This is a hard day. Mom would have been 94 had she not died this year. My brother and I had been visiting her for two weeks, and she was doing great. We went out to lunch, went on long walks, but she kept saying that when Nan, our sister got home from a well-deserved vacation, she would die. We didn't believe her. But by golly, that's exactly what she did. She waited for Nancy to come home and my brothers and I to be gone and Nan and her husband went though all of that alone.
My husband and I had gone for a long weekend to Savannah. I could have been there. We could have put off that little get away, but I didn't see any urgency with Mom. She was fine a few days earlier. I called Mom before my husband and I left and she didn't answer. That wasn't unusual. It usually meant she was out and about. But she fell sick, and the assisted living place didn't call me. They waited for Nan to come back.
Mom couldn't keep food in her, just a little tummy bug, but Mom had an ileostomy and was ready to die. One angel of an aide sat by her feeding her spoons of broth. Nan got there just as it was time to get Mom to hospital where she bled out.
She asked Nan, "How are my kids?" Nan assured her that we were all fine and that we loved her. Mom asked, "How much longer is this going to take?" She was not patient once she'd made up her mind. It didn't take long.
Oh, I was angry. I just didn't know at whom or what. That's the hardest kind of anger to let go.
It's the kind of anger I'm feeling now when I'm finding it very hard to understand things I'm trying to read. The words sometimes fall off the road on the way to my brain. And my fingers, that usually type faster than I can speak, have lost their confidence.
I'm hopeful that this is just a dip and that tomorrow will be better, because I've so much more to write. I have so many more people to meet and love. So I ask all my better angels to take this unpointed anger and dump it in the nearest bottomless pit. Just get rid of it.
Someday, it will all make sense. Of that I'm sure and for that, I'm grateful.
It's just a silly phase I'm going through.
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Monday, December 26, 2016
Scarier Than Rats in the Attic
We had a laid back Christmas, which is the way I prefer it, if I'm not allowed to skip it completely. A friend came over for Christmas Eve dinner and we began working on a jigsaw puzzle. She came over for Christmas afternoon and dinner and brought more desserts. We are a bit over run with desserts. An embarrassment of riches.
On Christmas I presented her with a joke gift that she reminded me I'd presented her with the night before. I realized I didn't remember the night before. It was just gone.
It's so easy, when I'm doing well, to believe this is all a mistake, that there's really nothing bad going on in my brain except a little forgetfulness now and then. And then something like forgetting a whole festive evening happens and I'm reminded. I don't like being reminded.
I took pictures with my phone of a table I want to sell this afternoon. I spent an hour trying to remember how to get it from my phone to the computer. Okay, so I've never been an electronics genius, but I used to know how to do stuff like that.
I admit that these things bring me to tears. My husband held me and I blubbered, "What are we going to do?" He said that we'll come up with something.
We're going to have to come up with something sooner rather than later. He's 75 and currently has a broken ankle and a history of heart attack. We aren't looking into expensive retirement communities. That's not possible for us. I focus on being positive and using positive words and forgiving and cleaning up lose ends with people and getting rid of stuff, but honestly. . . . . what happens if the time comes when I dunno what's going on more often than I do? What then?
I'm not so much worrying as I am thinking about these things and it's a bit . . . oh, what's that word. . .
oh, yeah terrifying.
Still, right now, I am breathing, I am writing, maybe my writing even makes a bit of sense. So I reckon I have way more than I need. As Papa used to say, sure it will kill me, unless I get hit by a truck first. There's always that glimmer of positivity.
I'm grateful. T
On Christmas I presented her with a joke gift that she reminded me I'd presented her with the night before. I realized I didn't remember the night before. It was just gone.
It's so easy, when I'm doing well, to believe this is all a mistake, that there's really nothing bad going on in my brain except a little forgetfulness now and then. And then something like forgetting a whole festive evening happens and I'm reminded. I don't like being reminded.
I took pictures with my phone of a table I want to sell this afternoon. I spent an hour trying to remember how to get it from my phone to the computer. Okay, so I've never been an electronics genius, but I used to know how to do stuff like that.
I admit that these things bring me to tears. My husband held me and I blubbered, "What are we going to do?" He said that we'll come up with something.
We're going to have to come up with something sooner rather than later. He's 75 and currently has a broken ankle and a history of heart attack. We aren't looking into expensive retirement communities. That's not possible for us. I focus on being positive and using positive words and forgiving and cleaning up lose ends with people and getting rid of stuff, but honestly. . . . . what happens if the time comes when I dunno what's going on more often than I do? What then?
I'm not so much worrying as I am thinking about these things and it's a bit . . . oh, what's that word. . .
oh, yeah terrifying.
Still, right now, I am breathing, I am writing, maybe my writing even makes a bit of sense. So I reckon I have way more than I need. As Papa used to say, sure it will kill me, unless I get hit by a truck first. There's always that glimmer of positivity.
I'm grateful. T
Thursday, December 22, 2016
The Whole Picture
I've looked at the same picture many times. In fact, many times daily for many days. I never totally understood it, and I didn't much like it. I don't mean I disliked it, I just sort of felt nothing about it, other than a bit of confusion. I thought I knew what it was meant to be and I didn't think it was a very good illustration of it.
This morning I saw the entire picture. I'd been seeing it cropped - just the middle of it. It suddenly made perfect sense. I like it very much.
Well, isn't that the way of it? Life, I mean. I see a bit of it here, a bit of it there, and it doesn't always make sense to me. But if I were a betting man, I'd bet the farm that at the end of life - this physical part of life, I mean - that it's all going to make perfect sense.
It's sort of like doing a jigsaw puzzle without looking at the picture on the box. It's nearly impossible to figure out the whole picture until you get all the pieces put together, and it's not very easy. You may think it's going to be an old covered bridge in the woods at one point. A few more pieces put in, and you may be sure it's a lighthouse. Sure, you've got the corners and the smooth edges, but when it gets into the thick of it, it's a bit of a blur.
Should you try to match the pieces according to color, to lines, to shapes? Sometimes you may feel like taking a mat knife or a hammer to a puzzle piece to make it fit where you think it should go. That won't work.
I love a good mystery. I love a great adventure. I look forward to seeing the whole picture, but right now, I'm enjoying putting the puzzle together.
This morning I saw the entire picture. I'd been seeing it cropped - just the middle of it. It suddenly made perfect sense. I like it very much.
Well, isn't that the way of it? Life, I mean. I see a bit of it here, a bit of it there, and it doesn't always make sense to me. But if I were a betting man, I'd bet the farm that at the end of life - this physical part of life, I mean - that it's all going to make perfect sense.
It's sort of like doing a jigsaw puzzle without looking at the picture on the box. It's nearly impossible to figure out the whole picture until you get all the pieces put together, and it's not very easy. You may think it's going to be an old covered bridge in the woods at one point. A few more pieces put in, and you may be sure it's a lighthouse. Sure, you've got the corners and the smooth edges, but when it gets into the thick of it, it's a bit of a blur.
Should you try to match the pieces according to color, to lines, to shapes? Sometimes you may feel like taking a mat knife or a hammer to a puzzle piece to make it fit where you think it should go. That won't work.
I love a good mystery. I love a great adventure. I look forward to seeing the whole picture, but right now, I'm enjoying putting the puzzle together.
Singing On In Dream Time
I have always been blessed with amazingly vivid dreams. I'd guess over 99% have been good ones. If a dream is going south, I usually change it somehow. Last night, I asked for a significant dream. I didn't ask for a specific topic, but I thought I knew what direction it would go. I certainly got a wondrous, significant dream, but it certainly went off on an unexpected tangent! I'm not going to try to recount all the details of the dream here, because they would only be important to me. I will hold them in my heart.
One good thing about BBD (Big Bad Diagnoses) is that it's really helped me whittle away things that aren't important and to have the courage to share things that I think are important or may be helpful to others. Part of that is really considering a bucket list. One thing on my bucket list has been to sing with a band again. A really good band. I joke about it often, but the desire to do so is real enough. Last night, I did it! Albeit in Dreamtime, it was incredible and I'm so very grateful for it.
The first set included a lot of music I've been listening to lately, which isn't surprising, but the arrangements were really my own. I mean they must have been mine because it was my dream, of course, but the arrangements were different from those I've been listening to. And they were very good arrangements. We even had some slight lyric changes to make the songs fit us better.
My voice was as clear as when I was 18, as strong as when I was 35, but had the wisdom of this ripe woman. Trust me, it worked. And the band was tight. Amazing! And I was full - absolutely full - of joy. In the middle of one song, that I don't particularly love but which I've sung a lot, tears ran down my face and I stopped singing. But someone else in the band picked it up without missing a note. Everyone in the audience sang along. And that's really what music is, isn't it?
So it was a dream in which I fulfilled a dream. It was more than enough. I'm grateful.
One good thing about BBD (Big Bad Diagnoses) is that it's really helped me whittle away things that aren't important and to have the courage to share things that I think are important or may be helpful to others. Part of that is really considering a bucket list. One thing on my bucket list has been to sing with a band again. A really good band. I joke about it often, but the desire to do so is real enough. Last night, I did it! Albeit in Dreamtime, it was incredible and I'm so very grateful for it.
The first set included a lot of music I've been listening to lately, which isn't surprising, but the arrangements were really my own. I mean they must have been mine because it was my dream, of course, but the arrangements were different from those I've been listening to. And they were very good arrangements. We even had some slight lyric changes to make the songs fit us better.
My voice was as clear as when I was 18, as strong as when I was 35, but had the wisdom of this ripe woman. Trust me, it worked. And the band was tight. Amazing! And I was full - absolutely full - of joy. In the middle of one song, that I don't particularly love but which I've sung a lot, tears ran down my face and I stopped singing. But someone else in the band picked it up without missing a note. Everyone in the audience sang along. And that's really what music is, isn't it?
So it was a dream in which I fulfilled a dream. It was more than enough. I'm grateful.
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Stop, Children, What's That Sound?
Nature is the context for human existence, whether or not people realize it. Earth is the only option at present, but we act as if She is one of those cheap plastic containers that hold our leftovers. We act as if we'll just get a new one when this one no longer keeps our pre-processed foods "fresh."
I really fear that it's too late, that we've pushed Her too far. What should we assume will happen as we continue to squeeze fossil fuels from Earth, leaving voids, then burning in a generation what has taken millions of years to create? Earthquakes, sinkholes, pollution are the natural consequences. Evidently human greed and war are not only consequences but causes.
We pollute water daily, but what resources to we use to learn to clean it? There are alternatives. It's not as if our lives depend on maintaining our current lifestyle and ways of doing things.
That's just not good enough.
And while it often seems to me that there is an evolutionary leap happening now in terms of spirituality and understanding, all it takes is watching the news one evening to see that the human species as a whole has gone absolutely mad.
We have this magical Internet. We can communicate with people around the world instantly. We can see cell phone videos of what's actually happening so we don't have to rely on the media anymore for information, which is good, because the media is only interesting in entertaining, not informing. Of course, we can also fake information easily, so knowing whom to trust is always an issue, whether individuals or organizations.
And honestly, who trusts governments? Who is in charge, anyway? Can we have a real election? Does it really matter if I vote? Has everything been arranged by extraterrestrials who are watching us implode for their entertainment? It's just all so discouraging. We are so lazy that we put the outhouse right next to the well, and worst all we expect "them" to fix it.
I'm often sure I'll wake up and find that all this chaos is just a dream. Because my grands need Earth, too.
Monday, December 12, 2016
Skyclad at This Age?
One recent winter night I went to my backyard naked to put my feet and hands on Earth and wrap myself around a grand oak tree whose roots reach deep into earth and whose branches touch the sky.
Of course, of course, it's a totally insane thing for a 61 year old to do and frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. You will either understand the reasons I did so without explanation, or you will not understand. Makes me no nevah mind.
And I guess that's the point. It may be my age. It may be the BBD (big bad diagnoses), or perhaps I've just always been bit quirky. I mean, this certainly isn't the first time I've done this sort of thing. It's just that now, I really don't care whom I tell about it. It was a lovely thing.
A friend of mine, who has had a mastectomy and wears a breast prosthesis, recently related a really funny story about guys smiling at her in the grocery. Only later she realized that her "breast" had flipped out. She spoke about how guys finds ANY breasts intriguing. I couldn't agree more. Not only with her perception of men and breasts, but with her openness about sharing the story. After all, it's just a breast. And in this case, a fake one. Men will always be a source of laughter for us if we let them.
In the summer, should it please the Universe, my daughter and I will visit Scotland. While there I will participate in an art project involving photographs of naked women over 50. Well, I'm over 50, and under my jimmies, I'm naked, so I reckon I qualify. The goal will not be make us look like we're 30, but to proudly show our years.
I'm recently coming to love this body. I'm sorry that I didn't appreciate it my whole life. There were a couple of times in my adult life when my 5'8" frame sported 97 pounds. Not 96. Not 98. Had to be 97. OY! I have a whole lot more pounds than that now and fewer inches in height. I don't bother to weigh. What difference would it make? I'm round. I'm soft. It's not bad. One would think, however, that having had so many bits removed would have made me smaller. Biology and physics haven't a very close friendship, it seems.
My big brown eyes are still there, though contacts are no longer an option, so they are behind some funky lenses. Eye lids, like the rest of me, have succumbed to that ol' gravity thang. But trust me, the actual eyes are still in there, and they are still beautiful.
Once I had legs up to here. Now they serve to get me from here to there and for that I'm extremely grateful. I'm no longer interested in depreciating my body. It's served me very well. Whew! The stories we could tell.
As far as my actions and beliefs go. I'm no longer interested in proving that my way is the right way. I am, I think, right for me, now.
Let's all forget who's watching and just dance. Whatcha say?
Of course, of course, it's a totally insane thing for a 61 year old to do and frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. You will either understand the reasons I did so without explanation, or you will not understand. Makes me no nevah mind.
And I guess that's the point. It may be my age. It may be the BBD (big bad diagnoses), or perhaps I've just always been bit quirky. I mean, this certainly isn't the first time I've done this sort of thing. It's just that now, I really don't care whom I tell about it. It was a lovely thing.
A friend of mine, who has had a mastectomy and wears a breast prosthesis, recently related a really funny story about guys smiling at her in the grocery. Only later she realized that her "breast" had flipped out. She spoke about how guys finds ANY breasts intriguing. I couldn't agree more. Not only with her perception of men and breasts, but with her openness about sharing the story. After all, it's just a breast. And in this case, a fake one. Men will always be a source of laughter for us if we let them.
In the summer, should it please the Universe, my daughter and I will visit Scotland. While there I will participate in an art project involving photographs of naked women over 50. Well, I'm over 50, and under my jimmies, I'm naked, so I reckon I qualify. The goal will not be make us look like we're 30, but to proudly show our years.
I'm recently coming to love this body. I'm sorry that I didn't appreciate it my whole life. There were a couple of times in my adult life when my 5'8" frame sported 97 pounds. Not 96. Not 98. Had to be 97. OY! I have a whole lot more pounds than that now and fewer inches in height. I don't bother to weigh. What difference would it make? I'm round. I'm soft. It's not bad. One would think, however, that having had so many bits removed would have made me smaller. Biology and physics haven't a very close friendship, it seems.
My big brown eyes are still there, though contacts are no longer an option, so they are behind some funky lenses. Eye lids, like the rest of me, have succumbed to that ol' gravity thang. But trust me, the actual eyes are still in there, and they are still beautiful.
Once I had legs up to here. Now they serve to get me from here to there and for that I'm extremely grateful. I'm no longer interested in depreciating my body. It's served me very well. Whew! The stories we could tell.
As far as my actions and beliefs go. I'm no longer interested in proving that my way is the right way. I am, I think, right for me, now.
Let's all forget who's watching and just dance. Whatcha say?
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Compelled
I don't know if this has anything to do with anything, but it is real enough for me
Tonight I felt a strong compulsion to tell people this:
Get yourself rightside up. Don't be angry at or hate religion, though I think it has all gone mad. The base of them are with truth. Find the truth and pitch the rest.
All that remains, all that matters, is love and knowledge.
*I don't know what that means - "Get yourself rightside up." That's just what came to me. Sort of like a handful of salt when asked "How much salt in the water?"
Tonight I felt a strong compulsion to tell people this:
Get yourself rightside up. Don't be angry at or hate religion, though I think it has all gone mad. The base of them are with truth. Find the truth and pitch the rest.
All that remains, all that matters, is love and knowledge.
*I don't know what that means - "Get yourself rightside up." That's just what came to me. Sort of like a handful of salt when asked "How much salt in the water?"
Friday, December 9, 2016
Very Dull Moments
I've caught myself a few times in the past week or so just sort of waking up staring. I blame the holidays.
I was working in the kitchen today and "found" myself staring into an open cabinet - the one with the soup and beans in it. This experience is not quite the same as opening the cabinet and not remembering what I came for. This is more like, "Huh? What's going on? Is this drool on my chin? Sheesh."
It takes a minute. I looked around and remembered I'd been getting veggies ready to roast for dinner. I didn't remember going to the soup cabinet or why I was there. But, truth be told, going to the soup cabinet is not that memorable, is it?
Tomato rice, chicken noodle, black beans, garbanzo beans. Ramen noodles? I sure as heck didn't buy those!
It's more than likely that every time I do something weird now - that would be approximately 8 gazillion times per day - I'm going to wonder if it's a bit more of my favorite organ fading away. More than likely it's nothing. Or you know. . . . the holidays.
I guess as long as I'm waking up from these moments, it's all good, right? I'll let you know if I don't wake up.
*wink*
I was working in the kitchen today and "found" myself staring into an open cabinet - the one with the soup and beans in it. This experience is not quite the same as opening the cabinet and not remembering what I came for. This is more like, "Huh? What's going on? Is this drool on my chin? Sheesh."
It takes a minute. I looked around and remembered I'd been getting veggies ready to roast for dinner. I didn't remember going to the soup cabinet or why I was there. But, truth be told, going to the soup cabinet is not that memorable, is it?
Tomato rice, chicken noodle, black beans, garbanzo beans. Ramen noodles? I sure as heck didn't buy those!
It's more than likely that every time I do something weird now - that would be approximately 8 gazillion times per day - I'm going to wonder if it's a bit more of my favorite organ fading away. More than likely it's nothing. Or you know. . . . the holidays.
I guess as long as I'm waking up from these moments, it's all good, right? I'll let you know if I don't wake up.
*wink*
Thursday, December 8, 2016
How the Right Shade of Lipstick Changed My Life
When my mother was playing Chutes and Ladders with dementia, I'd been spending extended periods of time with her. She had fired me a few times, sent me back to the kitchen to "get back to work," told me I could leave now, and by the way, I didn't need to come back, she'd ask my name - a lot of stuff like that went down that could have been either funny or devastating. I think at those times she had me confused with "the help." Other times, she was right on, inspecting my quilting (in)ability, giving not so subtle pointers, but encouraging me all the same. She'd ask about her friends back in Illinois and radiated love for her grands and greats even though she could't always keep the generations and names straight. In our family, that's a tough task for anyone, actually.
One day, at a friend's encouragement, I wore bright red lipstick - something I can't remember ever doing before, when my sister and I went to visit Mom together. Maybe she knew who I was, since I was with Nancy, or maybe she thought that I was some friend of Nancy's. Anyway, she exclaimed over and over again about how beautiful I was. She said I was getting more beautiful all the time. It was amazing and I ate it up - every single crumb, licking the plate. Mom often told me I had a beautiful complexion, (which is fairly true, btw) but she'd never come out and said I was beautiful before. Never.
Mom, especially in her golden years, was a hottie. She knew it. She rocked it. and somehow coming from her - even though I knew she was a bit confused - I owned that compliment and continue to hold it in my heart.
On the way home, I asked Nan to stop at a Walgreens, so I could buy another tube of bright red lipstick.
Sometimes lately, I've noticed that totally inappropriate stuff comes out of my mouth. It's not even logical or true stuff. It's like it's coming from some passer by and just got confused and came out my mouth. Who knows. I don't plan on saying anything hurtful to my children or others I love, but if I do, I pray to God they put on some red lipstick and roll with it.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
Happy, Silly Memory
Today I HAD to go to the grocery and drop off a big package for UPS to deliver to my son. I put on some leggings and a tunic and covered what's left of my hair and set out.
About half way through the grocery, I felt it begin. My panties were sliding down inside my leggings. I was confident that no one else would notice, due to the long tunic, but that didn't keep me from laughing in the aisles. People must have wondered what the heck.
But just now I chatted with a friend and while relating the story, a big memory came bouncing back, like a Labrador Retriever pup with a ball. It was a happy memory, and a bittersweet one.
A few decades back, in a different life, my parents came to visit me. I took some vacation days and we set out to paint our house. Dad taught me about caulking and sealing, and pretty much directed from the ground. Actually, at one point, he took the ladder away, while I was on the roof. Now you know where I get it, eh? Also, it was the last time he climbed a ladder. He was dying very slowly from a mysterious disease that took a bit of him at a time. It was cruel and unusual, and he fought so damned hard before he gave up any little thing. But he fell from a step ladder during that visit and cried. I knew it was partially from physical pain - he had enough of that for ten men - but it was also from loss. He knew that would be his last ladder climb.
But this was before Mom started being forgetful. Long before. We'd get up early each morning and prep and paint. We only stopped for food. One morning, Mom and I went to the grocery early. I pulled on my sweat pants from the day before, She took one side of the store and I took the other. It was all about maximizing painting time. She came running when she heard me laughing very loudly and a bit out of control in the dairy section.
By the time she got to me, I was stuffing yesterday's undies into my pocket. They'd fallen out of my sweatpants leg. Luckily (or perhaps, unluckily) it was a small town, so everyone, including the grocery store people, knew me and . . . . . well, they knew me.
It's hard to know whether it is better to lose one's body and keep ones mind till the end or the other way round. I've seen it go both ways and neither was preferable. However, it matters little, since I reckon we just don't get to choose.
I think the trick may be to grieve what we lose and move along, concentrating on the project - painting or other - ahead.
About half way through the grocery, I felt it begin. My panties were sliding down inside my leggings. I was confident that no one else would notice, due to the long tunic, but that didn't keep me from laughing in the aisles. People must have wondered what the heck.
But just now I chatted with a friend and while relating the story, a big memory came bouncing back, like a Labrador Retriever pup with a ball. It was a happy memory, and a bittersweet one.
A few decades back, in a different life, my parents came to visit me. I took some vacation days and we set out to paint our house. Dad taught me about caulking and sealing, and pretty much directed from the ground. Actually, at one point, he took the ladder away, while I was on the roof. Now you know where I get it, eh? Also, it was the last time he climbed a ladder. He was dying very slowly from a mysterious disease that took a bit of him at a time. It was cruel and unusual, and he fought so damned hard before he gave up any little thing. But he fell from a step ladder during that visit and cried. I knew it was partially from physical pain - he had enough of that for ten men - but it was also from loss. He knew that would be his last ladder climb.
But this was before Mom started being forgetful. Long before. We'd get up early each morning and prep and paint. We only stopped for food. One morning, Mom and I went to the grocery early. I pulled on my sweat pants from the day before, She took one side of the store and I took the other. It was all about maximizing painting time. She came running when she heard me laughing very loudly and a bit out of control in the dairy section.
By the time she got to me, I was stuffing yesterday's undies into my pocket. They'd fallen out of my sweatpants leg. Luckily (or perhaps, unluckily) it was a small town, so everyone, including the grocery store people, knew me and . . . . . well, they knew me.
It's hard to know whether it is better to lose one's body and keep ones mind till the end or the other way round. I've seen it go both ways and neither was preferable. However, it matters little, since I reckon we just don't get to choose.
I think the trick may be to grieve what we lose and move along, concentrating on the project - painting or other - ahead.
Monday, December 5, 2016
Energy Crisis
I am letting people down. It seems everyone wants something from me and I want to give it all to them, but I just forking can't.
I'm sick of feeling sick. I'm always tired and confused and I don't like it. I am going to have to prioritize a bit better if I'm going to . . . going to what? What's the goal here? Is it just to keep putting one huge flat foot in front of the other? That's not good enough by a long shot.
I want to produce. I need to keep writing as long as I can and each one of these little posts takes so damned much. I want to spend time with my babies, just looking at them, breathing them in, sharing jokes. Bump is beginning to understand puns. How miraculous is that? Bell has her environment in hand. It makes me happy to see how well she does her two-year old job.
I want to be relaxed with my relaxed children. Those two share a gene pool, grew up in the same house with the same parents, and I really don't see many ways they could be more different. Each of them perfect. I need them to be happy. I need to know they forgive me for not giving them absolutely everything they deserved. I need to not let them down.
There are friendships I would loved to have rekindled and it's sad to know that it won't happen. It takes two, and it takes energy. I'm happy with communicating electronically with those who have the desire and energy. I've reached out to a bunch. Some don't have the desire, and others want more of me than I can give.
I wish I could be a better wife. James isn't big on allowing me to help him, even with his broken ankle. But I can see frustration in his face because things aren't getting done to his liking. And what happens as I continue to become less help and more burden? How is that fair? How is that going to work?
The world is a mess and my little problems don't amount to enough beans to fill my nose. I know that. And I have to remember that I just got my gluteus maximus shot full of steroids today trying to make breathing easier and those nasties always tend to make me a bit wicked. It's entirely possible that tomorrow will actually be a new day and I'll be new, also.
In the mean time, in place of cheer, I offer honesty. And at the bottom of it all, I am still grateful.
I'm sick of feeling sick. I'm always tired and confused and I don't like it. I am going to have to prioritize a bit better if I'm going to . . . going to what? What's the goal here? Is it just to keep putting one huge flat foot in front of the other? That's not good enough by a long shot.
I want to produce. I need to keep writing as long as I can and each one of these little posts takes so damned much. I want to spend time with my babies, just looking at them, breathing them in, sharing jokes. Bump is beginning to understand puns. How miraculous is that? Bell has her environment in hand. It makes me happy to see how well she does her two-year old job.
I want to be relaxed with my relaxed children. Those two share a gene pool, grew up in the same house with the same parents, and I really don't see many ways they could be more different. Each of them perfect. I need them to be happy. I need to know they forgive me for not giving them absolutely everything they deserved. I need to not let them down.
There are friendships I would loved to have rekindled and it's sad to know that it won't happen. It takes two, and it takes energy. I'm happy with communicating electronically with those who have the desire and energy. I've reached out to a bunch. Some don't have the desire, and others want more of me than I can give.
I wish I could be a better wife. James isn't big on allowing me to help him, even with his broken ankle. But I can see frustration in his face because things aren't getting done to his liking. And what happens as I continue to become less help and more burden? How is that fair? How is that going to work?
The world is a mess and my little problems don't amount to enough beans to fill my nose. I know that. And I have to remember that I just got my gluteus maximus shot full of steroids today trying to make breathing easier and those nasties always tend to make me a bit wicked. It's entirely possible that tomorrow will actually be a new day and I'll be new, also.
In the mean time, in place of cheer, I offer honesty. And at the bottom of it all, I am still grateful.
Friday, December 2, 2016
Faded Photography
My husband gave me an early birthday present this year. He gave me a great digital camera with a couple of lenses and a couple of books about how to use it. I got filters, and lights, and a tripod, and extra batteries - the works. I was getting ready for my trip to India during which time I was going to interview women.
I spent quite a bit of time not only reading about and playing with the equipment, but also consulting with my college roommate's little boy who grew way up and became a videographer, and with other friends who are great photographers. It was so much fun.
My health didn't quite hold up for the trip to India and that was sad on several levels. But what really bothered me recently, was that at Thanksgiving, with all the family about, I got out my camera and had no idea how to use it. It's not all that complicated. There is a way to sort of make it into a point and shoot, but heck if I could remember how to do it.
"What a waste, what a waste," I kept mumbling to myself. My nephew showed me a couple of things about the camera, but they didn't sink in. I ended up taking a few shots of people with my phone camera. Even getting the pictures from my phone to my computer proved to be a major undertaking and I'm fairly sure that the way I finally did it isn't the way I used to do it. But who knows?
It just really pisses me off when I can't remember stuff like that. New stuff. It just doesn't seem to stick.
A couple of decades ago, I set out on a new life and got myself a really nifty Canon SLR camera. Of course, this was pre-digital, but I've to to say, I took some really good shots. I think I had an eye for it. I took the picture that adorns this blog while on my belly in some mud in the bush of SW Australia. With the lens, I could see a little family in the circle of the curled fern. I have a picture of a single crow flying over StoneHenge that is so perfect, if you saw it you'd think it was photoshopped. But it wasn't. It was just me and my camera that caught it. I have a very colorful closeup of a boy in a dragon costume, catching a breath while he and whoever is the back end of the dragon, dance down a street during a celebration in China. The photo is full of motion, though it is just a still. One of my favorites is a picture taken from the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor. My camera and I captured a perfect Hawaiian sky reflected in a rainbow oil slick, created from oil still escaping from the sunken ship below. To me it spoke volumes.
I remember taking all those shots years ago, but dad gum it, I can't remember how to use my flipping new camera now.
This experience is just odd. I remember my mother saying that she was "getting stupid." I kept assuring her that she wasn't, she was just getting forgetful, but now I understand what she was saying. There is a disconnect. Something that doesn't quite work in storing and retrieving new stuff.
It's sort of like all the old file cabinets are still working quite well and are very well organized, but the newer file cabinets have holes rusted in the bottoms of the drawers. Mice have gotten in and gnawed up information. Dang mice.
For me, it's much easier to communicate in writing than in speaking. That's a loss in itself because those who know me know I'm a talker. But I'm also so fortunate to be a fast typist and a good writer. Here's the weird thing though. I'll look back to three blogs ago and read it and I'll have no memory of writing it. I still lose words when typing, but I lose them less often than while talking. I also write in the morning or early in my day because when I try to do it late it may day, I end up with nuttin honey. I don't know why that is.
So, much of this recorded journey is for you, the reader, but I must admit, much of it is for me, too. I want to keep knowing how to write, and I want to be able to read what I've written.
And I'm so very ding dang grateful for not only the photographs but for the adventures I've had taking them. Life has truly been amazing, and though it's a bit different now, I've no reason to think it won't continue to be amazing.
I spent quite a bit of time not only reading about and playing with the equipment, but also consulting with my college roommate's little boy who grew way up and became a videographer, and with other friends who are great photographers. It was so much fun.
My health didn't quite hold up for the trip to India and that was sad on several levels. But what really bothered me recently, was that at Thanksgiving, with all the family about, I got out my camera and had no idea how to use it. It's not all that complicated. There is a way to sort of make it into a point and shoot, but heck if I could remember how to do it.
"What a waste, what a waste," I kept mumbling to myself. My nephew showed me a couple of things about the camera, but they didn't sink in. I ended up taking a few shots of people with my phone camera. Even getting the pictures from my phone to my computer proved to be a major undertaking and I'm fairly sure that the way I finally did it isn't the way I used to do it. But who knows?
It just really pisses me off when I can't remember stuff like that. New stuff. It just doesn't seem to stick.
A couple of decades ago, I set out on a new life and got myself a really nifty Canon SLR camera. Of course, this was pre-digital, but I've to to say, I took some really good shots. I think I had an eye for it. I took the picture that adorns this blog while on my belly in some mud in the bush of SW Australia. With the lens, I could see a little family in the circle of the curled fern. I have a picture of a single crow flying over StoneHenge that is so perfect, if you saw it you'd think it was photoshopped. But it wasn't. It was just me and my camera that caught it. I have a very colorful closeup of a boy in a dragon costume, catching a breath while he and whoever is the back end of the dragon, dance down a street during a celebration in China. The photo is full of motion, though it is just a still. One of my favorites is a picture taken from the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor. My camera and I captured a perfect Hawaiian sky reflected in a rainbow oil slick, created from oil still escaping from the sunken ship below. To me it spoke volumes.
I remember taking all those shots years ago, but dad gum it, I can't remember how to use my flipping new camera now.
This experience is just odd. I remember my mother saying that she was "getting stupid." I kept assuring her that she wasn't, she was just getting forgetful, but now I understand what she was saying. There is a disconnect. Something that doesn't quite work in storing and retrieving new stuff.
It's sort of like all the old file cabinets are still working quite well and are very well organized, but the newer file cabinets have holes rusted in the bottoms of the drawers. Mice have gotten in and gnawed up information. Dang mice.
For me, it's much easier to communicate in writing than in speaking. That's a loss in itself because those who know me know I'm a talker. But I'm also so fortunate to be a fast typist and a good writer. Here's the weird thing though. I'll look back to three blogs ago and read it and I'll have no memory of writing it. I still lose words when typing, but I lose them less often than while talking. I also write in the morning or early in my day because when I try to do it late it may day, I end up with nuttin honey. I don't know why that is.
So, much of this recorded journey is for you, the reader, but I must admit, much of it is for me, too. I want to keep knowing how to write, and I want to be able to read what I've written.
And I'm so very ding dang grateful for not only the photographs but for the adventures I've had taking them. Life has truly been amazing, and though it's a bit different now, I've no reason to think it won't continue to be amazing.
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