Mary!

Last week found me visiting Mary, one of my college roommates, in Seattle.

We got to know each other in my sophomore year. She was an RA, regally holding court on the floor below mine. I was a timid soul, hungry for belonging.

In the evenings, after knocking on her door and being bid to enter, I'd ease in along the edges of the room. It wasn't a big space, yet there would be ten or twelve people there, talking over the issues of the day. I wanted to be seen, was afraid to be seen - her smile from the far end of the room always declared me welcome.

We've stayed in touch since college, through moves and jobs and children; through decades of life's ups and downs. I last saw her seven years ago, when I went up to Anchorage for her daughter's wedding. Goodness, but have there been oh-so-many happenings in our lives since then. Last Wednesday, when she picked me up from the train station, our conversation picked up where we'd left off those years ago, as if it had never been interrupted. 

We went out a bit to see the sights; had coffee at a lovely place next to the Sound. (Not that I remembered to take a single photo. *sigh*) But mostly, we talked - she's one of two non-family people in my now-life who knew me when. Her perspective is refreshing, her insights welcome. 

Her voice hasn't changed. Her compassionate eyes, her please-join-me smile, those are the same. They brought me right back to the days we met. Her hair has turned to silver; her ageless soul has only gotten wiser.  

Time and again, as we talked, I had to reconcile my brain to the whole passage-of-time thing. How can it be that we're ALREADY old enough to have retired? It CAN'T have been that many years since we sat in the student lounge where she taught me to play backgammon! Can it? Are you SURE???

I am so glad I took the time to get my keister to Seattle to visit. 
Yup. Flying is a pain. Tickets are expensive. 
And connections like the one I have with her? Priceless. 
Worth every bit of the trouble.

Poor Puppy!

He's been here for 3 1/2 years now, and it's taken some time, but Sylvester and I have learned to live well together. 

He almost always uses his inside bark when trying to catch my attention, and it's been ages since he clawed at the back door. (Much.) He is learning not to jump on visitors and to not grrr loudly at the other dogs we encounter on our daily walks. (I do let him use his voice and talk at them, but grr-ing and barking tend to start a conversation I'm sure the surrounding houses don't care to listen in on.)

I buy new toys once he's done extracting the squeaker from the old ones, he encourages me to laugh as we play tug.

He's firmly claimed his place in my heart.

Last weekend, he started biting at his right hind paw. A quick inspection showed it to be tender, but I couldn't see anything stuck in there to cause pain. I enlisted the help of my neighbor, who has much younger eyes than I; he could see a bit of blood, but also no thorns or other foreign objects near the sore pad. 

This was Saturday afternoon. (Of course it was Saturday afternoon, when the vet's office is closed until Monday. This is how these things happen.)

I watched him with concern over the weekend. We pared our walks down to minimize irritation. He got quieter and quieter, spending most of his time lying with his head resting on his paws and his eyes half closed. Poor puppy!

I called the vet first thing Monday morning, and described the issue, only to be told they had no openings that day, but would fit me in on Tuesday morning. If I felt he needed to be seen urgently, I could call an urgent care clinic, but she felt it safe to wait.

I don't know much about dogs, and wanted him to be seen by vets who knew him and his history. I didn't want to (potentially) place his care in callous hands that just wanted to churn him through the system. (I've heard stories.) So, I made the appointment, and impatiently waited. 

By Monday evening he was declining to eat. *worried sigh*

I went to bed, then woke in a panic at 2AM, convinced I'd made the wrong decision, and sure he was in dire straits. I got up to check on him, he was sleeping peacefully. I tried fruitlessly for over an hour to calm myself down, then gave up. I got up, scooped him from his rug on the floor, and put him, against all the rules, onto my bed. I put my hand near his body, so I could feel his warmth and breathing, and finally fell back into a fitful sleep until morning.

The vet, once I got there, was wonderful. He got on the floor to be at Sylvester's level, and checked him over thoroughly. He also couldn't find the cause of the irritation; we figured that whatever had caused the injury had worked its way out, but based on the fever he was running, left an infection behind. I left the office feeling much better than when I'd arrived. Sylvester had gotten an antibiotic shot (thus avoiding the pills which would further upset his stomach) and two types of painkillers.

From there on, he got a little better each day. He started eating a little more; spent less time quietly resting in a corner. The sensitivity in his paw lessened. He became more alert, and resumed his habit of barking at noises which he thinks need my attention. Yesterday morning, when we came back from our walk, he wanted to play for a bit!

I had my puppy back!

I am so grateful the vet spent all those years in school learning how to treat dogs. For the antibiotics which turned a life-threatening infection into a nuisance. For the pain pills which helped him heal comfortably.

So grateful there are people around me who know things I don't, and that I can call on them for aid.

Good Is.

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 seekl 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.