Beach Mornings

I came out to California this past week because Kate had a thing to go to; my job was watch Lexi while she was out of town. As part of my watching duties, I was to deliver Lexi safely to and from school. I didn't consider this a problem, especially since her new school is very near to the ocean.

It took me all week to find my rhythm, but by Friday morning, I had my mornings down! Drop Lexi at school, then pick a beach (there are several choices within 20 minutes of her school). Drive to said beach, park in the almost-empty lot, then grab backup sunscreen, water and a towel for sitting on.

Make my way down the path to the beach, and sit until my sitter gets sore.

I was an outlier on the beach each day. Everyone else I saw was in some version of a swimsuit, while I was there in long sleeves, long pants and hat, shielding my tender skin from the sun. I didn't care that I didn't fit in. The glint of the sun on the water, the roar of the waves, the birds flying by - I was caught in the magic of the moment. 

I watched in awe as the waves crashed against the shore - how many years does it take to carve a path beneath a rock? I felt the pull of the ages, the unfathomable stretch of time in two directions. They tell me waves have been crashing against this shore since before life began; they will continue their music until the moon is gone and the tides are stilled.

Each morning, once I sat, it didn't take long for my constant mental stream of words to slow to a trickle. My eyes drank in the beauty of the salt spray, my lips welcomed its primal taste. My body became attuned to the slight trembling of the ground beneath me as the earth absorbed the power of the waves, and my breath slowed to match the underlying rhythm of the water. My heart was sure there were answers in the moment, just beyond my ken, if I could only...

Eventually, the brightness of the sun broke my reverie. Jolted back into awareness, I became aware of assorted uncomfortable sensations telling me it was time to stand, to move, to eat.

One day, I tried to return to the beach after lunch, but found the heat too intense, the sands too crowded. I was unable to return to that now-elusive place of peace, so I gave up and left - perhaps in another season.

After I retreated from the beach and enjoyed lunch, it was disconcerting to have nowhere to be while I waited for Lexi to be done with school. Thank goodness for coffee shops and public areas where I could linger without feeling intrusive. I tried, one afternoon, to pick up my drawing pencil, but was unable to get into my mental art space - after drawing and erasing my underlying sketch five or six times, I gave up.

Clearly, I need more practice to know how to fill my days when left to my own devices.

I do think, however, beach mornings are the perfect place to start.

Beauty Is.

Peaceful Interlude

It was a hectic week. I felt as if I were running in circles as I worked to clear my plate and got ready to leave town for a spell of kid-watching in California. Dealing with the pile of to-dos and not-going-to-get-dones, followed by a completely full (though thankfully uneventful) airplane flight left me feeling a bit unbalanced by the time I safely arrived at Kate's home.

Glad to be here nonetheless, I happily rode along on Sunday morning to drop Lexi off at her volunteer gig. She works at a horse ranch nearby for a couple of hours each week; she mucks out corrals and does whatever else Kiki needs done, in exchange for the chance to spend time near her beloved horses.

We got to the meeting spot a few minutes before Kiki came down from the house. As soon as we arrived, Lexi hopped out of the car and immediately went to find a bucket and rake, then started cleaning piles of dung from the front corral without waiting for instructions. (Would I have been so responsible at 11?  probably not?)

Kiki's ranch is a healing place for horses, a safe place.

As we stood waiting for her, a flock of green parrots streamed overhead. In the distance, a large bird of prey lazily rode the air currents. There was a very faint hum of traffic from the freeway a mile or two away, the only other sounds came from the horses and a donkey somewhere nearby. The air was refreshing, the warm side of cool, and smelled of pine and eucalyptus. 

I breathed slowly, deeply, drinking in as much of the air as I could, knowing I'd be there for just a short time. Sure enough, Kiki arrived just a few minutes later, and Kate and I left to continue dealing with necessary weekend mundanities.

When we returned to pick Lexi up a couple of hours later, she was still busy working away. We could see Kiki working with one of the horses in the back corral, so walked over, leaned against the fence, and waited for her to finish walking near her charge, watching as she worked to teach him...  something beyond my ken.

When she came over to us, I asked her what she'd been doing. She kindly took a few minutes to explain she'd been teaching the horse to walk in a way that would better utilize his core muscles and thus increase his agility. She said horses are like people, and don't always use their core muscles as they should. She continued her explanation, telling us ways people-yoga principles around breathing and posture and core strength can be readily applied to horses. (who knew??) 

As she talked, the horse, Buddy, came near and nuzzled her ear. She works not through fear and intimidation, but rather has earned her place as herd-leader by learning to speak the horse's language. 

Impressive.

Despite the grim news of the day, she has managed to create an oasis of Peace. I am grateful to know places of safety like hers exist; grateful for the chance to stop for a few minutes and breathe; grateful for the chance to carry a small bit of that Peace with me as we drove away. 

Good Is.

Showing Up

Bob has been one of my best friends for over thirty years. It was seven years ago already that I first saw signs that his brain was having some disturbing hiccups. The time he got lost trying to take the light rail to the airport. The time we had a nothing conversation; then had the exact same conversation an hour or so later. 

I didn't see much of him during the Covid years. He couldn't/wouldn't consistently wear a mask before vaccines were widely available, so I limited our interactions to outdoor meals. After we were both vaccinated, he withdrew for a time. He was hard to catch on the phone, and discouraged visitors to his home out in the country.

This past spring, he finally relented, and agreed to let me come on up to help him with some things around his house. When I got there, I was shocked at the change in his ability to complete routine tasks - suddenly, the TV remotes were too complicated for him to manage. He lost the ability to check voicemail on his flip phone; the same type of phone he's been carrying for well over a decade.

Alarmed, I rallied his family and friends, and we all started to pressure him to move to town, to an independent living apartment. The pressure worked, he moved into his new place the first of May. 

From all I read, the dementia road is supposed to be a long, slow decline - I thought we still had time to spend together. He obviously didn't do his reading. He's rapidly been losing ground since moving into the city, and his brain shows no signs of finding its footing.

The change in living quarters unsettled his uneasy status quo; I was stopping over to see him a couple of times a week, and each time I came by, he was a little more lost. The world was confusing. It moved too quickly and things just didn't make sense!

All his people were concerned about his driving; he needed to not drive anymore, but no one quite knew how to convince him to give up his keys. Fortunately, God decided to intervene, and he lost them. Since no one would help him get a new set, the issue resolved itself. Small blessings. 

A week after he lost the truck keys, he went for a walk late at night and got lost, just a few blocks from his building. *ouch*

Off to assisted living he went. It was just a few short weeks from there to memory care - he kept trying (and succeeding in his attempts) to escape the building; didn't understand why he was asked to not go out as he pleased. He was pretty sure that the getting lost thing was a one-time anomaly; it surely wouldn't happen again. 

I continue to stop by as I can, 2-3 times each week. Conversations with my intelligent, eloquent friend now resemble word salad. I've gotten good at picking through the sentence fragments to get the gist of what he's intending to say, but it leaves me emotionally drained.

This is hard, harder than cleaning up someone else's bed bugs. He is scared and lost, and I can't do a darn thing to help. This sucks!

But, I show up. It's the only thing I CAN do. On my way over, I tamp down that helpless feeling, hide my fears and my tears. I put on a smile, walk in the door, and spend the next few hours doing my best to help him work through his anxiety of the day. I am rarely completely successful, but can usually help him to calm down some; distraction is my friend.

One step at a time, I will walk this road with him as long as he is still here to walk beside me.

Even though it's hard, I know I am doing the right thing. When my rocking chair days arrive (assuming my brain still works when I get there!), I will look back on these days with satisfaction.

Love Is.   

Family Weekend II

 

I had a lovely visit with my family at Onnika's graduation party back in July, and as I was driving back home, was grateful to be finishing my last long drive for the summer. 

About a week later, the invitation to my brother Michael's Open House hit my inbox. 

*sigh* I didn't want to do another long drive. I didn't actually have anything planned for Labor Day weekend, but surely, I could just skip the party, and invite myself over to his place to check it out the next time I was in town for something else. *grumble, grouse, mutter* I thought I'd talked myself into giving it a pass, but the party found its way onto my calendar anyways. 

Mike doesn't invite the family over very often. And, he's been working on his new garage with its detached house pretty solidly for the past two+ years. (If the five-oversized-bay garage with its industrial lift, finished walls and ceilings, full bath, and heated floors isn't bigger than the house, it's pretty darn close. I don't even work on cars, and I've got garage envy!)

Though I've not attempted to build a place from the ground up, I know what it's like to pour my heart and soul into a project. Finally, still grumbling to myself, I decided to get my keister on up there. He'd done some great work, actually managed to complete the place. He'd earned his celebration, and I wanted to be there to join in the applause.

The Universe liked my change of heart. 

When I first got my Mustang convertible, fifteen years ago, I loved driving it on long drives, but the car and I have both gotten older. These days, my butt starts talking to me somewhere around about hour seven, and it doesn't use nice words.

Two days before I was scheduled to head out, a friend of mine called - could I take them to the airport on Friday morning? I told her I'd be happy to, and that I'd be headed from there to Minnesota. She replied, "Great! You can drive my car. We'll be out of town, so I won't even notice it's gone." Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I quickly accepted her offer.

So, I got to drive up to the party in her much-newer Honda CR-V. It's got all the modern bells and whistles, including a chair-like driver's seat that adjusts all the directions. My keister appreciated the change of pace.

The gathering was a success. Mother Nature cooperated and ordered in picture-perfect weather. The house and garage both were spotless, ready to be admired, worth admiring. There was music and beverages and a delicious food spread. Standing tall through it all was my brother. His joy in sharing his accomplishment was clear to see - his smile was broad, and I didn't see it leave his face all afternoon.

I think it was important to show up to celebrate with him. I'm glad I made it.