Act As If

I've long been a "fake it 'til you make it" kind of gal.

Back in the olden days, when I was working and raising kids, there were days when I woke up and just. didn't. have. the. oomph. to get the things done.

Not getting the things done was not going to be helpful, nor did I want to show up to my kids and job grumpy and groaning, so I'd put on the best face I could muster and soldier on through.

It worked.

Most days, as I'd go through the day, the smiles would gradually become more genuine, the piles of things less daunting. I wouldn't need to keep faking it, because the stuck-in-the-mire part of me had shaken off her boots and kept going and had made it to a drier part of the path.

It worked. And. It was not the kindest way to treat myself. There's a militant undertone to the phrase; it is stern, harsh, scolding. "Pick yourself up by the seat of your pants and get moving!", it says. It doesn't leave much room for self-compassion.

I've been working on having more compassion for myself and my trials, changing the tone I use when I talk to me. And so, these days, I do a lot less faking it, and a lot more "acting as if".

It's a subtle shift. 

I still wake up without. the. oomph. I need to get the things done. But rather than letting the metaphorical taskmaster, with her starchy uniform and disapproving scowl, out of her room, I pull out my inner coach; she has her hair in a messy bun and is wearing her workout clothes.

"I know you don't have the oomph to start the day, but how about you get out of bed and act as if you do. You don't need to tackle the whole day, you can take it one step at a time. If you'd like, I'll take some of the most daunting steps with you."

Walk the puppy, show up at today's exercise class. One movement leads to another and usually, the oomph I need makes a belated appearance. And. On the days it doesn't, and I have leeway (which is many of them, given the current givens of my life), "acting as if" leaves room to slow down and take a break. A guilt-free nap, even. 

I work on being kind to others. Perhaps it is time (and past time) for me to know it's OK to also be kind to myself. Worst case, I can "act as if" I am. What's it going to hurt?

She Is Growing Well

She'd come down for a month during COVID - 16 years old, struggling to make sense of the world after her mom's death eighteen months earlier. She was having trouble in school; was in danger of not passing her junior year, not because she couldn't understand the concepts but because she was not completing the work.

I worked with her to set up a schedule of rewards based on some (admittedly arbitrary) milestones. The rewards weren't huge - ice cream, a trip to the bookstore - and they didn't need to be. She just needed a tangible reward for her efforts.

My heart ached as I watched her settle in and work to reach her goals - her troubles had too many parallels to my own too-young goodbye to my mom. I knew I couldn't fix things, but I could provide clear and consistent boundaries and expectations, tempered with the above rewards - and the framework worked as I had hoped. She completed enough work to pass on to her senior year. I was proud of her!

We have kept in touch through phone calls and occasional visits since her return home to Minnesota, but haven't spent any chunks of time together. I have watched from afar as she forged her own path over the next few years. She graduated high school, and since she didn't yet know what she wanted to do, put college on hold. I was concerned as she drifted from job to job over the next few years; was thrilled last year, when she got to a place where she was ready to enroll in college. She's been doing well there. (There's something to be said for taking side roads...)

She came back to visit last week - we spent a delightful few days together. We spent an afternoon as ladies of leisure - sitting by the pool after yoga, just enjoying the afternoon. We shopped some, spent a lovely afternoon at the Nelson art museum. We talked a LOT; I caught up on her life's doings. 

We shared memories of her mom, my youngest sister, Libby. She asked if I thought her mom would be proud of where she is today. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes as I assured her the answer was yes. I know that yearning - the wish to see Mom's smile of pride, to have her arms hold me securely one more time. I still feel it, and it's been 49 years.

As we stood, and I gathered her into my arms, I swear I felt Libby's spirit flow through me as she held her baby for a precious, healing, moment.

Love Is.

Drug Break

I've been carrying a heavy load of fatigue with me everywhere I go for the last month or two. This is where language fails me - I don't have enough synonyms for 'tired'. I'm tired, and it's not the sort of tired that gets better with sleep. My brain WANTS to work, and it. can't. quite. figure. out. the. next. step. (Eventually, the stuff gets done, but it takes a hot minute.) 

I liken it to floating in a pond of fatigue (from the drugs), depression (in my world, it comes hand-in-hand with the fatigue), and grief (because I have done all the things I know how to do to help with the side effects. What I'm experiencing now will be my life for however many years, and that's a hard truth to accept.)

I'm no longer fighting to escape the pool, nor am I drowning in the uncomfortable emotions. Rather, I'm floating in it, working to accept what is, to learn to live within its limits.

Caffeine helps - it is my best friend, gives me the oomph I need to take one more step. Exercise helps - moving almost always lifts the fog for several hours. 

I talked to my oncologist about this when I saw him last month, and he told me I could take a break from my drugs, to see if that would help. I didn't make him offer twice.

I stopped that evening, hoping I'd feel better soon. Define soon. The first week went by, no change in my energy levels. (Dr. Google did warn me it would take a couple of weeks for my system to begin to rebalance itself. Heck of a time for them to be right.) The second week, same result. Last week, I started to see some improvements, just before I was supposed to restart the drugs on Friday. *sigh*

I checked with the oncologist's team - they said I could take another week off without interfering with the efficacy of the drugs. *Whew!*

Saturday morning, I woke up and checked in with myself. Something was missing. I was still tired, but the brain fog had lifted overnight! My head was clear. I had enough oomph to tackle my entire to-do list in one afternoon. (OK, there wasn't much on it, but it still felt good.)

Yesterday, there was a break in the heat, and I was able to get out in the yard for several hours, doing some much-needed maintenance in the flower beds, clearing weeds from both the beds and my brain. And I woke up AGAIN this morning with a clear head. No small blessing, this. 

I know it's a temporary break, and that's OK. Maybe I'll have some residual effect from the break once I restart the drug regimen on Friday. I can hope. I'm going to talk further with Dr. Hu. If I know I can get a chance every so often to climb out of the pool and get reacquainted with my old self, it'll be easier to make it through the days where my best option is to whittle back the doings of my days and focus my limited energy on the "important thing" - whatever that is. 

One step at a time.

Family Reunion

The older I get, the more reasons I find to attend family reunions.

These are the people who knew me when. As 'when' recedes further into the past, I find myself relishing the chances I have to walk down memory lane; to feel the tug of connections still there despite the wear and tear of years; to strengthen those connections by showing up to retrace their lines.

This past weekend found me in Waterloo, IA, to meet up with my mom's side of the family. She came from a large crew - was one of 14 children. She and all of her siblings have gone to the place-beyond; there is one aunt by marriage still around. Aunt Diane, and a good number of my cousins, made it to the annual gathering. Everyone in the cousin crew now sports a healthy amount of gray in their hair. A few people had brought representatives from the next two generations down - they added welcome movement and spice to the group. I mean, SOMEONE has to pop the balloons!

We had the usual abundance of delicious food for our potluck lunch. My conversations swung between 'what's going on with you now?' and 'do you remember when?' There was a quiz to see who could name all of the 40-odd cousins based on childhood pictures - I could only name about half. Then, Karen came up and now the names flew - we started to fill out an answer sheet together. We were still missing a few of the older cousins, people we never really knew, but Chuck came up behind us and filled in the blanks. We put all three of our names on the sheet, fair is fair. I would have thought we'd be eliminated from the competition because we cheated, but they gave us the prize anyways. (My share of the loot was a bag of what I am told is the best popcorn you can buy, grown right there in Iowa. I can't wait to pop it and give it a try.)

I drove up the night before the gathering, and stayed with my brother Tony and his wife, Susan. It's been well over a year since I'd seen them and I enjoyed having a few hours to spend in deeper conversation than can happen at the large family events. (Not to mention the chance to enjoy an ear of the fresh Iowa sweet corn Susan cooked us for dinner. Can't beat it.)

The weeding and mowing and cleaning and laundry, etc. all need to be done, and I do them, but these activities don't feed my soul. Seeing my people, spending a few hours renewing the traces they have left on my heart and in my memories - THAT helps me feel the love. I slept well last night, tired from the drive and cradled in sweet memories. 

On the face of it, it was a lot of driving - about 11 hours all told - for a short event. As I was driving home, my overriding thought was, 'Worth it!'

Teen Week

I got to have Teen Week again this summer!

Lexi came in from California, her cousin Katy from Iowa.

This is the third year I've had the pleasure of hosting these two. One could wonder where a girl from Los Angeles and one from Iowa City might find common ground, but these two got past that minor detail the first summer they were here. 

This year they jumped right into catching up on each other's lives, trading stories about friends and school and parental units and and and. Catching up involves much laughter - the sound carries through the house and lightens my heart.

I love having their energy here. Both are responsible and kind; it's easy to have them around. My biggest job during the visit was making sure we had enough fruit and ice cream stocked. As has become their pattern, they ventured out a little every day, but spent most of their time just chillaxing together. 

They were both looking forward to coming here - I pat myself on the back and take that as a major win. One of my life goals has been to create a home where people feel both safe and welcome - that they want to visit tells me I've done well working towards my goal. (At least with these two - I guess I shouldn't extrapolate to my larger world. I'm sure I could still do better for some of my people.)

Katy went home this past weekend, but I get to ease back into my usual quiet space since I get the pleasure of Lexi's company for another week. With all that happened last year, I wasn't able to get to California, and I treasure the opportunity to spend time with her. Going out some, relaxing some, reading some, cooking some, talking some. 

She is (they both are) growing SO FAST! It's fun to see their soon-to-be young adult selves emerging from their teen chrysalides. They renew my hope for the future.

*happy sigh*

Summer Reading

Ever since I was a kid, I've loved a good reading challenge.

When I was in 4th grade, my teacher had us make little bookshelves out of construction paper, then hung them on the room's bulletin board. (They were quite basic shelves - picture a sideways L on the paper.) She then let us add a book to the shelf for each story we finished. A voracious reader, I was up for the challenge. Once I'd read enough books to fill the little shelf, I read a few more - whereupon she added gold stars to the background of my paper. I have no idea how the rest of the class did, but I still picture my overflowing shelf with a quiet sense of pride.

Sadly, I've gotten older, and reading programs tend to be geared towards the younger generation. No more gold stars for me.

And then, and then! Five years ago I took a closer look at the materials the local library sent out for their summer reading program. They had prizes for adults! If you finish reading five books over the course of the summer, you get a free commemorative pint glass. 

And, bonus, they give you a !!free!! book to get you started. True excitement!!!

I finished this year's challenge last week, and happily stopped in at my local branch to pick up my prize. Yes, I now have a collection of five glasses, one for each year. (You probably could have guessed this part.)

The reading program has been the perfect ticket for me to (re-)break my iPad doom scrolling habit. I'm not going to waste my time on endless feeds when I could be making progress towards a tangible goal.

Part of me still looks for the catch. You give me a free book. If I read five books over three months, I get a prize? No entry fee? No forms to fill out (beyond the one for the library card - still the best bargain around, hands down)? No selling my information to the highest bidder?

Wow. Who'd'a thunk it?

It does my heart good to know libraries still exist; that librarians are still helping people to find the right book, encouraging them to expand their horizons of knowledge. 

Good Is.

Home to Minnesota

The voice of Minnesota has been calling to me this spring. With one thing and another, I hadn't been up there in well over a year, and I needed new shoes, so I headed on up a couple of weeks ago. 

True, I probably don't have to drive quite that far for footwear, but there's this little family-owned shop in Anoka that's been there forever, and they offer a wide variety of acceptable-to-my-aging-feet options. (Only shoes with proper arch support need apply.) It's way more fun to shop there than to go to a store where I need to choose from the only three acceptable styles; "No, we don't actually have the one you settled on in your size."

I had a wonderful ten days, filled with hugs from people I love; a chance to catch up on their lives.

Christie drove down from Grand Marais to see me (and buy shoes for herself). I had dinner with a group of cousins, breakfast with my sisters. I drove to Amery for a long-overdue chat with Rebecca, and got to pick up Lexi at the tail end of her trip to France with her father to see her family there. (The extended family was great; he was his usual confounding self.)

Kate and Edwin were also in town for a few days, and my heart rests a bit easier after seeing her - she continues to heal. *happy sigh*

My head knows I can't go home again, and my heart begs to differ. Every time, shortly after I cross the state border, I look up at the sky, and it's the proper color of blue. Then I hear a clear call - "welcome home." It's a softer blue than the sky in Kansas City. It's the blue of my childhood, of running down to the creek, of swimming in Weaver Lake. It remembers me then, welcomes me now. It exclaims, "Goodness, look at you! How much you've grown!"

I have grown. I don't much resemble the 22 year-old who left Minnesota for Missouri, planning to live happily ever after with her husband and children in the corner house with a white picket fence on a quiet street. Time has required me to leave behind many dreams. Nothing (except for my amazing kids) has turned out as I had expected and hoped, and yet, somehow, it's turned out quite well. 

I am grateful.

Fixed Another Thing

I've been taking a fun art class for the past few weeks, hosted by two of my fellow students in their art studio downtown. 

When we arrived for the final class, one of the sturdy tables we'd been using was in pieces on the ground. It seems their fellow studio tenant had had a big party the night before, and things had gotten a bit out of hand. Let me rephrase that. A LOT out of hand. They'd managed to split a 2x8 - dancing on the table, perhaps?

Looking at Roberta's face as she told the tale, I felt a flash of anger. She was sad. She didn't think the table could be repaired and wasn't sure how they were going to replace it. I hate needless waste, careless destruction, and people who don't take responsibility for the damage they cause.

When class was over, I asked her what they planned to do. She said they'd throw out the pieces of the old table, and live without for a while. 

Still steaming, I went over and looked at the pile of boards. Looked more closely. I didn't see anything I couldn't repair with some glue, clamps and new hardware. So, I offered to fix it.

She looked at me in disbelief. I thought I could fix it? Was I sure?

Yes, I was. I wasn't positive I could fix it, but I was willing to try if she was willing to let me.

She didn't make me offer twice.

Last week, I loaded up my toys and headed over to see what I could see. Two hours, and a half bottle of glue later, I had the pieces glued back together. Yes!

I went back a couple of days later, after the glue had cured, to reassemble the puzzle. A few hours, sets of new angle and corner brackets, and more than a few supporting heavy-duty screws later, the table was as good as new. Jodi and Roberta were thrilled!

I see so many broken things in the world, so few I can do anything about.

I can't fix the world, but, sometimes, I can be one of the people who commit random acts of kindness. Sometimes, I can fix one small thing. 

Sometimes, that's enough to give my heart a bit of ease.

Stop. Breathe. Relax.

More Time??

Last week, Jordan, my treasured yoga teacher, told us she would be leaving at the end of June for a sabbatical. She won't be teaching anywhere, at least for a while. ***wwwaaaahhhh***

I can't say I was totally taken by surprise by her announcement. I've sensed for some time that her teaching role at Woodside had begun to feel confining. She is being pulled in a new direction; is ready to grow beyond what she can do within the structure of the rules of the gym.

When I got home, I looked at my calendar, and realized I would have just one more opportunity to take a class from her. My heart fell - I need more than one more time! I'm not done learning yet!!!!

Jordan has been one of my main teachers for three years. She has taught me SO much about asanas and form and breathing and working with the body I have today. I've carried her words from the mat and integrated them into my life. 

The things I have learned will not leave with her - they are mine to keep. Would it not serve me better to focus gratitude on those teachings, instead of focusing regret on the five classes she will teach where I will not be present because of schedule conflicts? 

I have yet to be ready to say goodbye to my people when they need to leave. It is in my nature to want to hold instead of letting go.  As David Foster Wallace once said, "everything I've ever let go of has claw marks on it."

I am greedy. I want the people I love to stay with me and never, ever, ever leave. I want more time with them - both those who are still here and those to whom I've said goodbye.

Slowly, I am learning to accept the fact that life is movement, life is change. And this time, at least there is a chance the world will turn and our paths will cross again. 

I can hope.

Fixed It!

Last week, I started my dishwasher, and after thinking for a minute, instead of running, it popped up an error code. Something to do with a filter. 

So, I checked the filter inside the machine. It was clogged, but it's been a lot worse without triggering an error, so I was a bit worried as I cleaned it and put it back in. I tried to be sure to hold my mouth right as I re-pressed the Start button.

No luck. I mean, I got a different error code, but the dishwasher still wouldn't run the cycle. It was already late evening, so I heaved a heavy sigh, and gave up for the night.

I had more functioning brain cells when I got up the next morning, so I washed the dirty dishes by hand, then sat down with my computer to see what I could see.

The dishwasher isn't that old, so I went back into my records to see if I could get it fixed under warranty. Nope - it expired in April. Figures. So, I pulled up Google to see what my options were. (This is the part where I love today's version of computing.)

I had the replacement part number within a few minutes, so went on to GE's website to order it. It's only $20, but is out of stock until the first part of July.

OK. Next.

I pivoted back to Google, to see if I could perhaps fix it myself. I mean, I used to be good at this sort of stuff. Sure enough, our friends at Reddit had a thread addressing my exact problem, complete with links to step-by-step YouTube videos showing how to do the repair. Yes!

I am capable of following instructions (though I know some people may find this hard to believe), so I got out my screwdriver and flashlight and got to work. Sure enough, the part was right where they told me it would be.

I popped it off, pulled it apart, cleaned off all the gunk (which, sure enough, was clogging the filter sensor), put it back together, plugged it back in, held my breath, and pressed the Start button. 

The machine ran like a champ.

I am so grateful for the knowledge freely available on the internet; for the people who take the time and trouble to answer questions, to create videos. Because those people exist, I don't have to know a guy I could call to ask for help. I didn't have to wait for the part, nor deal with a repair bill.

Technology has its strong points!