Back to Quiet

 

I woke up this morning and started the process of putting my house back in order after the wonderful chaos of the weekend. As I collected sheets and folded blankets, my mind wandered back over the events of the weekend.

For three days, my home was filled with (up to) 30 of the people with whom it does my heart good to spend time. All weekend, I got good hugs, *ahhh*, filling an empty spot deep within. My stomach is still savoring the delicious food prepared by other people (my favorite kind). My fridge is full of leftovers, so I will get to enjoy the treats over and over again this week. I got to talk with people I love, hear the highlights of what's up in their lives. 

Even the pets seemed to enjoy the change in routine. 

Sylvester's 'real' people came in from California, and he was overjoyed to see and smell them again. He did have a bit of a dilemma when it came to bedtime. We were sleeping on separate floors, so there was no way to guard us all properly. They were here for four nights - he ended up spending two with me, two with them, splitting the difference so as not to play favorites.

I don't normally think of cats as social creatures, but Monster, who normally comes to the kitchen sink for his morning drink before returning to one or another of his nap spots, spent four hours there Thursday, just chilling out and watching as breakfast and pies were prepared. Fortunately, it's a double sink, so dishes and hands could be washed as necessary. I was surprised he didn't leave his post when he inevitably got splashed with water, but he held firm, reveling in the many hands willing to spend a moment or two petting him.

The silence has been quite loud since everyone left. But while the contrast is still jolting, it seems the work I've done to reach a place where I am OK being alone has been effective. Instead of the crash I was more than half-expecting, based on past experience, I feel more of a sense of wistful longing. *whew!*

I was glad, last night, to have the freedom to return to my yoga class; to take time to breathe and attempt to loosen my tightly wound hips. I was glad, this morning, to wake knowing I had the day to bring my house back to its usual state of almost-order. 

I think I might finally be figuring out how a good retirement life looks for me. Slowly, I'm getting there. It's a good feeling.

Again this year, none of my traditional ways to spend Christmas will be happening. The freedom to spend such an emotion-laden day as I see fit feels overwhelming, but also, I can feel the joy behind the lack of structure. Already I have invitations from several people to join their celebrations. I need not spend the day alone unless that is my choice - it does my heart good to know this. 

Ready or not, on to the Holiday Season I go! 

I am Grateful

Each year, as Thanksgiving approaches, I stop and breathe (see? I can do it!) and take a moment to ponder my blessings.

I am grateful for the glow of the red leaves on the trees against the gray of the sky. The leaves are, of course, also beautiful in the sunlight, but it takes a cloudy day to make them glow with a light of their own.

I am grateful for the members of my family who will travel many hours to come join me to celebrate the holiday. I am SO looking forward to the three days of utter chaos, which will, for a few days after they leave, leave me grateful for the often-too-quiet calmness of my usual daily life.

I am grateful for my friends who will be hosting my tribe for dinner on Thanksgiving:

"Hi! I'm bringing 26 people to dinner for Thanksgiving. Does that still work?" 

"Absolutely! The more the merrier. I just LOVE the entire process of planning and preparing for the crew." 

The wonderfully puzzling part is that they mean every word.

I am grateful for our longstanding, gather-every-other-year, Thanksgiving tradition. In one form or another, this goes back several decades. It's been one of the touchstones of my life. It's been so fun to watch the next generation grow from babes in arms to adults with careers and lives and (some of them) babes of their own.

I am grateful for the members of my family who have died. I learned many lessons from them, both in their living and in their dying. I wish they were still here, I hope they have gone somewhere good.

I am grateful I am still here, Kate is still here, our respective cancers are still gone, and we get to wake up in the mornings. I am grateful for the new options in cancer treatments that mean my brother Tony is still here and will be able to travel to join us for the weekend.

I am grateful for the next generations (plural), hope for our world. I am especially grateful for my two grandchildren - I have no words for what they mean to my heart.

I am, still and again, grateful for my morning latte. I've had the drink almost every morning for thirty years, and never tire of it. The smell, the lift I get from that first sip, the always-needed jolt to my system telling me it's time to begin living this new day (which comes with the bittersweet awareness that today is the only day I have) - it's a morning meditation, nicely wrapped in caffeine.

I am grateful for you, the reader of my words. When I was walking across Spain, during my lone Covid days, during the last decade when I had to cope with too many hard things, I know I haven't journeyed alone. You come with me, cheering me on, helping me to take the next step. 

Thank you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Glimpses of Grace

Last week, I was driving in an area of town where the route I have stored in my memory cannot be relied upon since there are multiple construction projects going on. One of the projects inconveniently closed my side road, so I had to turn left onto a busy street, which also had one of its two lanes closed, so traffic was backed up for quite a ways.

I wasn't waiting long at the stop sign before a considerate driver in the waiting queue provided room for me to make my turn. I waved to thank him, pulled forward, looked right, looked again, and pulled out into the roadway. As I completed my turn someone in a black car had to swerve into the other lane to get out of my way. Why I didn't see them when I looked, I don't know; perhaps they'd pulled onto the street from one of the nearby parking lots after I'd checked for cars. (That's my story, anyways, and I'm sticking to it.)

No collision, no honks, no harm, no foul. 'Just' a near miss.

The incident got me to thinking about the grace inherent in near misses. I long remember the crashes, the broken whatsits, the lost items. But the near collisions, the crystal glass miraculously caught before it crashed onto the quartz countertop, the favorite gloves that were under the seat after all, just pushed to the side - memories of these tend to fade quickly once the moment passes.

In my experience, that's how Grace operates. It doesn't draw attention to itself in a cacophony of breaking glass and crunching fenders. Rather, it quietly steps in, does what it came to do, and withdraws on silent cat feet, leaving behind only the caress of its blessing, a faint impression of a hug.

I've been watching for the near misses this week; I've caught more glimpses of Grace's presence than I'd anticipated I would. Many days, these days, my life feels a bit skimpy in the caresses and hugs category,  and the touches of love have been most welcome; they have soothed the raw edges of my quietly lonely soul just a bit. *grateful sigh*

Grace Is.

A Wrinkle in my Memory

I was cleaning my bathroom this past week, and had just finished cleaning the glass on the shower door, the last step in my process. I had started putting away my cleaning supplies when I saw a streak on the glass, so reached into the trash to pull the damp paper towels back out to take care of the blemish.

The towels weren't there.

Nor were they anywhere else in the bathroom or the hall closet where I keep the cleaning supplies. They were also not in the just-cleaned toilet (*whew*), the laundry basket, or any of the other places I would have set them while putting things away.

It's been several days, and I still can't find them. And, believe me, I've looked.

Normally when I retrace my steps, I have a mental map of the things I just did. When I look at the map for those thirty seconds, instead of a path, there's a blot or a wrinkle. The knowledge of what I did is there, it's just not accessible.

This has happened before a couple of times, but by the time I realized it, enough time had passed it would have been impossible to retrace my steps anyways. This is the first time that I realized what had happened in time to (theoretically) straighten out the wrinkle. If I hadn't seen the streak on the glass, chances are good I'd never have noticed the paper towels weren't in the trash; I wouldn't be aware the blot exists.

I find this disconcerting, to say the least, especially given my frequent visits to Bob. Is this my first step on the path to his fate, or is it a normal part of aging?

Stop. Breathe.

There is no way to know the answer, and either way, it doesn't affect my life today. As it often does, my Libby lesson jumps to the fore of my mind. 

Today is the only day I have; tomorrow is promised to no one - so live the days I have.

I feel vulnerable, putting this blog entry out for the world to see. You mean !? I ?! am experiencing the effects of aging???? Yes, clearly, I am.

It would be easy to hide this memory glitch - the dog and cat were the only other ones here, and they're not talking. But in acknowledging the incident to you all, I acknowledge it to myself. And, in truth, I'd rather do that than keep my head firmly buried in the sand.

I'll keep looking for the towels, only because I can't imagine where else I might have stashed them. Fortunately for me, dried glass cleaner doesn't turn into a toxic mess.

Wish me luck.