Peace among turbulence

Peaceful Lake Padden

Well, I didn't take this wonderful picture of Lake Padden, but I could have, if I had gotten up and driven to the lake before dawn. Instead, it was taken by Jessica Turner, who posted it on the Seeing Bellingham Facebook group. We had a lovely sunrise all through Bellingham Thursday morning, but I was sitting inside the coffee shop, looking out at street lights and buildings with the orange sky above, instead of this serene landscape. So I snagged it and thank her for being there and capturing this.

There is so much going on in our country right now. I watched the news and mourn the loss of so much of the southern California landscape I know so well. I was born in the San Joaquin Valley in the middle of the state, and my grandmother lived in Bakersfield. I went to elementary school in Fairfield and worked in Sacramento as an adult as well. So, California is the closest place I've gotten to feeling like a home base. Although I never lived in Los Angeles, my other grandmother lived there, in Culver City, and I had relatives in Santa Monica. It's really unsettling to see all those homes and businesses that have burned to the ground, and the place is still not safe, with new fires spawned as the winds increase again. I know that the politicians will suffer, even though everything I have read says that nothing could have spared us from most of the damage, since the Santa Ana winds were more than ferocious: they were insanely deadly. 

I read a story about a man and his wife who had to evacuate at night, but he's in a wheelchair from an injury many years ago, paralyzed from the waist down. Their equipped van is in the shop, and he didn't want to leave his expensive wheelchair behind, so he decided to take himself on it down the street in the middle of the night, hoping that he would be able to navigate the traffic, since the sidewalks were impassable. His wife said it was terrifying to watch him head down the street with the wind whipping all around him and debris flying around as he headed down the street, out of the evacuation zone. He made it, and his wife followed with their car, and they eventually found a hotel where they could spend the night. As of the last news I've seen, their home is still standing. This kind of story is ubiquitous, since hundred of thousands of people are affected one way or another. I could really identify with the wife, who said watching him head out into the darkness, with no way to know if he would be okay, was very hard. 

And not only that, we are in the midst of a presidential transition, with the moving ceremony of the passing of Jimmy Carter right in the middle of it. A memorial service brought together five living presidents and their wives and running mates. I pondered a picture that showed them, and I was especially moved to see them all together like that, after what they have been through in recent years.

Although nobody knows what the next four years will hold, it's inevitable that we are in for some turbulent times. In a country almost evenly divided between political parties, and with the Republicans ready to take over all three branches of government, I am not looking forward to it. But who knows? It could be entirely different from my assumed worries. Maybe we are in for a period of peaceful cooperation. Anything is possible, and I will hope for that outcome, even if it's dubious. At my age, I will look for every possible positive moment in my later years.

My weekdays have taken on a new pattern, and I really like it, mostly. I have two yoga classes at the Senior Center most weeks, a lovely hike on Tuesdays with the easier of the two hiking days offered then. On Thursdays, instead of going with the harder hikers, I spend several hours volunteering at the Senior Center, helping to set up the lunchroom and then waiting on the clients (is that the right word?), finally helping to take it all down once again and leaving it for the next day's crew. I am always amazed at how many steps I accrue during that time, and I am usually ready to stop, saying farewell to my new friends, my fellow volunteers, until next week. On Fridays, I have a day off, a day when I can take care of other tasks, depending on the weather. We have had plenty of rain, but still our winter temperatures so far have been very mild, barely cold enough to give us slippery pavements. 

Of course, it's only January and we have the majority of the winter season still to come. But the days are gradually getting longer, and I can already see some difference in the morning light: we have almost two minutes more of daylight than we did at the solstice, and soon it will increase in length, until I begin to see the plants and trees beginning their march towards summer's abundance. I have to say that we made just the right choice for our retirement years, moving to the Pacific Northwest almost seventeen years ago now. Not that Colorado wasn't wonderful, but it was time to leave it behind and move here.

Life is good, as I sit here with my laptop radiating light into the darkened room. And I look forward to what today might bring. My sweet partner sleeps quietly next to me, and I begin to think about what I might accomplish today. One thing for sure, I want to make somebody happier today than they would otherwise be.

Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud. —Maya Angelou

Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things, and hope that you are safe and surrounded by love. That's what I wish for everyone, dear friends. Be well.

Remembering and forgetting

Mt Baker from Goose Rock trail

A couple of years ago, I took this picture of Mt Baker while descending from a hike up to the top of Goose Rock on Whidbey Island. It is near the Deception Pass State Park, and it was, as you can see here, a gorgeous day in mid-February. We do have plenty of rainy days in the winter, and even some snow now and then, but we also get days like this one right in the middle of winter. Right now, the East Coast is experiencing a "polar vortex," bringing cold, ice and snow to a huge region, but we in the Pacific Northwest are being spared, for the moment at least.

It's only a few days into the new year, and I spent some time reminiscing with SG about years past. I had forgotten some of the exciting times we had together on New Year's Eve. One that is a vivid memory, once it was dredged up from a dark corner of my mind, was ringing in the new year with a skydive at midnight. I think I did this more than once, but the memory that emerged was of me standing in the door of a Beech-18 with my fellow skydivers, waiting until we reached the drop zone and peering out into the darkness. I'm pretty sure my heart rate was way up there, helping to make the moment stand out in my memory. 

I went into our bedroom and looked through the many logbooks from my skydiving career. Whenever I made a jump, I recorded it into a special Parachutist logbook, of which I have many, covering my more than 4,000 skydives. I found this entry about a particular jump:

Jump #869, 12/31/93—1/1/94, Skydive Colorado, A/C Beech-18, 55-second delay, exit at 13,000 ft. Six skydivers built a round and then whooped and hollered until pull time. Exited the plane at: 11:59:47.

 While we were flying to altitude in that rusty old Beech-18, I remember the jumpmaster pointing out the drop zone, with the runway illuminated and cars lined up with their headlights pointing in the direction where we would land. Usually you land with the wind in your face, but in a situation like this, it was more important (since the wind was negligible and you couldn't see the windsock anyway) for us all to fly a set pattern to the ground and not get in each other's way. We had a full moon, or close to it, also giving us needed light to orient us. We wore glowsticks so that we could see each other in freefall. I had completely forgotten about all this, until I brought it back by reading that log entry. I also read about some other forgotten jumps, but these days I can only read such stuff by using a magnifying glass and a light, so once I found what I was looking for, I stopped.

That was more than thirty years ago, too. When I think of how much I've forgotten that still hangs out in my brain, until something activates a memory, they are simply interesting facts from a bygone era. 

Me landing at sunset in Eloy, AZ

That picture was taken in the early 2000s by a famous skydiving photographer. He presented it to me the next day as a gift, and I loved it immediately and still look at it now and then. It's interesting that my skydiving days are in the distant past, but they still give me great pleasure to remember them. And although those days are over, I am still hiking in the mountains, which I have consistently done during the sixteen years since we moved here, but they too are beginning to begin to drift into the past. I am attempting much easier hikes these days, but I will probably go at least one more time to Goose Rock with the Senior Trailblazers. It's moderate in difficulty and distance, and I've made that trip to Deception Pass numerous times with them.

What seems to be in my future excitement falls into volunteering. I've said it before, but it bears repeating: giving my time to activities at the Senior Center that elevates the quality of our days is well worth it. I never fail to leave the lunchroom after my three-hour shift without a smile on my face and a pocket full of gratitude and thanks. 

Life is good for this octogenarian, and I feel so very grateful for my continued ability to post here, to read all the comments you leave for me, and to visit my virtual family who lives all over the world and shows me what's possible if I will step out of my comfort zone and take a step into the unknown.

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched; they must be felt with the heart. —Helen Keller

With that wonderful quote from Helen Keller, who overcame so much by stepping into the unknown without sight or hearing, I am encouraged to keep going forward for as long as I can. And I hope that you, my dear readers, will find ways to keep yourself engaged and involved in this beautiful world, for as long as you wish. My dear partner still sleeps quietly next to me as I finish up this post, and I move into the next part of my morning. John will be here in just over an hour, so I need to get up and do my exercises and spend a brief time in meditation before then.  Until we meet again, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Last post of 2024

Me and Bestie Lily

I spent some time yesterday with my dear friend Lily, who is recently back from visiting her family in Guatemala. I was relieved when I knew she had returned safely, since she has told me it's not a very safe place for anybody these days. Of course, that can be said for most places on the planet, with new wars seemingly developing every day. But mostly, at least around here, our country feels mostly stable and we, at least, have warm and safe homes to enjoy. We don't take it for granted.

I have been trying for the last few years to get used to not only becoming older, but also becoming one of the oldest of the old. There is truly something different about finding myself in my eighties, and I've been trying to wrap my mind around what it is that's different. One obvious fact is that there are few new ages ahead of me to experience, ages that I can see in the change of my features and in the faces of others in their eighties and nineties. Wowie zowie, I'm there!

When I first started pondering on this aging business, I was reluctant to consider what it all means, and where I am actually headed as I move from one day, one year to the next. It's not a mystery; we are all going to grow old and die, and if we are lucky we will live a good long and healthy life. But it still ends up in the same place, and coming to terms with it has taken me awhile. But I'm getting there. Fortunately there are lots of people who have tread these same paths before me, and many have written exquisitely about the journey.

The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been. —Madeleine L'Engle

 When I look back on all the decades of life I've experienced, I can see many accomplishments that stand out and help to make me the person I am today. Neither of my parents lived this long, with Daddy dying of a heart attack at 62, and Mama as well, at the age of 69, almost 70. I have one aunt to made it into her nineties, but everyone else has died of heart disease, mostly. One sister, PJ, died at 63 in 2014, but my other siblings are still alive, busy living their "dashes" (the time between birth and death, as in 1942—?). I am also busy living mine, and enjoying some new wrinkles, both figuratively and literally speaking.

Delicious cup of chai tea

Last Thursday, both of the Senior Center hikes were canceled because of the projected onset of extremely high winds in the area, with Bellingham considered to be one of the more dangerous areas. It was eerie, the feeling that any moment the calm of the forest might just explode into a fifty-mile-an-hour windstorm. But the storm never came, and I spent my time anyway volunteering in the lunchroom, my now-usual Thursday activity. We volunteers worked as a team, very efficiently I might add, and I found myself thrilled to be part of such a well functioning group. And for once, I didn't forget any of my coffee drinkers as I went to find them once again. It's now becoming easier as I make sure I notice what someone is wearing and where exactly they are sitting as I fill their cup. Everything is a little easier as I learn the ropes and mentally work to maintain my equilibrium.

And I feel the weather is probably going to help me out, with the rain continuing but not the way it has been for the past few weeks. I decided yesterday that I didn't want to walk again in the rain, so I didn't. We had long moments of relative calm and even some sunshine yesterday, and my friend Lily and I took a short walk after our wonderful lunch. I came home feeling quite a bit better, more like the self I want to be, and not the grumpy old complaining oldster that sometimes takes over.

It really is true, life looks very different when I compare my mood when I'm smiling to when I'm frowning and not looking forward to better days ahead. We are into the winter months, and so far our temperatures have been very mild, so the rain that falls here in town turns into snow in the High Country, making for some happy skiers and snowboarders. I was a happy cross-country skier when I lived in Colorado, but here I turned into a hiker. I haven't missed skiing, surprisingly. That's another thing I notice about getting older: my passions have mellowed. Even the almost three decades I spent jumping out of airplanes seems like something I might continue to miss, but I was ready to stop, and that was a full a decade ago. 

I did something last week that I thought was behind me: I read a complete book! My sister suggested I read her latest find, The Paris Library, by Janet Skeslien Charles, so I downloaded the audio app on my phone and also put it onto my Kindle, which I have discovered in "low vision" mode makes it possible for me to read for quite awhile before my eyes get tired. I didn't even need the audio version this time, but now I have it for the coming books I intend to enjoy. I was so ready to believe that my vision was continuing to deteriorate at a fast rate, but I think the dreaded eye jabs are making a difference. Nobody knows for sure, because it only slows the progression, but so far I am optimistic, and now I have the possibility of listening to entire books as well. Another wonderful way to stay engaged and feeling happy. I found this quote from Mark Twain that sums it up perfectly:

You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus. —Mark Twain

Now that I am feeling better and my post is just about finished, I am also finding that my imagination is coming into focus and the world around me is looking good. My sweet partner still sleeps quietly next to me, and I am looking forward to breakfast with my friend John. Right now it's not raining, either! I hope you have a great week ahead, dear virtual family.  Hopefully I'll be here next week with a plethora of smiles. Until then, dear friends, be well.

Solstice and Christmas this week

Yummy Christmas treats

Years ago, Carrie created these lovely Christmas cookies for those of us in the coffee shop. It was Christmas Day and the shop was closed, but I could see her inside working away.  I snuck inside and got this picture. I believe I ate one of those "canes" in the foreground, but it's been so long ago now (nine years) that I've forgotten and am not even carrying around the leftovers on my hips any more. Carrie no longer works there, and I no longer hang out there, either, but instead at a different coffee shop a block away from this one.

Yesterday was the first day of winter, with today the first full day. After today, the light will slowly return to the skies, earlier and earlier, until by the end of January I will be able, in the mornings, to see the obvious return of the light. For about the first month of winter, the lengthening of the days is almost unnoticeable. And then... the first shoots of green will emerge from the ground. For now, however, we are in the throes of dark days and long winter nights. It's okay: 'tis the season.

When all the world appears to be in a tumult, and nature itself is feeling the assault of climate change, the seasons retain their essential rhythm. Yes, fall gives us a premonition of winter, but then, winter, will be forced to relent, once again, to the new beginnings of soft greens, longer light, and the sweet air of spring. —Madeleine M. Kunin

When I found that quote by Kunin, I got interested enough to look her up and found that she was the first woman elected to a governorship (Vermont) in the country. She not only lived into her eighties, but last September she celebrated her 91st birthday and still seems to be going strong. I downloaded onto my Kindle her book, Coming of Age: My Journey to the Eighties. She has written six books and still continues to write, these days it's her poetry that speaks directly to me. I recommend the above-mentioned memoir, however, which I am enjoying very much. These days I am drawn to others who are navigating the rough shoals of aging. I should add, "aging well," which she seems to have done. At 91, she is still active and has created a role model for us youngsters. I found this delightful article online about her; I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

One thing I have found that seems to be working for me: I read and follow much less of the political drama going on in Washington. Although I still read my usual headlines and articles that attract me, I am also spending more time doing online puzzles. It's been years since I started with Wordle, which I still "work" every day, first thing usually, and I have been enjoying the Advent calendar from a dear friend. She sends me a subscription to it, and this year I must find the hidden Santa within the busy Paris landscape. Only three more days before Christmas, and the end of Advent. Today we lit the last Sunday Advent candle (online, of course) and I have already solved today's Wordle. 

And now I am casting about for something interesting to write about, something that will help me to make it through the seemingly endless rain and dark days of the winter solstice here in the Pacific Northwest. There is so much to be appreciated in the world today, along with plenty to be sad and angry about, but I get to choose where I will place my attention. I choose to focus on the light returning at the beginning of the winter season. Instead of lamenting what is wrong in the news, I can read the poetry of Governor Kunin and learn how she's managing to grow old gracefully and thoughtfully. The last poem in her latest book, "Endings" says everything I could possible add to this post. Thank you, Madeleine, for your life and your work. 

***

I would like to probe deep,

write about life and death,

the meaning of existence.

I should have the answers

by now,

when the end is so near.

I procrastinate.

I tell myself

there is still time

Maybe tomorrow

Or the next day

Or the day after that

to write about the meaning

of life,

The meaning of my life.

Have I made a difference?

Have I been kind?

Have I dropped a coin

into a beggar’s hand?

Will I be remembered,

and by whom?

For What?

I’m too tired

No more deep questions, please.

Maybe tomorrow,

Or the next day

Or the day after that.

***

And with that lovely ending, I will wrap up this holiday post and give thanks for all of you, dear readers, and all of the wonderful and wondrous days that we will share ahead, along with all the many days behind us. Let us light the last Advent candle and look forward to the days ahead of us. Be well, and I wish you all good things, surrounded by love and light.

Gusty winds and old age

Start of Jingle Bell run/walk 12/14

After my usual time at the coffee shop, my friend Steve and I began a tentative walk yesterday morning, with the wind raging around us, but little to no precipitation. At first, it seemed like it would be okay to just walk to the boulevard, but the wind really scared me, since it was either not blowing at all, or lightly, and then a huge gust would come roaring down the street and almost blow me over. I didn't find it to be a comfortable walk at all, so we decided instead to head to a restaurant and have breakfast, a more leisurely way to enjoy the morning. That was very nice, indeed.

We saw the beginning of the 40th anniversary of the Jingle Bell run/walk in front of Bellingham High School. There were plenty of people dressed in festive gear, lots of people with their dogs (since they were encouraged to join in), strollers with babies, and just plain folks going out to have some fun. The event is sponsored by the Arthritis Foundation and includes a 5K untimed walk, a 1-mile run, a Dog Trot, and a special kids-only mile-long run. It looked like everybody was having a good time, and they didn't seem to mind the wind gusts as much as I did. For somebody who jumped out of airplanes and loved to ride the wind, this old lady, these days, has lost her desire for that kind of excitement. 

I came to the conclusion last week that, once you enter your ninth decade of life, when you hit eighty, things begin to change in many ways. I thought about how I am now deep into retirement and would not be considered for any kind of paying job. Who would hire me now? I don't know why it occurred to me all of a sudden like that, but it did. And I am definitely slowing down. I started volunteering at the Senior Center on Thursdays, which used to be my hiking day. Although there are some hikes I would like to do again, I am now limited by the elevation and length of certain ones. And I've done them all many, many times. Tuesday's shorter and less difficult hikes suit me perfectly. Plus I am also going to new places, some in Canada, and I am enjoying them very much. The people I hike with are mostly the same ones, unless they are significantly younger than me. I can allow myself to find new ways to get exercise. 

I feel very fortunate to still be as active as I am as a super-old senior. Once I looked up the stages of elder life on line, and found this:

The United States' older adult population can thus be divided into three life-stage subgroups: the young-old (approximately 65 to 74 years old), the middle-old (ages 75 to 84 years old), and the old-old (over age 85).

My friend John will soon enter the old-old category, and I asked him where he thought he might be in five years, and he said, "Dead." He takes many prescriptions daily, and is barely ambulatory. Although it takes him awhile to get going, he still does what he can. I take him as a cautionary tale about whether to keep on exercising and walking and working out as I have done for decades. But there is no doubt that I have entered that final stage of life. My senses are diminished, especially my ability to see clearly, and I know that is a progressive situation that cannot at this time be avoided. Maybe one day there will be a more suitable treatment for geographic atrophy, but for now I am taking those awful eye injections and will continue for as long as I have central vision in my left eye. The right eye's central vision is already gone, although I still have my peripheral vision in that eye. I can still navigate quite well with the one eye, and that is the reason I can still write these posts. I live with the dread of what my life will be like when I lose it. The treatment is only to slow down the progression, not fix it, so I know what's ahead.

But eyesight is just part of what one loses as you age. Sometimes I get really discouraged and wonder why this particular phase of life can be so long. I don't see any reason to justify old age, except here I am and all I did was continue to breathe, one day, one breath at a time. I got middle-old while I wasn't paying attention. And I see all stages of elder life at the Senior Center and realize I am very much one of the lucky ones because I can still stride forth with vigor, stretch and reach in my yoga classes, and will carry on for as long as possible. What else can I, or anyone, do?

Old age, believe me, is a good and pleasant thing. It is true you are gently shouldered off the stage, but then you are given such a comfortable front stall as spectator. —Confucius

Of course, Confucius died at 73 in 479 BC, but during his life he established a school of moral teachings that continues to this day. You can learn about him on his Wikipedia page here. By the way, I am one of the few people who continues to give money to the people who created Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia that I visit almost every day. If you want to help them out, please consider giving to this important organization. Whatever you do, it would be wonderful if you would find a few causes that you find useful and help with whatever you can afford. I don't give much, but there are a few organizations that I think are worth my time and money. Wikipedia is one of them. That's my pitch for the holiday season, friends. Now back to my regularly scheduled post.

I never know for sure where these posts will go, since I sit down with little to no idea of whether anything will emerge from the depths of my mind, but something always does. I know that my posts are sometimes unfocused (like me) and sometimes spot on (like I sometimes am), but I will continue with this endeavor for as long as I can. One day you will come here and find that I didn't post anything, and you will know that for whatever reason, this activity has come to a close. Everything changes, life moves on, and as Confucius says, we are "gently shouldered off the stage" and inevitably turn over the future to the young ones.

For the moment, all continues as usual. My dear friend John will come for me in his truck and we'll go out for breakfast. My sweet guy will be up by then and start his day, but for now he sleeps quietly next to me. Our adventure together will continue, for now. And this holiday season will become a memory, hopefully a good one for us all. I am feeling better since I sat down to write here, which is why I do it, and hopefully you will find some words of wisdom in here. You can't go wrong with Confucius. 

Until we meet again, dear friends, I wish you all good things, and a very happy holiday season. Be well.

Turbulent times

Holiday trees with white lights

I saw these pretty trees draped with white lights as I rode my bus to the coffee shop last week. I know that now Thanksgiving has occurred, one day I will notice that all the white lights have changed to blue ones. The city does it every year. I much prefer the white lights, but it really doesn't matter; they are all festive and what people want to see. 

Given the wet weather, I thought I might not get to take my usual Saturday hike with my friend Steve, but after we received a full inch of rain on Bellingham Friday night, I went out on Saturday morning pretty sure that we would take a walk around the harbor (which we did) since all the trails would be more than a little soggy. We started out with low dark skies, but no rain. Before we had traveled three miles, however, the rain started. And it rained. It blew the rain sideways at times, and we struggled back to our cars after having gotten really soaked. No matter: I ended up with more than five miles and 13,000 steps, so it was a good morning.

The best part of the weather was that the cold, foggy days that we've endured for the last week are now gone. The temperature is moderate, but the feeling that winter is just around the corner now dominates. And of course, everywhere is decorated with Christmas cheer, and I see plenty of smiles bestowed even by the people I see on the streets.

Yes, even those homeless people whom I see out there trying to stay warm and dry, even they seemed to be in a fairly good mood, when I walked by their encampments yesterday. I suppose they are not as clued in to the suffering and turbulence going on in the rest of the world right now, since they are busy dealing with their own difficult versions. I have a nice warm and safe place to come home to every day, so the weather is not so critical to me. I can get drenched and still come home and change into something dry, making my encounters with bad weather much less of an adventure. Life would be so different if I had to live without a home. 

And with all that is happening in the world today, right now, if I spend too much time contemplating humanity's ills, I get bogged down in it myself, and tend to forget to look up from the news and regain a better perspective. I have long believed that much of our pain and suffering can be mitigated by getting good exercise and practicing yoga. Overnight, the Syrian dictator Assad was toppled and fled to parts unknown. The Middle East is in extreme turmoil. I read the news this morning and reluctantly pulled away to write this post. I did wonder where yoga that is practiced here in the West originated, so I looked it up.

Yoga is a method for restraining the natural turbulence of thoughts, which otherwise impartially prevent all people, of all lands, from glimpsing their true nature of Spirit. Yoga cannot know a barrier of East and West any more than does the healing and equitable light of the sun. —Paramahansa Yogananda

I have practiced some form of yoga for most of my life. When I was a young person in Boulder, I was introduced to several different yoga teachers who held classes and seminars for the public. I well remember one female yogini who filled a classroom with people like me, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor. In those days, I could easily sit in the lotus position, but now I use a meditation bench which allows me to do a version called virasana. The main thing about sitting in meditation is to keep the back straight. 

If you want to know more about yoga, especially hatha yoga, you can find plenty of information about it online. Start with learning about asanas, the body posture used as a basis for most physical and mental exercises.

An āsana (Sanskrit: आसन) is a body posture, originally and still a general term for a sitting meditation pose, and later extended in hatha yoga and modern yoga as exercise, to any type of position, adding reclining, standing, inverted, twisting, and balancing poses. 

Ooops! I got off onto a long sidetrack by reading for too long about it all. Well, I do need to finish this post so I can continue with the rest of my day. Just reading about yoga, even without practicing it, seems to make me feel better about life. And I do spend some time in meditation every morning, meaning I don't want to get too carried away here and forget about all the rest of my morning practice.

It is the beginning of the winter season, in just a few weeks we will have our longest night (in the Northern Hemisphere) and shortest day. Some people get really SAD during this time (that would be Seasonal Affective Disorder) because they miss the sunshine. Since I make a point of getting outdoors almost every day, it doesn't seem to affect me that much. Plus, I love to snuggle down into my comforter and fall into a restorative sleep every night. I feel very blessed not to have much problem falling asleep, but there are times when I wake and cannot get back to sleep right away. I usually practice some breathing exercises to help, and it almost always works. At least, I awake without having been aware of falling asleep.

A Christmas hot chocolate

I found this picture in my catalog of times past, taken two years ago by my friend Melanie. I think we might have been having a bit of alcohol under all that whipped cream, but I can't be sure. I like the festive feeling in the air, and although I no longer use a mask whenever I go out (that's the blue thing under my chin), it could have been taken today. I was a mere youth of 80 at that time, though, and I now officially two years older. How time flies!

Well, my dear friends, that will have to do for this morning's post. I must get up out of bed and start the rest of my day, so that I will be ready when John gets here to take me to breakfast. My dear partner still sleeps next to me, and the day beckons. I do hope that you, dear friends, will have a wonderful week ahead and that we will meet here once again next week. Until then, I wish you all good things.

Birthday again already?

Aldo Leopold bench on Cypress Island

Yes, it's that time again: my birthday, just when I had been getting used to being 81, now I am 82. This lovely picture of an Aldo Leopold bench on Cypress Island was taken exactly one year ago Friday. I learned about Aldo from my virtual friend Connie years ago. She sent me a copy of the book, A Sand County Almanac, written by Leopold, and first published in 1949 by his son. I might just read it again, since I remember how much I enjoyed it but have forgotten why, other than a few vivid scenes that live in my memory through his writing.

During the past winter, I went on several excursions by water taxi to different San Juan islands that are only accessible by boat. I didn't realize it had been a full year until I went back through my pictures, looking for something to head up this post and found this one. Leaves have fallen and the bushes and branches are into their winter mode. And we are there once again, after a year of sprouting, turning into blossoms and fruiting, before again returning to rest for another winter.

At my age, there are few new adventures for me to experience, after a full lifetime of them. Here I am again, looking forward to winter after a beautiful (although wet) fall here in the Pacific Northwest. Every year, however, I realize that I am no longer young, and no longer interested in finding new adventures. I'm resting on my laurels instead. What does that mean exactly?

To “rest on our laurels” means to relax and rely on our past achievements or success as justification for not achieving new things or new success. It comes from the ancient Greek and Roman societies, where high-ranking and high-achieving people were awarded crowns made of laurel leaves to mark their accomplishments.

It seems like an accomplishment for me just to have reached this age, since all but one of my family members never made it this long. Daddy died at 62, Mama at 69, my grandmother to 79, and here I am beginning my eighty-third year of life on this planet. I don't remember many individual birthdays from long ago, other than vague recollections, such as turning 21 and going to a bar for the first time and ordering a drink. Or turning sixteen and getting my driver's license and promptly crunching in the front fender of my dad's car. In later years, my friend Lily has given me some nice gatherings to mark the day, such as this one:

Not hard to tell which one this was

She gave me the balloon afterwards, and I realized how much I didn't want to advertise my new decade, but it was such a nice gesture that I appreciated it anyway. She is a good friend and is currently out of town, so no birthday celebrations for me today. My guy wanted to buy me some fudge bars to celebrate, but my recent blood work has caused me to decide to cut back sweets. My triglycerides are too high and I need to stop eating so many sugary delights. It will be my task to get the numbers lower for my next trip to the doctor. Other than that, everything looks good, which makes me wonder just what awful disease will probably cause my demise.

Maybe it's normal to get to my age and wonder about such things. One thing I know, I will not be getting any surgeries or chemo to extend life into my nineties. Life does not seem quite as exciting when you've lost your sight. Although I still have enough to get by right now, my retina specialist doesn't pull any punches: I'm going to become legally blind in the not-so-distant future. Tomorrow I get my next eye jab, and so far I've still got central vision in my left eye. But as I said, life will become harder when it's gone. For someone who has taken her sight for granted, it will be a real game-changer. But not yet, for now I can see well enough to write here, and to read the news websites and watch episodes of my favorite shows on my laptop. I also realized the other day that I can still see everything, just not all at once. I have two magnifying glasses that are essential for seeing some things, and I have my sweet partner to function as my eyes when I drop something and it seemingly disappears.

I have so much to be grateful for, and I never take for granted the ability I have to get outdoors and enjoy the wonderful walks and hikes that I still take every day. My doctor told me not to stop moving, it's essential for my physical and mental health, and I intend to do that for as long as possible. Tuesday the Happy Wanderers will be heading to British Columbia for a nice six-mile walk along the Fraser River, a walk that is new to me. And yesterday I got in my usual Saturday walk with my friend Steve. We went to Fairhaven along the South Bay trail and watched flocks of Canada geese, both in the water and on the boulevard. We saw lots of people whose dogs had taken their owners for a walk, and plenty of happy smiles on faces everywhere. 

Today John will pick me up and take me to our regular place for breakfast, and I'll do my puzzles and watch a bit of TV, and start my Advent calendar, which was sent to me by a friend. Advent starts today, and this calendar gives me some presents to "open" each day until Christmas. To sum everything up in a few words, "life is good." I feel very blessed to start my eighty-third year with you, my dear virtual family, and my very own special partner, who sleeps next to me as I write this.

I sincerely hope that the coming month of December, which has the longest night and shortest day (in the Northern Hemisphere, that is), and where somewhere there are carolers going from house to house, snow is falling in other places, and the gentle quiet season settles around us. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.