, most cheeses, pasta generally, too many "hot" spices, red meat (or chicken most of the time).  That leaves usually 2-3 things to choose from, plus my go-to "cocktail" of sparkling water.  I was super happy to have some great meals in spite of these limitations to accommodate my (highly sensitive) constitution -- and health-conscious eating.

Note on alcohol.  I was the only non-drinker.  It seemed everyone was delighted to do my share of drinking.  No drunks or anything like that; very moderate drinking. But I'd say the group still put a little dent in the Guinness kegs and whiskey barrels at each stop.  My travel partner drank at least one Guinness a day (and on our own in Dublin we did a 3 hour tour/tasting at the 5-story Guinness brewery), leaving me thinking he'd found a new fave after years of saying he didn't even like it much.  But coming home he said it was an Ireland thing and he still wouldn't choose it at home, which surprised me, but I guess it's like "everyone is Irish on St. Pat's Day". He did bring back some Irish whiskey, another thing he almost never drinks, but I think that will be a passing fancy too.  He'll be back to his usual wine and micro-brews soon. What was annoying, again, is how much conversation centers around alcohol, no matter where I am.  Vintages, brews, distilleries, the subtle taste differences, the stories, the lore...urggh...Enough!

Back to the restaurants: so noisy!  Generally we were ushered to a room of our own for the group, or sat at long tables in a part of a busy restaurant and always we were rather jammed together.  While lovely to meet new people and chat over dinner, it's hard when it's so noisy.  And it's hard at the end of a tiring day to socialize with enthusiasm.  (See, again, highly sensitive traits around too much noise, crowds, people!)  There were a number of times I just didn't want to be social, or go out at all.  But instead of choosing to stay behind and miss something (including a delicious meal instead of take-away food to eat in my hotel room), I went.  But this pushing on in spite of needing down time took a toll on my energy level.

Our itinerary was FULL.  Rick Steves, if you've seen his PBS program, listened to his radio show or podcast, read his syndicated column, Zoomed into his Monday Night Travel, or watched any of his specials (he's everywhere!), is a supreme extrovert!  And his tours reflect that.  He packs the schedule with really cool places to visit, experiences to have, people to meet, food and drink to enjoy, and miles to travel.  It's great fun, but for me...well, sheesh.  Is there a similar tour for highly sensitive introverts where we cover the same itinerary in, like, a month, spending a little longer in each place with lots of time to just hang out?  I'm not sure that would help, but I do know I need A LOT more quiet, alone, "down time" than his tours afford.  Some of my favorite memories of this tour were the times when it was just Hub and me alone on the "non-tour" afternoons or evenings not scheduled with the group. There were times my sensory overwhelm led to being teary, bitchy, and sad.  But only in our hotel room.  Otherwise, ONWARD because "no grumps" is another RS tour rule.

Hub and I travel well together, with only a couple little tiffs in our three weeks away.  One, though, was significant.  On the last day he said he was sorry I didn't have a good time; that I had struggled and numerous times I said I wanted to go home.  I was shocked to hear his summation that I didn't have fun.  Nothing could be further from true.  I actually had a really good time!  But travel is hard and stressful for me, so I could (eventually) understand his assumptions.  

In our two hour "debrief" of his comments (and my tears), I realized he's my "safe place" to vent, perhaps unfairly.  And when he hears my distress it distresses him because he can't fix it for me.  And I realized by saying I wanted to "go home" I didn't literally mean I was grabbing my suitcase and heading for the airport; it meant I needed refuge.  I needed homelike peace and quiet; not the constant stimulation of information, sites, socializing, schedules, new beds, restaurant foods, alarm clocks, etc etc.  We talked it all through and came to a better understanding of what "big" travel can look like for us, making plans for our NEXT European trip, whether a tour or not, with more insight and clarity on what works best for us and how to best get through the hard times of being 'on the road'.  

So, you see, not every moment was Leprechauns and rainbows.  But like Rick, we do plan to "keep on travelin'".  Just know that every reality might not show up in the highlight reel.

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

Photo Credit:  Hub, Official Trip Photographer, at Dunluce Castle Ireland

HIGHLY SENSITIVE PEOPLE, LIKE ME

I  just got back from Ireland.  But reports on that will have to wait.  This has to come first because it will explain a lot, about a lot, including my trip.  

I've been meaning to write about this for awhile:  I'm a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP).  It sounds sorta special, doesn't it?  Sorta egotistical, really.  Sorta woo-woo.  Sorta wimpy and weird and cry-babyish.  Sorta like something one should outgrow.  But for me, it is huge.  It is affirming.  It is the explanation for (going back to childhood) so much I have loathed about myself, been embarrassed by, tried to change, deny, and fix.  

But turns out, it's not a character defect or an indulgence.  It's a real thing with a genetic component, which has been studied and researched and exists in diagnostic manuals and is confirmed by my therapist who has helped me embrace this trait for what it is -- real and permanent and positive.  About 20% of the population has the trait that would define an HSP.  (And it is a trait, not a disorder!) We are a minority, but we walk amongst you!

Dr. Elaine Aron is the HSP guru who came up with a short quiz to identify those with this trait, but is quick to point out that no quiz can be the full answer.  Working with a therapist to tease out all the threads of diagnosis is important.  But it can give you a clue, and maybe an explanation for why you've always felt differently from others. Many people will identify with some of the characteristics.  How high you score on the test will indicate your degree of sensitivity.  My score, on multiple tests, is consistently near the top.  

 Here is her quiz you might try out of curiosity; be honest in your answers:  https://hsperson.com/test/highly-sensitive-test/

Dr. Aron also talks about D.O.E.S. (Depth of Processing, Overstimulation, Emotional Reactivity,  Empathy, Sense the Subtle).  This pretty much sums up the life of an HSP.  Here's more info: https://hsperson.com/faq/evidence-for-does/  

And it can manifest like this: https://highlysensitiverefuge.com/highly-sensitive-people-problems/?fbclid=IwAR0klKHkyUrgqKaQ_njlGw5V6g-7-mGTMOZpI2MFYTSa4rBjxNpStF2Jdjw

I know this is a lot to read and absorb unless you have a true interest in this topic. Maybe you do, maybe you don't. I guess I'm just letting you see what makes me be me in many ways.  But as an HSP I totally dig this stuff!  What I've learned about me:

I process things deeply, giving hours and hours of attention to introspection to try to figure out what makes me and others think and behave as we do.  I've often been completely stumped and even frustrated by those who do not see the same value in this introspection as I do.  It makes no sense to me!  But now that I know I have an inner trait for this that others don't, I am more understanding that it's not them being disinterested necessarily,  it's them being different.   

I observe subtle body language, taking the emotional temperature of a person through non-verbal cues.  I can 'read the room'; with no words spoken I can often tell who's sad, excited, angry, frustrated, etc.  Then I immediately want to fix another's discomfort, mitigate any tension, support, cajole, soothe to the point where my own emotional equilibrium is disturbed. 

I clue into the surroundings -- images, light, temperature, texture, noise, all senses on alert to the point of being painfully overstimulated at times, feeling a desperate need to escape. 

I can often "feel" another's emotions, myself feeling ill or sad or excited around others who are experiencing these states, even when I am not.  I can feel tremendously helpless one moment, while in another I am able to sit calmly and strongly with another, helping hold their pain.  

I cannot abide reading or watching sad, violent, or frightening scenes.  My nervous system responds dramatically and with great discomfort.  It is very real to me and I immediately can relate to and feel the horror.  On the other hand, I can become completely overwhelmed with joy, love, inspiration -- a hug from the grandkids, a special moment with Hub, a sunrise, a good book, a yummy dessert, wrapping myself in a soft nurturing blanket. I often weep with overwhelming love and gratitude over the simplest, most commonplace of events or acts of kindness.  

People are extremely important to me.  Reciprocal relationships are paramount.  When I am emotionally hurt I can feel devastated and lose my sense of self, assuming blame and moving into shame too easily.  Setting boundaries can be difficult yet vitally important to my sense of well-being and confidence.  I'm working on that, and it helps to know that being an HSP is fueling these feelings of lack, the urge to return to some equilibrium in relationship even at my own expense.  I can get back on track by taking some time, by accessing the strength of an HSP to process what is happening in a positive way, to honor myself.

Does all of this sound like a lot of work?  It is!  And it's who I am.  Every day I confront the characteristics of an HSP as I make decisions, go and do, be in relationship, think, be, act.  I am learning that I need A LOT of down time to take breaks from the processing, stimulation, emotional reactivity, empathy, and subtleties of how I move in the world.  I need to take a step back, get quiet, be in the present moment, let go of believing I can fix everything for everyone, stop blaming myself for not being able to keep going or for not being in the world like other people who seem to be able to take things more lightly.  I need time alone to recharge (because I'm also an introvert, but not all HSPs are.)

Does any of this resonate with you?  Maybe you are in the HSP club!  If so, let's get together and draft a Mission Statement, write some by-laws, and create our secret handshake!  But more importantly, let's affirm each other and develop our Super Powers of Sensitivity that serve us and those around us.

Oh, and what does any of this have to do with my trip to Ireland?  Hmmmm...stay tuned!  All will be revealed.

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

CAMPING RECONSIDERED

Regular readers and anyone who asks, or doesn't, since I'm not shy about sharing in spite of no interest (LOL), know that camping is not my thing.  However, since Hub and I have been hanging out together for over 50 years, I've done A LOT of camping because it definitely IS his thing and I've gone along cuz: 1) I love him; 2) I like the idea of camping;  3) I thought if I kept trying, I'd learn to like it; 4) I wanted our boys to have camping experiences; 5) nature is pretty.

But a few years ago I stopped going.  I decided I was not going to learn to love it.  So Hub went alone, several times each summer (and of course during snowboard season, when he also stays in his cozy camper on some trips.)  He thoroughly enjoys his nature getaways -- long and challenging hikes, kayaking on lakes, gazing into his campfires, his solitude to do as he pleases in his own timeframe, no one else to consider, etc. etc.  I was fine staying at home, but resentment started to set in as well.  I'm not proud of this, but it's a longer story with lots of moving parts.  Suffice to say, we decided last year that I'd go on one or two camping trips with him each summer.  I went once last year.  It went well.  This year we've had so many home projects and truck issues that had to get resolved before he could load up the truck camper, that one trip was all we could schedule.  We went last week.

Mt. Rainier in summer is one of my favorite places to go.  It is so breathtakingly beautiful.  The campground where we stay is quiet, no hook-ups, rarely any rowdies or kids on bikes; just lots of hikers and quiet-seekers, like us. I still went with some hesitation.  I've convinced myself that I "hate" camping.  Even after last year, when the outing turned out OK, I still wasn't convinced.  So this year I decided to keep an almost hour by hour journal of what I "like" and what I "dislike" about camping, to try to find some objectivity.  It was instructive.

What I discovered is that I like being with Hub; I like being in beautiful places; I like that it was warm and sunny this time; I like all the hikes we did (moderate, not too challenging, but beautiful forest trails and views of the mountain); I like the relative perks of the camper -- warm and dry and sorta like a real "house" with lots of amenities. (toilet! shower! lights run from a solar panel!)  I definitely would not sleep in a tent and live at the picnic table!

What I don't like and which overshadows almost everything else is being uncomfortable.  This physical discomfort sensitivity is only one characteristic of being (it's a real thing, confirmed by my therapist) a Highly Sensitive Person.  I can go from "too hot" to "too cold" in seconds.  My body feels every fluctuation, both internally (aches and palpitations) and externally (lumpy pillows and itchy bug bites).  You get the idea. Nothing escapes my sensitivity meter.  And camping is not exactly an activity that creates comfort.  I was uncomfortable a lot!

The camper, while "cozy" is also cramped, with not enough storage space apparently, so that in short order every surface was cluttered with gear and clothing and dishes.  Visual chaos disturbs me; also things always in the way. 

I absolutely hate campfire smoke.  It will find me no matter where I sit/stand.  Thankfully Hub agrees with me on this, although he is more tolerant than I.  He now uses a propane fire ring for his campfire experiences even when on his own.  I know, it's burning fossil fuel, but it's instead of breathing in woodsmoke particulate matter, getting a sore throat, and stinking like a smoke jumper, so there's that.  I'd personally forgo the the whole fire thing completely, and have.  I just go inside at night like any sensible person, but for the S'mores this trip.  Each night I made one, ate it, and retired inside to my Kindle.

Plus, so much gear!  And logistical hassles.  I really hate that.  Why must I pack up a bunch of stuff that is much more conveniently located in my big beautiful house in order to drive it all to a new location in the woods?  We have woods here, and a fire ring, and beautiful gardens, and views of water and mountains and day hikes within easy driving distance!  Plus, we have more privacy at home -- neighbors at campsites are much closer and "in my space" than my neighbors in our neighborhood.  While we have all of that, it is in the heart of the city, so it's a more citified "nature" I guess.  I do get the idea of a "getaway".  I just prefer convenience.

And yet...what surprisingly came out Top Three on my "like" list were: 1) sharing the experience with Hub cuz I love him, as previously mentioned, and still true; 2) the hikes we did (which is shocking to note, since I also have traditionally hated hiking, but I've found my sweet spot with that in terms of distance and challenge and I loved it!); 3) no phone/no computer -- it felt great to be out of cell/WiFi range and have no idea what was happening anywhere but where I was.

I still don't think I'll be adding camping to my "must do"/"can't wait" summer fun list.  But I do think it's reasonable to go once/twice a season to get away, to see and do new things, to be in closer proximity to activities like hiking and kayaking, which are easier to access without the hassle of a commute to get there and back in one day's timeframe.

I guess camping, like life, is full of some "dislikes" one must endure to get to the "likes" that can sometimes compensate. There were way more "dislikes" in my journal, and yet, sitting here now I am recalling the closeness I shared with Hub;  the spectacular views of Rainier; the quiet private place we found to hang out at one trail's end completely alone together with a huge view of Rainier and wildflowers surrounding us; the cooling air we found after a hot hike, sitting on the edge of the rushing glacial melt White River; the hikes through the forest, at times challenging, but beautiful and peaceful.  It was worth some "dislikes", this time, to make those memories.  I'll try to recall that next year when Hub gets the camping bug again.

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

50 YEARS AND COUNTING: AN EXAMINED MARRIAGE

Hub and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary in July.  We went away to our favorite local waterfront resort for 4 days. It was perfect except for me just getting over Covid and dealing with exhaustion and a nagging cough.  Still, I was able to go for a short 2 mile waterfront walk on our trip, a kayak paddle trip across the bay to go to lunch at a fave restaurant, had a couple restaurant dinners on the deck at water's edge watching the sunset, and long, long talks sitting in our beach chairs reminiscing, reviewing, renewing, and planning for the future.

The day after we got home we welcomed our family -- adult sons, their wives, the grandkids (and dogs) -- who planned all the food, prepped it, brought lawn games, and wrote speeches to toast us after Hub and I gathered everyone on the patio.  We sat facing them in a semi-circle around us, not to renew any vows, but to share with each other, witnessed by our family, the words we'd written to each other to reflect upon our marriage and of how much we look forward to continuing to learn and grow and love together.  Everyone was in tears as the last toast was offered. Our sons and daughters-in-law said the most beautiful affirming things to us.  I couldn't have asked for a more perfect honoring of our 50 years.

50 years married. 54 together counting dating.  53 subtracting the troubled year we lived apart, but not divorced, early in our marriage.  But we are going with the traditional 50.  This will not be the exhaustive, definitive analysis of our marriage because who can do that?  It's a long time.  Still, this will be a long post with highlights of the past five decades.  Forewarned.

1968-1972: We met in high school.  We were kids.  We were in love, in lust, in flux.  Decisions were made without thought or intention, on auto-pilot.  There were break ups, drama, craziness.  We got married, he 22 and me 21.  We "acted" like grown ups, working, going to school, trying to figure what we wanted in our life together, something we'd never really discussed.  We were in a life together that seemed to surprise us at times...You?  What are YOU doing here?  

1973-1980: Hub got into medical school, we moved from our conservative home town to Chicago -- a big, international smorgasboard of never-before-known-to-us delights and opportunities.  We started to pull in opposite directions, neither of us truly understanding how to be responsible adults one minute and grab the gusto of every option and experience the next. It was an intense time of individual change in ways that would come to define us still today.  But at the time?  Let's say it didn't go smoothly.  At all.  (That year of living apart was precipitated by some very bad behavior.  I leave it at that.)  But somehow we persevered.  An earthquake of change shook us, but we were still standing, in some ways stronger than ever.

1980-1982: We left Chicago, our families and friends and all we'd ever known, and moved to the east coast.  A new life and new experiences awaited there.  It was only for two years, but it was an important time of cutting ties to everything familiar and clinging to each other as we made our way in new chapter.  We felt like we'd landed in paradise, living 2 blocks from the Atlantic ocean on a barrier island near Charleston SC.  We made lots of new friends, learned to love oysters, shared everything together with freedom, joy, and a lot of work for Hub as he began to build his career.  I mostly went to school and the beach.

1982-1985: Moving to our current home meant really buckling down into adulthood.  Hub had a real doctor job in a real clinic.  We bought a real home, in an old established neighborhood with a killer view.  We were alone together, excited but disoriented, until we slowly found our way to making a few friends and figuring out a whole new culture in this Pacific Northwest part of America, which couldn't be more different from Illinois or South Carolina.  

1985-2010: Kids.  Now there's a change.  For us it wasn't easy.  Unexplained infertility was our challenge.  We finally decided we just wanted to be parents, not reproduce our genetic history.  We chose to adopt through a new and groundbreaking program where birthmothers experiencing an unplanned pregnancy could choose the parents for her child by reviewing portfolios submitted by hopeful couples.  We were chosen.  Son One joined us and life turned upside down with joy, exhaustion, and complete commitment to family life.  Two years later we did it again, and Son Two became part of our growing family.  We tried again three years later -- it was not to be.  We were chosen, but at the last minute the birthmother changed her mind.  We were disappointed, but agreed we were complete with our boys.  In retrospect, it's as it should have been. Our family is perfect.  But childrearing is not for the faint of heart.  

Hub was 100% devoted to his career; I was 100% devoted to home and kids.  We each tried to carve out time for each other and family time, on top of  kids, school, jobs, volunteer commitments, home chores and projects, a social life, occasional trips, the daily stress of trying to do it all.  Not enough hours in the day, short tempers, exhaustion, differences in opinions and values  and appetites, resentments, misunderstandings.  We were also working together to create a loving home, family memories, solid values, and varied experiences for our kids.  None of it was easy; much of it was joyful. And all of it was done together.  Our commitment to each other still stood, even if some days there was still that thought...You?  What are YOU doing here?  

2010-2022: The kids grew up (now there's an understatement -- we had to get through some very challenging times to get to that stage!), graduated college, got jobs, left home.  Hub retired (again, huge understatement about the ups and downs of a long and stressful career). I had pursued a later-in-life career in social work, then I retired too.  We both saw our mothers through the challenges and heartaches of older age and dementia.  But within the past 10 or so years, our sons found amazing women to love, got married; grandkids came into our lives.  Circle of life.  

NOW: Here's what I know today:  Every single age and stage of this marriage has been examined.  We've learned to know each other deeply, with help from some very intense personal growth work (both individually and together) that healed old childhood issues, helped us see the "real" in each other and the "why" behind our individual behaviors and values and world views.  We went to counseling when we got really stuck, open to the "I don't know" vulnerability of finding our way through thickets of anger and confusion to emerge into a clearing filled with possibility.

Every morning now we sit with our coffee and talk together, not just about what to have for dinner or where to go on vacation or which light bulb needs replacing, but REALLY talk about about our hopes, fears, anxieties, stresses.  "How are you today?  What's up for you?"  Absolutely nothing, nothing, is off limits.  We've learned that stuffing feelings, keeping secrets, and harboring resentments only leads to disaster. We offer understanding, support, encouragement, help, feedback, our own truth, holding space for the other to vent, cry, talk through a problem, or share an insight, celebrate a joy.  This can take 10 minutes or 2 hours.  But we make it work, however long it takes.  It's that important.

Big issues still arise and they can seem overwhelming and daunting, but we have never given in or given up -- at least not for long.  Even when all has felt hopeless, there are tools in the toolbox to work the problem, and hope has been renewed. We've learned to say "You're right", "I hear you", "I'm sorry" when it would be easier to dig into a defensive posture and each hold our ground.  We've learned to set boundaries, to open up completely in the most emotionally vulnerable ways, and to trust that anger, tears, misunderstandings, even betrayals can be avenues to new understanding and growth, eventually.

We've learned to keep loving.  And maybe that has always been the glue.  We don't really know why we are still standing together after 50+ years.  There have been ample opportunities and temptations to just call it quits.  But speaking the same personal growth language and being willing to really listen and change have served us well.  So, here we are.  We are incredibly proud of the marriage we've created.

"You?  What are YOU doing here?" Just loving, just loving, just loving...and learning to keep making a life together that feels better than ever.  Grateful. 🙏🏽

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

50 YEARS OF SEX...OH, AND ALSO COVID AGAIN

Did I get your attention?  I intended this to be a lighthearted post about Hub and me celebrating our 50th anniversary last week and all the fabulous sex we've had over the years...but this morning I tested positive for Covid again, so I'm bummed and not feeling like any sexy-time talk after all. 

Remember when we all tried to guess what the "new normal" would look like post-pandemic?  I think at this point in the 2-1/2 year (and counting) struggle with the pointy virus, the new normal is either having Covid, fear of getting Covid, and/or getting over Covid.  Common denominator: Covid.

I know some people have completely moved on.  No masks, no testing, no worries.  Others still barely leave their homes, see almost no one, and fret constantly.  Some get it and get super sick and die.  Some get it and get sick enough to want to die, but don't.  Some get it and get sick for a few days, then it passes.  Some get it and never even know they had it.

The crackerjack CDC is doing its very best to stay on top of this conundrum , but lately seems to be taking at least part of its direction from a combination of scientists, politicians, and polling data.  Their guidelines are confusing, ever-changing, and increasingly lax (Test positive? Isolate for 5 days, at which point go back to work or school, but wear a mask. Puhleeze!).  The crisis of a collapsing health care system, ICU over-crowding, intubation equipment shortages, and tractor-trailer morgues is past.  We are now just winging it, with the assumption that eventually everyone will get it and if you're vaxxed and boosted, you'll probably survive.  There is no magical elixer, neither Paxlovid nor bleach, which will ward it off.

What Paxlovid does is knock the virus down so it can't overwhelm the immune system.  That's a good thing.  Symptoms abate rather quickly and negative tests seem to indicate the virus is gone!  Done and dusted, thank you very much! But alas, even though the experts say "rebound" cases, post-Paxlovid therapy, are rare (1-2%) it seems to me, anecdotally, I'm hearing about this more and more.  The virus gets knocked down but not knocked out.  It can get off the mat and keep fighting, perhaps not at full strength, but not quitting either.  (Prize-fight metaphor?  I surprise myself...)

Dr. Anthony Fauci (Covid Guru and Voice of Reason and Expertise as well as Second Coming of Christ, OR, Paid Shill Devil Incarnate Deserving of Death Threats and Harassment to Himself and his Family, depending upon your political leanings) eventually got Covid and also a rebound after treatment.  Same with our President, Joe Biden.  Same with a friend of mine.  Same with stories passed on social media of friends of friends and of strangers.  Same with me.  Today.

I don't know how long I've actually been positive.  I just decided to test today as a curiosity because of my friend's rebound positive.  I was shocked, angry, sad, and so frustrated to see that damn black positive line again.  Especially when today I'm feeling pretty good; almost normal.  Yesterday too.  I actually now think that my two-in-a-row negative tests were just that the virus had been suppressed enough not to show up on a test, but still there, since a few days later I seemed to "relapse" with more lethargy again. But we chalked it up to researching that lethargy and cough can drag on for weeks and/or it could be a cold virus, and/or it could be allergies.  All the symptoms are the same.  My mistake was in not testing again and again.  I thought the Paxlovid treatment, feeling better, and two negative tests a couple days apart meant I was over it, so I looked for other reasons for my renewed malaise.  I maybe have been Covid-positive this whole time.

So, here we go again.  Hub and I have been in constant (sometimes VERY close 😉) connection since my first negative test on 7/19.  After my rebound positive this morning, he immediately tested: negative.  He may be some medical anomaly worthy of study.  Or his number just isn't up yet.  But if this thing is so contagious that a mere couple of hours of breathing the same indoor air as my son gave it to me, why is Hub, so far, immune?  Who knows?  It's an arbitrary, wily, annoying, confounding, overwhelming, life-sucking little bugger and really wouldn't we all just prefer to talk about sex?

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