Energy Slog

I had to work around the rain and remains of the heat to finish the fence's yearly coat of protective oil. I got the last bit done a week ago Sunday evening, using the neighbor's outdoor lights to be able to see what I was doing on the last half-dozen boards - the sun sets quickly as we head into the last part of October.

I felt good about finally getting a something done when I went to bed. Then Monday morning came, and my energy didn't show up. "OK," I told myself. "You did a pretty good push yesterday."

Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. None were any better.

By Friday afternoon, I was in as low of a mood as I've been for quite some time. The entire week had been a tough slog. I showed up for my exercise classes and assorted ppointments, showing the best face I could muster to the world. I dropped the mask as soon as I got home; Sylvester doesn't demand much social grace.

I'd sit down each evening with the list of things I'd hoped to get done that day and sigh. I'd bumbled my way through the 'must-get-dones'. The rest of the list, well, I looked at it and promised myself to try again tomorrow.

By the end of the week, I was pretty flippin' tired of focusing on the moment and taking just one more step. When I looked up, and looked at another nine years of my energy being sapped by my drugs, the view was not appealing. I sat my butt down in the middle of my metaphorical path and I cried. 

And.

Even as I cried, something worked to show me I would not always feel so low. 

It insisted on showing me places where flowers grow anyway. (I'm a pretty ruthless weeder, but if you've managed to bloom, even if you're in the path right in front of my garage door - see the attached photo - I'll let you be until your moment has passed. It feels wrong to destroy beauty just because it grew in the 'wrong' place.)

Instead of listening to my inner taskmaster - "Buck it up, Buttercup!" - I listened instead to the quieter inner coach I've been learning to hear; her voice tells me to be kind to myself. 

Don't fight the fatigue, and also, do the things you can. Yes, this energy drag feels overwhelming. 

And. 

This, too, shall pass. 
Relax, breathe, drink some tea. 
Tomorrow is another day.

Reluctantly Embracing Change

In yoga this morning, the instructor worked to sell us on the value of embracing change, of not getting too comfortable with the status quo.

I can usually follow along with her guidance, but this time, I rebelled.

I. Have had enough of change. 

When I picture myself trying to embrace it, the clearest image which comes to mind has my hands encircling its neck - and I'm pretty sure that's not the embrace she had in mind.  

I'm tired of getting older, of waking up to play the game of "what hurts the most this morning?" Of hearing that an aggressive cancer has arrived in the life of this friend, that another is in the hospital with pancreatitis. I want myself and my people to be OK. You know, like we used to be, back in the golden olden days.

What, may I ask, is so wrong with being comfortably nestled within the status quo? I rather like the image of snuggling in under my soft, fuzzy, white blanket on the couch, and letting the world go along its merry way without me. 

Pause. Regroup.

Would I REALLY be happy there? Which status quo am I trying to maintain?

I think my friends of both political stripes would agree we've had enough of the acrimony dividing our country. I don't want this state of affairs to continue as is. It feels yucky.

My kids? They have never gone along with my wish to stop time and hold onto the precious moments. It seems they have lives they want to live, which involves continuing to change and grow. And I'd be tired of paying tuition by now anyways.

My health? Not there, either. I'm just now six months out of surgery, and for the first time in over a year, have nothing on the books designed to knock me off my feet again. I can finally continue to heal and not have it be undone. I do want to continue to heal.

How about the weather? Nope. Even there I can embrace change. It's been unseasonably hot (which, just perhaps, may account for part of my grumpy mood). I will welcome autumn's gray rain when it arrives in town later this week.

Perhaps the trick here is to - once again - remind myself to work to be present in the moment I am in now. Here. Today. 

Change isn't the enemy any more than cancer is the enemy. The enemy is the force tempting me to miss the beauty of the now because I'm focusing on an imagined ideal better world which was, or perhaps, is to come.

Stop. Breathe. Be here, now.

Watch Withdrawal

I've faithfully worn my Apple watch for the last four years, as a sort of insurance against falling and being unable to get up to get to my phone to call for help. (This actually happened to a friend of mine, who advised me I should think about ways to not end up in her shoes. Not being totally stupid, I took her advice.)

I can't say I've ever come to love wearing it, but I have found enough ways it is useful (beyond being way classier than the "I've fallen and I can't get up" necklace) that I don't mind remembering to keep the thing charged and on my wrist.

About a month ago, it false-alarmed on me - thought I'd fallen when I'd done no such thing. I didn't think much of it, and just turned off the alarm and went about my day. It happened a second time about a week later, then again shortly after that. 

Third time being a charm, and seriously worried about not noticing the buzz and raising a false alarm (the EMTs have better things to do with their time), I brought it into the Apple store to see what they thought. They went through some settings, and couldn't find a problem, but trusted my account of the issue and shipped it off for repair anyways. 

I've been a whole week without it.

The first few days I really missed it. Turns out, on a day to day basis, I mostly use it to 1) find my phone, 2) set timers, and 3) track my sleep and exercise. Oh. I also use it to check the time and temperature. 

When it's not there to tell me how I've slept, did my night's sleep really happen? How can I know I've moved enough for the day if I don't have it to tell me I've closed my rings (or not)?

It didn't take long for me to get past the addiction. I like not having its weight against my wrist day and night. I feel free. I like not having the electronic leash nagging me about how much I have or haven't moved all day long; there's no need to mentally push back against feeling as if I've somehow slacked off all day if I'm not on track to close my rings. 

That said, when the repair is complete, I'll put it back on. A little reluctantly, but I'll do it. The reason I started wearing the thing in the first place - to call for help if needed - hasn't changed. It's great to be free, it's also great to take prudent safety precautions. (I'm sure my children will be happy to read this part.) 

I do think, however, it might be past time to turn off the exercise notifications. I'm moving enough. No need to strive to reach arbitrary goals. I did enough of that back in the days when I worked for a living.

I'm over it.

Finally Fall

September, in these parts, started out hot and just got hotter. It's not unusual for the temps to brush the 90's this time of year, but this time, it was as if the calendar was confused, and thought it was late July - highs near 100, lows in the upper 70s and low 80s, no rain.

The grass, and many of the trees, cried uncle and went dormant. I followed suit, retreating indoors in the AC, unwilling to face my outdoor chores.

Yesterday, finally, the heat dome cracked open. I was out in the country with a group of friends at Anita & Jerry's farm, enjoying a picnic lunch. Their place sits atop a hill, and the breeze was cool, welcoming. The food was delicious, the conversation, entertaining. It was SUCH a lovely way to usher autumn in the door.

As I walked Sylvester this morning, a cool mist softened the edges of the trees. Despite the peace of the morning, I hit panic mode for a moment or two. It's already late September, the weeds are running rampant in the garden, and the lawn needs mowing; I haven't done any fall seeding, am I supposed to fertilize again?, and I don't have time to get to it today! 

Then, I stopped and took a deep breath.

The world will not end because I didn't get to these chores at the first possible opportunity. (Chances are good it won't end if I don't ever get to them.) It feels as if the fall season comes and goes in three days, but it actually lasts for a month or so. Surely, if I calm down and sit for a moment with my calendar, I will see there is time enough to get the important things done. 

(A part of my brain insists on adding, "or not. Tomorrow is not guaranteed." "Shush! I know it's not, but that doesn't mean I can't make plans anyways!" Now, where was I?)

Time enough to stop for a moment and breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of petrichor (the smell of the earth when it rains, after it hasn't rained for a while). Time enough to release some of the tension I've been carrying in my shoulders.

Time enough to pause. 
To Stop. Breathe. Relax.

More Cousins!

(And one Aunt and one Uncle)

Since I've been in a family state of mind lately, I definitely didn't want to skip the reunion for my dad's side of the family, so this past weekend found me on the road again. (Cue Willie Nelson...)

When the others who came down for cousin's weekend left for home, Julia stayed behind so I wouldn't have to make the drive to Minnesota by myself just a few days later. (It's one of the beauty's of the flexible schedule phase of life we're both in - no more having to track PTO or worry about catching up at work after taking more than a few days off. I've been retired almost ??! seven !!?? years now, and still like that part.)

We had beautiful weather for our drive on Thursday, and the miles were shorter because, despite having spent a whole week together, we still hadn't run out of things to talk about. Some sisters are like that. It was a rare treat to be able to relinquish the wheel when we were halfway through Iowa, and just sit back and enjoy the scenery for the rest of the drive.  

Saturday was a picture-perfect day for the family gathering in a park near St. Cloud. My dad's remaining brother is in a nursing home nearby, and we detoured on our way to the big party to attend the smaller gathering at his place. His mind is not as sharp as it once was, but he seemed happy to have everyone there to talk to him. It touched my heart when, once he knew I was Vic's Janice, he also knew my home is in Kansas City. Odd, the bits which stick in our memories.

We had an impressive turnout for the reunion - about fifty of us gathered for the delicious potluck and a few hours to talk. Most of the heads there now sport gray hair. (Most, perhaps all, of the rest of us cheat.) Many of our conversations started, "Do you remember...?", or, "Do you know why...?"

We have said a final goodbye to too many of our kin - it did my heart good to reawaken memories of the part they played in our family story. I like to think that, perhaps, their spirits were in the room with us, having a reunion of their own, sharing stories and marveling at the changes in those still on this side of death's curtain. 

I learned a few new pieces of family lore, had a brownie made from Grandma's recipe. I laughed a lot, let a few tears leak out when hearing tales from those who are traversing a tough road, rejoiced at stories of healing. I received my daily quota of hugs (and then some). 

And, bonus, there was a mini-reunion on Sunday at my sister's house for some of the "kids" in the next generation. More food, more laughter, more shared stories and hugs and love all around.

Given the givens of my energy levels, it's going to take a hot minute for me to recover from the trip. It involved a LOT of driving and talking to people (which can take more energy from me than I like to admit.)

Worth it!

Cousins!

This past weekend, three of my cousins and my two sisters piled into Julia's van to head down from Minnesota to visit me. 

It's only been in the past decade or so that I've come to realize how precious and unique cousin bonds can be. We've known each other our whole lives, spent many an hour as kids playing together at assorted family gatherings. 

Our dads were brothers - Gene was a farmer, Dennis worked in finance and real estate, Vic, my dad was a machinist. Our life paths branched similarly - Rebecca worked in finance, Monica in dispute resolution, Julia in HR/Finance. Colleen kept things running smoothly at home for her husband and four kids, Cindy did the same until branching out, as they got older, to coordinate mission trips - traveling around the world as she did so. (I did software engineering.)

We've all continued to show up at the family reunions to stay connected - and I've always left those events knowing I didn't have enough time to finish learning what I wanted to know about what's up in people's lives. 

Last spring, Cindy proposed we find a time to gather at my house in Missouri so we could have some extended chill time, and I was thrilled at the prospect. So she didn't have to do the drive alone, she reached out to my sisters and a few of my other cousins to see if they wanted to come. It didn't take her long to gather the carload. (I have many, many cousins...)

We had a blast! 

We cooked some, swam some, went to visit the Nelson-Atkins museum. We talked, laughed, shed a few tears, and talked some more. We spoke of our roles within our families, the similarities of our upbringings, how family dynamics and birth order shaped our lives. 

At one point, instead of listening to the words of the conversation, I sat back and just listened to the rhythm and flow of the sound. It brought me back to my childhood - a memory of dozing in the sun in the back of the station wagon, listening to my dad and uncles talk nearby. Then, it sounded to me as if one person was talking to himself, the inflections and tone were so much alike. Coming back to the present, I realized why my mind had opened that long-neglected door - these women all sound like me. The rhythm of our speech flows from our common roots. (Perhaps it's part of the bond?) I know the cadence spoke to me of home and love. 

I am SO grateful they came on down, for the chance to spend time together; the chance to enjoy, deepen, and grow our connecting ties. 

Love Is.

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.