Risk Mitigation

I've lived alone for quite some time, and while aware of the risks of falling, I always figured that if I did manage to fall off of a something, I'd be able to scooch my way to my handy-dandy phone, which I'm pretty good about keeping nearby, and call for help.

I was wrong. Fortunately for me, it wasn't I who found this out the hard way.

Last year, my favorite ex-sister-in-law, who also lives alone, did exactly what I'd always feared I would do - she climbed on a chair to kill a bug on the ceiling, then fell off as she tried to climb down. She landed wrong, which broke her upper arm, and there she was. On the floor. And, she couldn't get up. She's in decent shape, but that didn't matter. She thought about it, she tried. But every time she moved or rolled a bit or attempted to stabilize her arm so she could get up, her body just said, "nope!" End of discussion.

Fortunately for Christie, she has an Alexa speaker. Once she recovered from her shock enough to think, she asked Alexa to call 911. Alexa said she couldn't do that. Hmmm... THAT wasn't what Christie wanted to hear. It took a bit longer, but she managed to collect her thoughts enough to have Alexa call her brother, who, long story short, came over and got her the help she needed. *whew* 

I took her story as a warning. I don't have Alexa hanging out with me, and there are weeks where I don't see or talk to anyone for 2-3 days running. That's a long time to be lying on the floor in pain, should I fall at the exact wrong time. I don't even want to think about it. So, I looked into my options. 

I thought about going the smart speaker route, but I have three levels in my house, work outside a lot, and also have a workshop in the garage. That's a lot of ground to try to cover.

Next, since I have an Apple phone, I looked at the Apple watch. I hadn't been interested in them before. I'd seen the hype, but figured they were expensive, glorified, step-counters, and I'd been there, tried that. While it's nice to have data showing me if I'm reaching my exercise goals, it's never proven to be necessary. 

Despite my skepticism, it didn't take a lot of digging to decide the watch was the best option for me. I CAN use it to call 911, as long as my phone is somewhere on the same wifi network or nearby. Not only that, the latest version, which I have, will theoretically call for help - unless I tell it not to - if I fall off a ladder and manage to not destroy the watch upon landing. (You just know that part of me would really like to test this, however, so far, I've listened to my more rational side, which says to just trust the advertising.)

Now, I haven't worn a watch for several years, and haven't missed it. Fortunately, my new call-for-help button has a bunch of other bells and whistles, which motivate me to actually wear the thing. It measures my exercise levels, and reminds me to stand up and move once an hour. It checks my heart rate while exercising, and can even do an ECG and check blood oxygen levels. 

And, bonus, it does the Dick Tracy thing. Yup, I can talk to my watch. It even replies! I feel like I've landed in the future every time I answer a call that way. It makes me laugh!

A fancy step-counter, indeed. Much classier than the 'I've fallen and I can't get up' necklaces, don't you think? 

God willing, I'll never need to use it to call in an emergency, but I must admit, it does make me feel a little less vulnerable when I'm alone. And I'll take all the less-vulnerableness I can get these days.

Letting Go

It's becoming clear to me that if I really want to leave this liminal bridge I've been hanging out on for the last couple of years, I'm going to have to learn how to let go.

I've been working on it. I've managed to let go of a few things. You can tell which ones they are by the claw marks*. 

I laugh, but it's true. I'm beginning to see, to move forward, I'm going to have to revisit some of my ideas about the ways my life holds value; to let go of the parts that no longer fit.

When I was working, it was easy to believe my day-to-day work mattered; that, by extension, I mattered.  I was good at my work, and got a lot of positive feedback when I successfully completed yet another project. The notion of value was reinforced by regular deposits of money into my bank account. In a world where money = value, I could easily believe I'd done good.

After I retired, my work on the castle reinforced this notion. The coin there wasn't money, but I could see LOTS of concrete progress on the projects I did there, and it was easy to convince myself the house itself was grateful to be cared for once again.

These days, I look at my to-do lists and am struck time and time again by the realization that no one but me cares if most of the things on them ever get done. I complete a project, and ... ... crickets. How do I convince myself my work still has value when no one cares? And if it has no value, why bother to do it?

I am working to regain some ability to play the piano, but why? I'm not willing to play in public.

I am working to learn to create art, but why? I don't fool myself into thinking I'll have any great commercial success as an artist.

I am working to relearn Spanish, but why? Even if I manage to gain a bit of basic fluency, when will I use it? The only person I know who speaks Spanish is my housekeeper, and she speaks to me in English.

I diligently work to solve the crossword puzzle each day, but.... wait.  This one, I know why. It's because I can; I need no further motivation. (My current streak is at 240 days - yeah! I'm good!)

I'm beginning to grasp the importance of (again) getting beyond the notion that my activities need some sort of external validation to give them value. I want to remember that, here and now in my life, if the things I do engage my brain and bring me joy, that is value enough. I may MISS the atta-girls, but I'm pretty sure I don't NEED them. The activities matter because they matter to me. Time to let go of the rest.

I'll work on it.

*I wish I could give proper credit where credit is due for this sentence. Someone in a meeting this weekend said it - they were quoting a teacher of theirs named Madonna. No, I don't know Madonna's last name...

Bed bugs: Still, Again

 

I'd say they were back, but they've never really gone away.

Kevin's been living with his bed bugs for eighteen months.

In this case, though he IS in Section 8 housing, the building management is not totally to blame. They've tried, many times, to get rid of the bugs, but they always come back. I have some strong opinions as to why - but part of the reason the building manager won't listen to my theories is that Kevin hasn't been doing his part to get them gone.

I have to admit, I don't get it. I don't get it at all. If our places were switched, I'd be following every instruction to the letter, and then some. He, on the other hand, seems to figure they're just part of life. I think a big part of his live-and-let-live attitude stems from the fact he doesn't react to the bites; no welts, no itching, no nothing. If his skin reacted like mine does, I'd be willing to bet his approach would more closely match mine. He does kill the ones he sees, but because of the nature of the bugs, I figure he sees about one in fifty.

I saw another bug when I was there last week, and when I talked with the building manager, and told her the latest treatment had not been effective, she was ready to throw in the towel. She's ready to just not renew his lease. That certainly got my attention. I worked long and hard to get Kevin off the streets - if she follows through, he'll be right back there.

I sat on it overnight, mulling over options, and came up with a plan. This time, instead of just telling Kevin what he needs to do, I'm going to SHOW him. That's right. I'm going to walk into a known bed bug nest and do my darndest to clean it out. I'm going to do it myself this first time, then, for the next month, will show up once a week to check to make sure he's done it himself. (If he won't do it himself, all bets are off. But I'll cross that bridge if I come to it.) This time, if they're not gone, I'd be willing to bet the manager will listen to my theories as to why they keep coming back. (I think they take a walk to the apartment below and hang out there for a bit - she needs to treat both apartments simultaneously.)

I gotta admit - I don't want to do it. Eeeeewwwwwww! But, it's the right thing to do. Why do I have to do the right thing? No one else I know has 'clean up someone else's bed bugs' on their to-do list! I don't have a good answer for myself, except that...  

This is a rocking chair moment. Some day, sooner than I'd like to admit, I will have run out of steam and will be able to do nothing but sit in my rocker on the porch and look back on my life. When I get there, when I think back on these days, will I be more content if I know I showed up and did the hard thing, or if I know I gave it a pass?

*sigh* The answer is clear, but I don't have to like it. 

I've got my halo on order. I DO get to wear one after this, don't I?  At least for a month or so. (If I get a vote, I do! I can tell you that much.)

Word for the Year

The idea filtered into my various message feeds from several different sources: Choose a word for 2022.

I scoffed. Count me among the covid-weary. I made plans for 2020. They didn't happen. I made plans for 2021. They didn't happen either. I'm too gun-shy to hope any plans I make for 2022 will actually come to fruition. So, I'm supposed to come up with a word, because ????. A touchstone word for this coming year? Bah, humbug!

But the idea stuck with me.

If I WERE to pick a word, what would it be?  Hmmmm...

What are the hopes I have for 2022 that insist on bubbling up anyways, despite my overall skeptical attitude towards the concept of the world settling down any just because I got a new calendar?

Hmmmm...

I hope, anyways, I will stumble onto a new sense of direction. Turns out, the start of a pandemic is not a good time to get out and about and try on different ways to spend the day. I retired two years ago, and haven't gotten bored yet, but I gotta admit my visions of retirement did not include figuring out how many ways I can keep myself busy without leaving the house.

I hope, anyways, to regain some focus. When this day looks like the last day looks like the next day will look a lot like this day, it's easy for me to lose track of time. To fall down the internet rabbit hole, to not bother to set goals because nobody cares if anything gets done. (not true: I care.)

I hope, anyways, to see more people. No, no big crowds for me, but it's safe enough to get together in small groups. Perhaps, this year, it's time for me to begin to reach out again, to set up coffee and lunch dates. I always did want to be one of those ladies-who-lunch - you know, the type who don't rush through their food, who have time to sit and catch up for a spell, who aren't rushing off to their next thing. (God knows I have nothing to rush off to these days.)

I tried on all of those words for size. Direction? nope. Focus? nope. Socialization? nope. None fit. After stewing about it for a few days, despite often reminding myself I thought it was a stupid idea in the first place, a word popped to the surface, and stayed there.

Grace.

It's a lovely concept. To honor the Divine Spark in all; to show kindness anyways; to show good will and courtesy in my interactions with the world and myself. 

I can get my head around that.

This year, I will try to show myself some grace. To have patience as I come to yet another dead end in my quest for a sense of direction. To give myself the benefit of the doubt when I stumble. To be kind to myself when I fall short of my goals, big and small.

This year, I will try to show grace to others. To look for the good intentions underlying the actions of the people I encounter as I go about my days. (I believe very few people get out of bed in the morning and decide then and there to spend their day making themselves and those around them as miserable as possible. I also believe exceptions exist, but I do my best to avoid interacting with 'those' people.) To be kind, and courteous. 

To remember we're all in this mess (alone) together. That this, too, shall pass.

Grace. If I were to need a word for the year, it would be the perfect one for me. 

Happy 2022!

As a friend of mine put it:  "Please, oh please, let that not actually be 2020 - too!" 

Yeah. We can hope. 

I had a lovely Christmas holiday. Lexi, my granddaughter, had such a good time when she came into town for Thanksgiving that she wanted to see me again at Christmas. She called me to see if we could brainstorm ways to get together - she was going to be in Minnesota for part of the holiday, thought maybe I'd be able to join her there for a day or two. She said, "please?"

I told her I'd sleep on it, hung up the phone, and immediately got online to research airplane fares to California. I mean, what else is a Nana to do? I have not yet figured out a way to put time on pause, and I think I would have been a fool to not do my darnedest to find a way to say yes to her request. She's only going to be a kid for a few more years; I'd best enjoy time with her while I can.

It didn't take too long to determine I could get out there semi-affordably if I stayed a little longer than the original week I'd targeted for travel; if I flew on the edges of the Christmas rush. I checked with my daughter to make sure she was on board with the dates, and booked the tickets.

Now, California weather is usually sunny and in the sixties in December. Except this year. It decided to rain eight of the twelve days I was there. (Fortunately for my peace of mind, I wasn't there for the weather.) I got to witness the truth of the lyrics of the old pop song - "It never rains in California, but girl don't they warn ya, it pours. Man, it pours!" And pour it did. I now know why they put out weather alerts around there when rain is forecast - between mudslides and falling rocks there are roads you don't want to drive on when the rain is coming down.

While the rain put the kibosh on our plans to go camping a couple of nights while I was in town, we did get enough of a break in the damp to get out hiking one afternoon. It was as beautiful as it looks in the picture - upper fifties, warm sun, cool breeze. Perfect hiking weather. (Quite the change from the Christmas week activities of my Minnesota youth, I must say...)

Other than that, we didn't do a whole lot of doing. We met up with some of Kate's friends for Christmas gumbo. I put a puzzle together, we spent an evening companionably reading our separate books together in the same room. At her request, Lexi and I made cinnamon rolls and a chocolate cake. We went out one afternoon and delivered most of the cake to Kate's friends, who were happy to help us make sure we did not consume all those calories on our own.

The time flew, and my last night there found us all a little sad. We stopped and talked; listed our favorite parts of my visit. We snuggled together for a few minutes before going to bed, holding on to the love and warmth for just one more minute. It was SO hard to leave, but I left content, with a heart filled to overflowing with love.

After the past few years, I don't quite dare to try to form a picture of what I hope the new year will bring. I can, however, muster up my best resolve to ride the waves of whatever it brings; to embrace the good as it surfaces and let the rest slide.

Here's to 2022!