Late Autumn

The Thai basil in my backyard is one of the last things flowering, and it seems every nectar-gathering flying creature in the neighborhood has come by for a visit these past two weeks. I've seen a few trailing Monarchs (fly south, my beauties! Winter will be here soon!), and bees, and small butterflies, and assorted creatures I don't recognize, many of whom have stingers (they pay no attention to me; they're busy eating).

The weather has been unseasonably warm. We've finally gotten a taste of days with highs in the seventies, lows mid-fifties. My brain can't quite grasp it - we have the temps of mid-September, coupled with the light of late-October. Scary.

Fortunately for my state of mind, enough of my energy returned this week for me to get back to getting my nest ready for winter. *whew!*

I'm not 100%. It has been taking me twice as long as it once did to get things done, but at least I'm able to make the attempt. The brain fog has lifted. (Mostly. For now. And, I know it will come back, but that's tomorrow's problem.)

Extra steps notwithstanding, it was - dare I say - ?fun? to tackle the project of replacing the rotted trim I noticed on the back of the garage while I was painting the fence. The problem children were two long, vertical 2x4s right behind the gutter downspout. When they installed the roof 12 years ago, the roofers did a lousy job of sealing the gaps under the drip edge. Over time, water did what it does.

The old version of me was used to working on stuff, and would have had the correct tools at hand to complete the entire project, had it done in a longish afternoon. The new me has been taking one step at a time for too long. I'd have (most of) what I needed to do *this* step, then need to trudge back around the garage to get the tools required for the next one. By the time I was done, I'd worn a path into the grass. At least I still knew what tools I needed, and could visualize the next step when I got that far. Counts.

These low-energy bouts do a number on my self-image. I begin to believe I am incompetent. No longer able to properly complete any task requiring dexterity and thought. That if I attempt the work, I'll just make the problem worse and I might as well just hang it all up and move to a condo where someone else can do this sort of thing for me because I'm just going to screw it up anyway and you get my drift.

It took two days, but the new boards are in, and the drip edge has been properly sealed. I'm quite pleased with myself.

I did the job well, I did the job right. 

My demons have once again been vanquished back to the desert where they can rot in the hot dry sun.

And. 

I. Am still here!

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.