Wall Repair IV

There's no tired like smug-happy-tired. It only FELT like the project that would never end. In reality, plugging away at tuck pointing the wall had the expected result - I finished my project last Tuesday evening after work.

A week ago Saturday, we had some brutally hot temps. I got up early, and was working by 6:30. (AM, that is!) Good thing, because the temps were already in the 90s when I knocked off around 10:30. Sunday it rained, putting a damper (literally) on my plans to finish up that morning, but there was a hidden blessing in the weather.

Monday and Tuesday were downright temperate, which gave me all the motivation I needed to get outside and finish up those last sections of wall in the evenings, even though I was tired after work. I was surprised to find myself a bit wistful when I got to the end. The project was hot, dusty, involved lots of hauling heavy objects around, and required me to get up early on the weekends. What's to miss?

As I was finishing up, I was pondering the nature of the things I was taught were 'women's work' vs. 'men's work'; i.e. 'The Way Things Are Supposed To Be Done'.

Outside of raising children, the women's tasks were transitory; needing to be done again and again.
Clean the house, it gets dirty, repeat.
Cook the meal, it gets eaten, repeat.
Wash, dry and fold the clothes, repeat.

The men's tasks more often involved lasting results.
Paint the house, and it was good for 5-10 years.
Repair the wall, at least 20 years, if done right.
Remodel the kitchen - that's usually good for 20-30 years.
(OK, raise the crops, feed the livestock, mow the lawn, and shovel the snow are in the 'do and repeat' category, so this isn't a perfect analogy.)

I wonder why this is.
Why do the men get assigned the tasks that they can point to years later, and say, 'I did this'?

My gut tells me the difference ties back to the children. Once I gave birth to the growing, changing miracles I call my children, my mark in the world had been set. Those precious bits of eating, sleeping, pooping life were my gift to the world. I could only hope the world would share in my wonder at the miracle of their presence.

Men don't get to have such an outlet. Their place in creating children is at the very beginning, and even though the good ones would happily share in the burden of pregnancy and childbirth, that choice is not an option for them. The kind of man I like picks up a decent share of the work as soon as the baby arrives, but it still leaves me to wonder how much of the lasting nature of men's work ties back to a basic need to leave a mark in this world; an 'I was here' sticker.

Maybe that's part of my wistfulness. My children are grown - for better or for worse, my part of those 'projects' is mostly done. My role is no longer to raise and to shape, but rather, when asked (or not...), to offer advice, and allow them to take or leave it as they see fit, without further comment on my part. (a challenging task, if I do say so myself.)

The wall was my way of saying 'I am still here!'; I can still contribute something of lasting value to the world. The work was not grand. It will be seen by few, appreciated by fewer. But my work means I will never need to worry about my fence falling into the neighbor's yard. (By the time the tuck pointing needs to be done again, it will not be mine to worry about.)

I know it's there, and I know the work is good.
I am still here.

Garden Trials

This spring, into early summer, my butterfly garden was just beautiful. It heralded an impressive array of blue and purple flowers. I enjoyed sitting outside in the morning and watching the hummingbirds, butterflies and bees enjoying their morning meal.

But spring flowers die with summer's heat, and only a few brave sunflowers popped up to take their place. (Turns out the golden finches that pass through each summer enjoy their seeds, and I was thrilled to see two pair out there last week.) But the sunflowers won't last forever, and I wanted more plants in my garden, so off to the garden store I went a couple of weeks ago. I carefully planted the beautiful flowers I found there, and have been watering them diligently.

Turns out I bought some expensive rabbit food.

They haven't killed the plants, but all of the blooms are gone, nibbled away a few at a time, each morning's sunshine bringing less color to my world.

There are a few volunteer flowers around the edges of the yard, and the rabbits don't like the marigolds, so all is not lost, but it's going to be slim pickin's for my garden's intended beneficiaries this summer. **sigh**

On the other side of the path, next to the driveway, I have an arbor, and two two-year old, disease resistant, rose bushes. Turns out disease resistant, in bushes as in people, is not the same thing as disease-free. As I was walking by a little over a week ago, I noticed the lower leaves on one of the bushes were rapidly turning yellow, covered in black spots.

Ah, yes. An internet search quickly turned up references to the dreaded and ancient, black spot fungus. Back to the garden store I went, with a sample of the afflicted leaves in hand. They gave me a container of Bayer's Advanced Rose Care (and here I've always just associated Bayer with aspirin. What do I know?), told me to water it in, and it would, hopefully, resolve the problem.

I brought the medicine home, followed the instructions, and have been carefully watching the bush ever since. (I also watered some in around the base of the other bush as a preventative.) Every day or so, I go out with my clippers and carefully clip out the diseased leaf clusters.

At first, it felt like an exercise in futility. Cane after cane dropped almost all of its leaves, the disease rapidly spreading towards the top of the plant. But then, new leaves started to fill in, and they haven't yet shown any signs of the fungus. I grow perhaps overly attached to my plants - it did my heart good to know it might just make it.

A few days ago, I saw a bud on the end of one of the partially denuded canes. The next morning, it had opened into a lovely, miniature, rose. Despite the fungus, despite the missing leaves, my bush had once again fulfilled its botanical mission and flowered.

Like people, and kittens, and the mosquitoes who swiftly dodge as I try to swat them, the rosebush wants to live. I've done what I can to help it; the rest is up to the heart of the plant.

Go, rosebush, go!!!

Wall Repair III

Much to my surprise, I was actually able to convince myself to get out of bed before six this morning - on a Saturday! I will admit to long having grown weary of my daily tussle with myself to get me out of bed. It's been better since I've been able to work from home most days a week, but I still spend more time than I care to admit arguing with myself about getting up to face the day.

This morning, with another 90+ degree day in the offing, and permission from my neighbor to start bright and early, the argument was cut short - I really did want to take advantage of what cool part of the day there would be. I managed to get outside and working on the wall by 6:30. (Turns out the work itself isn't what's been totally zapping my energy - it's working in the sun and the heat.)

I know, because instead of stopping like a sensible person when the sun started to get REALLY warm, I kept going on the wall. Just one more section, one more batch of mortar. See how well I'm progressing? I kept at it until I just wasn't able to face another batch of mortar mix. Several hours later, I'm still (predictably) over-warm and tired. Pleased with myself nonetheless. Sometimes, a few aches and pains are worth the tradeoff.

Turns out time spent patching the wall is great think time. I spent some time as I worked trying to calculate how soon I'd be done with the task; gave that up because it's too discouraging to look at all the work left to do. I spent more time thinking about what the heck I was doing out there - expanding on my thoughts from last week about wanting to do it because I'm not ready to admit I'm old.

It's true. I don't like to think that my youth is behind me. And it may not be yet, but it will be soon - however one wants to define youth.

I'm finding it hard to talk to people about it. They either dismiss me as being young yet, give me funny looks and tell me I'm doing great for my age, or just kind of indirectly change the subject. It reminds me of when I tried to talk to people about how I felt when Mom died back when I was in my teens. It seemed as if we didn't talk about it, I wasn't having trouble dealing with it.

Well, I can not talk about getting older all I want - it's happening. At the bottom of my not wanting to face it (and probably for my friends, too), is fear.

Fear of losing my ability to move, to think, to see. Fear of losing my health, for good this time. Fear of not being able to take care of myself. Fear of running out of days before I'm ready. Fear intensified by my worries for those I care for who are battling assorted ailments.

If I learned one thing from Libby when she was sick, it's that fear - not death, not illness, fear - is is the enemy of life. Fear can keep me from enjoying the days I have. I'm not going to let it; as least not this round.

Yup, all those things I fear might come to pass. It's also possible I'll get hit by the margarita truck tomorrow, and all my worrying will be for naught. Reality will probably fall somewhere in-between those two extremes. Which means I can enjoy today, the only day I have. I can revel in the tiredness of my well-used muscles, in baby steps taken, in progress made.

Fear's just going to have to try again another day.

Wall Repair II

I was a little bummed last night. When I went to bed, the forecast said it was supposed to rain on and off all day today, which meant I wouldn't be able to work on the wall today. (I hate it when I can't make progress on my projects; when the weather doesn't cooperate with the time I have free. Somewhere in the back of my head, if I don't keep chipping away a project, I'm pretty sure I'll turn into my dad, and never actually finish it. He'd get 80-90% of something done in good time, but that last 10% was touch and go as to whether it would ever get completed!)

But the weather gods decided to smile on me, and when I woke up this morning, the rain had been taken out of the forecast. So I put on my work clothes, hat, and sunscreen, gathered all my tools and went outside to see what I could get done before I hit the metaphorical wall.

Last week, when my neighbor came by to inspect my work, he asked how I was mixing up the mortar. I told him I was doing it by hand, and he strongly advised I invest in a paddle mixer. I asked Joe to look at them when he was at the store picking up more sand for me, and he not only looked, he purchased. Turns out the things cost less than fifteen dollars. Joe was also kind enough to loan me his hammer drill, to save wear and tear on my smaller household drill.

I was intrigued as I locked the paddle into the drill, plugged it in and plunged it into the mortar mix. I'd seen it done, but had never tried it myself. I'm now a believer. With the drill to do the mixing, I was able to mix and apply three times the mortar I'd been able to do last week. Hmmm... there's probably a reason power tools are so popular.  you think?

As I worked, I was asking myself why I was doing it at all. The work needs to be done, that's not the question, but why didn't I hire it done instead of trying to do it myself? I certainly didn't hesitate last week before signing the contract with the sprinkler company to repair the damage from the sewer replacement. What was different here?

I'm pretty sure it comes down to my unwillingness to act my age. I am in my late fifties; I know there are things I used to enjoy that I'll never do again. (Water skiing, running, and sleeping in a sleeping bag on the ground in a tent all come to mind in quick succession.) And, I know the time will come that I am unable to even attempt a project like this one. It'll be sooner than I think, if only because the wheel of time has been spinning at an increasing rate this past decade, and my friends who are paving the way for me through the experience of aging have assured me it keeps it up.

I'm not ready to stop learning how to do new things. I'm not ready to admit I'm too old to work outside in the summertime. I'm not ready to never again feel the well-earned muscle exhaustion that comes from pushing myself physically - I always sleep like a child when I do this. (As long as I don't overdo it. I definitely have my limits.)

It feels good to know that, one more time, I've managed to delay the inevitable.
I've remembered to live the days I have.

Wall Repair

There's a stone retaining wall separating me from my neighbor to the south. I didn't really even note it when I bought the house; first realized it belonged to me when I started to clear brush trees from the fence line. I like the wall - it's about three feet high starting at the rear corner of the house, stretching about 40' to the back of the property - but I can't see it from my yard because it's on the far side of the backyard fence.

When Joe and I were building my new solid fence last fall, I took a good look at it for the first time in ages. It's been there for 100 years - but I realized it wouldn't last another five if I didn't do some repair work. The cap is badly deteriorated, and it's in sore need of tuck-pointing.

Joe was kind enough to pick the supplies up for me last spring - I figured I'd get it knocked out before summer's heat arrived. I thought wrong. We've had the rainiest spring in eons, and since the wall is out of sight, its repair kept falling off my mental to-do list. I'd open the garage door, see the neat stack of bags of mortar, think, 'I need to get started on that next time it's not raining', shut the door, and not think of it again until the next time I was in the garage.

Yesterday, I finally got to it. (about time - it didn't take long to discover a good bit of the mortar is still in the wall solely out of habit - there's nothing actually holding it in place.) Even though it was Saturday, I got up with the sun, gathered my tools and supplies, and got to work. I started just before seven, figured I'd stop when it got hot around ten. Ten o'clock came and went, and I was still out there. I was in my zen space, on a roll. There was something very satisfying about prying the old loose mortar from its home and replacing it with the new.

Then, around 1:30, I tried to mix one more batch of mortar. I measured out the cement, added the sand, and started to stir in the water. My arms wouldn't cooperate. I dug down for a little more oomph - this was the last batch, for real this time! - but there was no oomph to be found. Each turn of the trowel turning the mud over in the bucket was an effort of will.

But I did it. Got it mixed, got it on the wall (looking at it this morning, it wasn't my neatest application of the day, but it was good enough). I started to clean up my mess. Every step took longer than it should; it took all my focus to work through each one.

Gather the tools, give them an initial rinse with the handy-dandy hose, put them in the wheelbarrow. Pick up the chunks of old mortar, put them in the bags the sand came in for later disposal. Truck the wheelbarrow around the house to the garage, open the garage door, put everything inside. Bring the tools inside and clean them properly.

I was feeling pretty good about my morning's work.

Then, I sat down, and the headache started in immediately. Oh, yeah - I'd overdone it. The physical rigors of my indoor daily desk job don't leave me in prepared to hop up on a 90+ degree day and work outside in the heat and humidity for six hours. (you think????)

An hour's nap and a dose of Tylenol later I was ready to consider rejoining the land of the living, but I had NO energy for the rest of the day. You can be sure I slept well!

I was pleasantly surprised when I woke up and was able to move without pain this morning.  I woke early, and surprised myself by managing to get up and get at it once again. But I was smarter this time. Even though I still had energy when I'd finished using up the first 50lb bag of sand, I stopped anyways. My arms had held out to that point, and I still able to easily focus on the task in front of me. Stopping before I ran into the metaphorical brick wall meant cleanup was easy - just another part of the job.

Feeling pretty proud of myself, I am.

I'm trying not to think about the part where my two mornings of hard labor has gotten me all of fifteen feet of finished wall. At this rate, I'll have to find time on another 6-7 days before I'll be able to call it done.

But, Rome wasn't built in a day, and the wall isn't going anywhere. I'll stick within my newly established limits, and it'll get done before the end of summer, one step at a time.

Cancer - Reprieve

So many people I love are fighting cancer again and still.

My brother, Tony - his prostate cancer showed back up, so he's been undergoing a series of radiation treatments.

My brother-in-law, Todd - his kidney cancer seems to be gone with the successful removal of one kidney.

My other brother-in-law, David - fighting pancreatic cancer; holding his own for now.

My friend, Bob - still dealing with the after-effects of prostate cancer.  Poor guy is taking Lupron to keep it at bay. Lupron is also known as 'that damned shot' when I speak of it. I had to take several rounds of the drug - it's downright nasty.

From work, Greg - his bone cancer came roaring out of a five year remission last December; he's just undergone a second bone marrow transplant and will know soon how well it worked.

One of my favorite college professors, Tom - he's treating a tough lung cancer with one of the new immunotherapy drugs.  He's not quite halfway through the treatment series, which sounds like it's pretty brutal.

All these, I think of often and send prayers.

But the one that's been tearing my heart is the story of little Mason - my brother Mike's grandson.  

Mason is four.  Four.

Four year-old children are not supposed to have to fight cancer, but there he's been for the past year. His is a rare sort of brain tumor. He's been put through the mill. Chemo, radiation, more chemo.

By all accounts he's been a little trooper. He doesn't understand what's going on, of course, but trusts his parents to do the right thing. Sarah's pictures and stories about treatment have been both heart-warming and heart-rending.

These last rounds of chemo were especially hard on his little body - he ended up in the hospital more than once dealing with the side effects. They dealt with all the pain and suffering under a cloud of uncertainty - there was no guarantee the treatments would actually work.

I got on Facebook this morning to see the most-liked post I've ever seen on my feed - Sarah told us his latest scans show no signs of cancer.

I read her encouraging words, and felt my shoulders drop back and down several inches. 

Cancer is never fair - but it's more extra-unfair when it strikes the young and the innocent.

And I learned today the corresponding relief when told it's been held at bay is all the greater.

Go, Mason!

Air Plants

Blooming!

I've loved the concept of air plants since I first found out about them - plants which survive only on air and water - no dirt required. I've tried to grow them a number of times, with varying degrees of success. They'd live for a while, then I'd either forget to dunk them in water or the air would be drier than normal, and they'd slowly die, trading their quiet gray-green color for dead brown.

I've worked especially hard to keep my last set of plants alive (they arrived at Christmas this past year). This time, I did a little research when they came to reside with me - turns out, instead of just getting dunked in water, they prefer to have a long cool bath once a week; to soak in the water for an hour. And, they like to be misted in-between waterings. Makes complete sense when I think about it.

So, I've been watering and misting as instructed. I found them a lovely little terrarium home, and they started to flourish, happily taking more space in their watering bowl each week. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I noticed the leaves of one of the three plants were turning brown. I was sad - here I thought I'd been doing so well! I gave it a little extra love and attention after watering for the next several days, making sure I misted the little plant thoroughly each time they even started to look dry.

My sick one kept getting worse, most of its leaves turning a brownish-red. I resigned myself to its likely fate. But then, but then... I walked into the room after work one day to find it had popped up two purple spears from its heart, and had crowned the stems with tiny yellow flowers.

It hadn't been busy dying before its time, it had been getting ready to bloom!
I hadn't done it wrong, I'd done it just right.

Such a pleasant surprise; I didn't know the plants ever flowered. I've taken time every day to enjoy its color and beauty. The flowers have already started to fade, a bit of research tells me the plant has reached old age, and will soon die a natural death. If I am lucky, it will leave behind a baby plant or two - I've been watching for them, but nothing has shown up just yet.

I'm still not overly happy with the concept, but I've come to accept that death is a necessary part of life. And I can only hope, when my time inevitably comes, I can be a little bit like my plant, and get to bring a bit of beauty and happiness into the world on my way out the door.

Elusive Words

Harriman Ranch, WY

I've looked up the phenomenon online. Turns out that, yup, random word loss is a normal part of aging. An annoying one.

I read a lot, and have a correspondingly large vocabulary. I wouldn't think, with all those words to choose from, it would bother me when one temporarily gets mislaid. But it does bother me. I KNOW the word. It's right there. I'm in the middle of a sentence and about to use it. And...  and... it's gone.

Not permanently, no. All I have to do is switch tasks for a few minutes, then go back to see if I can recall the word. Thus far, it's always been there. Sometimes, I've moved on; forgotten the word was missing. My brain doesn't forget, though - it's still looking for the word. Several times recently, as I've been falling asleep, I've been jolted awake. 'I found it!', says my brain. (My brain is happy when it finds the things it's misplaced.)

I remember the first time this happened to me. I was at a family gathering, talking to one of my uncles, and one of my kids walked up.  'Kate', I said as I started to properly introduce them, 'this is my Uncle...  Uncle... Uncle...'  His name was gone. I was mortified. How could I have forgotten the name of someone I'd known my entire life? I stumbled through the rest of the introduction, and walked away. Five minutes later, I tracked Kate down.  'Uncle Leland!, Uncle Leland!  His name is Uncle Leland.' She gave me a funny look, as teenagers are wont to do when you do something they are slightly embarrassed about, and everyone but me moved on, promptly forgetting about the incident as something not worth wasting brain cells on.

It's a little scary, this getting older thing. The forgotten words are small, but they are an undeniable reminder my youth is in my past. However, I don't have to do this alone - the world is helping me cope with the changes. No, the creaks and aches aren't going away. Yes, Tiger Balm helps to ease them. No, fifty-odd years of wear on my teeth isn't going away. Yes, I can cover them with crowns when they break. (Here, I stop and raise a toast to the steady hands of my dentist...) No, my eyebrows, which I have always totally taken for granted until they disappeared this past winter, aren't going to magically regain their color. Yes, they have makeup for this, so I can fake their presence on any day I wish.

And no, the words aren't going to stop disappearing. But chances are good I'll have plenty of others to choose from to express myself for the foreseeable future. (and, bonus, the gods of technology have thoughtfully provided me with online thesauruses (thesauri??) to help me find words as needed.)

Life doesn't come with guarantees; getting older ain't for wimps. A sense of humor helps.

Work From Home

Spring - Harriman Ranch, WY

While I like the people I work with, I don't care for the physical office where we work. It's a large beige room, filled with rows of cubicles. It's on the 25th floor of the building, but any beautiful views are reserved for the managers - a row of office doors block the windows from the sight of the worker bees like me.

This aspect of work has been hard for me; for the first few months after I started, I felt a physical yearning for views of the sky. It's been an unwelcome disconnect from nature. Winter, warmth, clear, stormy, spring, cold - all are alike when I am cocooned in my world of bland beigeness.

Then, last week, I was granted an unexpected reprieve. It's an open secret that my company is not on the firmest of financial footings, and raises are not an option. In an attempt to offer something to their people in lieu of money, my department has decided to let us, if we choose, to work from home four days a week, starting next week.

I used to work from home, I liked it. I still got my work done, but enjoyed the freedom of the extra hour I gained by not commuting to the office. As they were announcing the new policy my face must have been an open book, because the gal behind me said, 'Take a picture of Janice and post it in her cube. We'll never see her again.'

Part of me wanted to protest that, no, I was happy to come into the office, but my efforts would have fallen flat - it's simply not true. I am grateful to have a job, but my work is largely solitary by nature, so there are days I go into work and say very little to the people around me because we're all absorbed in our respective tasks.

Working from home, I will be able to reconnect with the weather; my home office looks out into the back yard and I'll be able to watch my garden change day by day. I'll be able to reconnect with some of my friends - the downtown location of my office makes it difficult to be able to pop out to meet anyone for lunch unless they're also downtown. It'll be easier to schedule in the furnace / fridge/ etc repair people. I won't have to fight traffic. Heck, I'll be able to pop out to the grocery store at lunchtime and not have to contend with the after work rush.

I will need to figure out a way to get in my daily workout. There is a small gym in my office building, and I've been going down each day just before lunch for thirty minutes to get in a quick workout. I have a weight room set up in my basement, but if my fingers aren't freezing from sitting at my desk for too long, if my eyes aren't aching for a break from the dull surroundings, I don't know my effortless motivation will still be there.

But that's the only downside that comes to mind, and I'm sure I can work through it.  I'll still be able to connect with my coworkers in person - we've picked one day each week we'll all come on in. I can't wait to give this a try.

Free Weekend

This weekend, for the first time in a long time, my calendar was blank. No commitments to anyone but myself. It's been lovely, and I've had my ever-present list of chores to keep my hands busy, but it's been...  awfully quiet.

It's been a long time since the only energy in the house was my own. It's a big adjustment, I rather like it. But would I like it if (when!) mine was the only energy around for days on end? I've been thinking about retiring sooner rather than later - how will it be when I don't have the distraction of the office to pull me out of my nest?

Hmmmm... The last time I spent days and days in my own company, I also had the changing scenery through the windshield of the camper van to hold my interest. I had new people in the campground each night to watch. (People watching in campgrounds is an entertaining sport...)

While it's tempting to think I'll be happy curled up in a corner with my assorted projects and books for days on end, something tells me that, too, will get old. If I'm going to retire, and I am, I can see I'm going to have to spend some time coming up with ways to intentionally connect with people. Fortunately for my need for human contact, there are a lot of ways for me to connect where I live right now.

I can take art classes. I can sign up for yoga. I can volunteer to read to young children. I can walk in the park and watch for the black man with the beautiful smile who often happens to be walking in the opposite direction when I get out. I can reach out to my collection of friends for coffee, lunch and dinner dates.

This weekend has put an abrupt halt to any stray thoughts I might have had of getting myself a place in the country. (I've harbored this dream for years - to have a secluded place like my sister Libby's - where when you look out the window, there are no other houses or people; just deer and trees.) While part of me would love it, I'm afraid my natural tendency to turn inwards would lead to a destructive spiral. I'm afraid I'd end up being the crazy old cat lady with a shotgun at the ready, going into town only for vital sustenance and avoiding all eye contact when I did prod myself into making the trip.

Perhaps I'm jumping the gun here. How can I know what I'll want to do when my time is free when I've never tried it? Something is holding me back from trying to plan my how my days will look when my days are no longer planned by outside forces. Maybe that something is right. Maybe I need to sit in the empty space of some days before I can begin to know how to best fill those days.

Maybe instead of making choices about how I'm going to spend the days to come, I could come up with lists of options. That way, after I've turned in my key card and gotten past the first rush of celebration that I (again!) didn't have to set an alarm to haul me out of bed in the morning, I can look at the list and choose what I'd like to do that day - or looking at the list will spur me to choose something I hadn't thought of doing before (volunteering at the animal shelter?)

When I'm not afraid I'll hate spending time in my own company, I'm liking the liminal space where I've been spending my days. My world, it will be changing yet again - but this time, for the first time since I jumped into my camper van, I will be driving the change, not reacting to it. (I hope!) It's a good feeling, it carries a whiff of freedom on its breath. I liked being free last time I tried it, maybe... maybe... I'll get the chance to try it again.

Possibilities Are!