I stepped from Plank to Plank
A slow and cautious way
The Stars about my Head I felt
About my feet the Sea.

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch -
This gave me that precarious Gait
Some call Experience.

Emily Dickinson, c. 1864

Sunday, February 2, 2025

Searching for serenity

Foggy winter day

I feel incredibly lucky to live here, where scenes like this are close by, and places that aren't filled with urban clutter are easy to find. Yesterday I didn't hike with my friend Steve, as he had other plans, and by the time I finished my coffee and scone at the coffee shop, I decided just to take the bus back home and skip the walk. It's never the same when I'm by myself, anyway.

Tomorrow it will be a week since my last eye jab. It was different, for a few reasons, from previous ones. First, this one cost me more money, what with my new insurance coverage, and I also asked for an anxiety pill prior to getting the shot, and I was given a tiny little blue number (Xanax, I think). I took it when they dilated my eyes, and within a few minutes I was feeling a little loopy, unsteady on my feet, but I was glad for it. When I received the shot from the doctor, he said he would try to make sure I didn't have so many floaters this time. Well, I don't know what he did differently, but it hurt like hell and didn't stop hurting for the rest of the day. It felt like the numbing stuff just didn't work, but I don't know for sure, because he was right, I didn't have all those floaters this time, but... I told my sister about it and she said she would have chosen the floaters instead of the pain. But me, knowing that the "swarm of insects" effect of the floaters can be a sign of a detached retina, I'll take the pain. But maybe I don't have to choose. We'll see in two months when I get my next shot.

The doctor also compared the images from the current moment with the ones he took last May when I started this treatment and told me that I have lost some vision, but who knows how much I would have lost without the shots? It took days this time for my eyes to stop being blurry and I was afraid that was where my eyesight currently is, but eventually I got back to being able to read without so much difficulty. I know where I am headed, but I'm in no hurry to get there. I have now ordered two different magnifying glasses that I use for reading fine print, or sometimes for reading much of anything. They help.

I guess it's true that I feel better, but I am really getting tired of this being the most imminent focus of my life these days. If I could somehow just be grateful for what I still have, I would be feeling much more like myself. I am not accustomed to being so uninspired, lacking much desire for pretty much anything. And the weather is not helping! We had a short respite from the cold, but now it's back, and bringing its friend SNOW along with it. By the middle of next week, we will be in the deep freeze once again, with nighttime temperatures well below freezing (-8°C). I know it's winter, but I had forgotten how difficult it is to stay comfortable in the cold and wind unless you're exercising vigorously. Everybody remembers winter's wrath once you get that blast of piercing cold in your face.

I can say all that, since I'm warm and toasty right now, feet in socks and slippers, fingers typing away, brain in action and probably burning some calories right there, but I sure am not looking forward to leaving the comfort of home. John and I said we would reassess whether to head out for breakfast, depending on how much snow fell last night. Peering out the window, I don't see any, but we are expected to have 3 to 5 inches fall here during the day.

Riding the bus home a couple of days ago, a young girl (maybe five or six) was sitting in the back talking to herself and singing songs. I heard her prattle about "once upon a time" and "happily ever after" among the stories she was inventing. It reminded me of those days when I would read fairy tales and think about favorite characters, like Cinderella, living "happily ever after." I had forgotten that phrase, which means very little once you grow up and understand that it rarely happens like that. But when I was a kid, I believed that we could live a life filled with joy and love and happiness, without any downsides. When you become an adult, you lay those fantasies aside and deal with day-to-day issues, looking for solutions to them and hoping for some resolution. I think this is why so many of us look to a higher power for comfort as we make our bumpy way through life. It's never "happily ever after" and I don't think I'd even like a fairy tale life. It's navigating the peaks and valleys of life that gives it flavor and meaning.

And I have to say how much different it is to share this life with another person, someone who is going through his own difficulties, but someone who looks out for me, keeps me going when things gets rough. We have now been together for more than three decades, starting when we were both youngsters of fifty. It seems almost impossible to imagine that so much water has flown under the bridge since we met. And I hope we will continue to support each other in the future. I don't see why not, but when I consider that we are both in our eighties, nothing is certain. Time marches on. Having a friend to hold one's hand is really all we can hope for. 

You might notice that I am avoiding any conversation around the news. It's been unremittingly bad and depressing lately. Two awful plane crashes, which I couldn't avoid hearing about, and the world in turmoil. It takes a lot of willpower for me to stop watching the news, but I get plenty of it from my laptop. There is much in my life to concentrate on that is positive, so I'll continue to do that. One good solution to bad news is countering it with smiles and positivity, even when the smiles look more like grimaces. No, that's a smile on my face! And everywhere I go there are nice people who are just doing the best they can, and every thank you and gesture of appreciation makes a difference, a good difference.

It's also Groundhog Day! That means we are halfway from the first day of winter to the first day of spring. Every day after today will bring more light in the sky (unless you live in Australia, that is), and that means flowers and budding leaves will soon grace the landscape. That's something wonderful to look forward to. Dear friends, I hope that you will find a way to spread some joy and happiness around yourselves this week, and I will do the same. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.


Sunday, January 26, 2025

Clear and cold, still

Lake Padden

One of my favorite spots in all of Bellingham is here, at Lake Padden. I've visited this spot dozens of times over the years, and it often looks and feels very different than this. Right now, during this cold snap, we don't have even a wisp of cloud in the sky, and it's been like that for many days now. I took this picture last year, on a clear and cold January day, much like today, but with a few clouds for interest.

Thanks to today's technology, I am receiving those dreaded eye jabs every other month, but it's possible that they are doing what they are supposed to do, slowing down the progression of my AMD (age-related macular degeneration). You might be getting tired of hearing about it, I know I sure am, but it's on my mind today because tomorrow I get another one. After the last one, I endured many days of floaters that were so bad that I felt like I was caught in a swarm of angry insects. I could only make it better by shutting my left eye and looking out at the world with my right eye. The problem did get better as time went on, but now that I am back to a semblance of normalcy, I am not looking forward at all to it happening again. One possible side effect of the shots is retinal detachment, which would be very concerning. The only sign that you might be having it is a sudden increase in floaters. If I do have it, the only treatment is laser surgery. Whee! Fun times, eh?

But I don't want to stop the shots, since they are the only way to keep my central vision from going away sooner than it otherwise would. I cannot read any longer with the right eye, since the central vision is gone, although the peripheral vision is still good. When it's gone from the left eye, it will be time to stop and just deal with what I've got left. I will no longer be able to write these posts, or read the ones I follow. There are some workarounds, but they require me to prevail upon my husband to help me improve what I can create by editing it, and that means the time frame for getting them done will have to be modified.

Nothing ever stays the same, and we deal with what we're dealt, right? I recently learned that Georgia O'Keeffe, the famous painter of gorgeous flowers, mainly, developed the condition long before she died. Here's how she coped:
By 1972, O'Keeffe had lost much of her eyesight due to macular degeneration, leaving her with only peripheral vision. She stopped oil painting without assistance in 1972. In 1973, O'Keeffe hired John Bruce "Juan" Hamilton as a live-in assistant and then a caretaker. Hamilton was a potter. Hamilton taught O'Keeffe to work with clay, encouraged her to resume painting despite her deteriorating eyesight, and helped her write her autobiography. He worked for her for 13 years. The artist's autobiography, Georgia O'Keeffe, published in 1976 by Viking Press, featured Summer Days (1936) on the cover. It became a bestseller. During the 1970s, she made a series of works in watercolor. She continued working in pencil and charcoal until 1984 (Wikipedia).

That means she painted as long as she could and then made other arrangements. But I am not talented like her and have no idea what I will do when I can no longer read and write. I'm so glad to learn that she continued to work for thirteen years after she had lost her central vision. The world is better off for her efforts. She lived to be 98 and died in 1986, so she was able to continue painting for many years, with assistance.

I am fairly used to the limited vision I have now, but I know it will continue to deteriorate. I have no interest in living a long life as a blind person. Of course, in the eyes of some people, I have already been blessed with a long life, but Georgia lived sixteen years longer than I have been alive, with the same limited vision. However, I seem to be in good health, and nothing seems to be of imminent concern, but then again you never know when you get old. Sometimes I wonder what it will be that takes me over to the "other side" because you know that eventually we all die. Some people linger in pain and discomfort, and others  die suddenly without a lot of fanfare. I think I would prefer the second option, but then again, do we get to choose?

I overslept this morning and will not be able to make a well-crafted and considered post, since I'm short of time. And it's colder this morning that it has been all week, with frost and very frigid weather outside. It's nice and warm inside, but I will be getting up soon and going to breakfast for John. My morning routine doesn't get shortchanged, either, as I still will find time for my exercises and meditation. I will enjoy the day and the week ahead, no matter what the news brings. In some ways, I have already grown accustomed to the news being bad, just like I have grown accustomed to limited vision. You gotta take what you get and find joy and peace in it, right? I will not be fully blind, and I will not be overwhelmed with it all. Instead, I will look for the silver linings that inevitably come, like this wonderful sunset picture.

Bellingham Bay, with Lummi Island in the center

The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision. —Helen Keller

I do hope that you find the silver linings in your own life, and that you will find some reasons to smile and laugh, because there is always something that lifts my spirits and make me happy to be alive today. Please forgive my somewhat truncated post. I will do better next week, if I can. My virtual family is as important to me as my "skin" family. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things, dear friends. Be well.

 

Sunday, January 19, 2025

Learning new things

Generic high school kids in choir

Many years ago, at one of my junior or high schools, I joined the choir. (This picture is snagged off Facebook of kids singing, and it reminded me of my time in the choir.) I wish I still had enough memory left to know when and where I did this, but I don't. But in one of the mysteries of memory, I learned some songs there that have never left my memory banks. And curiously, several of the songs I learned are still able to accessed. One of them was based on the sonnet written by Emma Lazarus and placed on the Statue of Liberty when it was being constructed.

So of course I went looking online for more information about the song. Not all of it was set to music and taught to the choir, but what I did learn was returning to my memories night after night. That meant I needed to find out more about it, huh?

First I went to Wikipedia and found that Emma Lazarus wrote the lyrics, which were inscribed on the monument.
She is remembered for writing the sonnet "The New Colossus," which was inspired by the Statue of Liberty, in 1883. Its lines appear inscribed on a bronze plaque, installed in 1903, on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty.Wikipedia

Although Emma only lived to be 38, she accomplished a great deal during her lifetime (which is available on the Wikipedia link above).  I was amazed, and a little unsettled, to learn how much she managed to accomplish in her short life.  I also learned a great deal about Lady Liberty while doing this research. 

Front view

What a different world it was back when the statue was erected and first celebrated in 1886. The world population was barely 1.2 million, while today we have more than 8 billion people on the planet, and more being born as I write this. The US population was only a little more than 50 million, while today we have more than 330 million Americans. So you can see that the world was not the same one that Emma wrote that sonnet for. We are a nation of immigrants, and people came here from all over the world for a long time, wanting and welcomed.

But today immigrants are discouraged from coming into the US, and the poem that Emma wrote and still appears on the statue, is no longer relevant. The world population has increased exponentially, and we are running out of resources and room to house and feed such populations. When I was born in California in 1942, the US only had 134 million people; now it has more than 330 million. That's a huge change, and I can certainly relate to how it has affected our lives, simply thinking back about the world half a century ago. When I learned those songs in school, I never thought about how much the world might change within my own lifetime.

Back in early days with Mama

Of course, now I do think about it. All those years of living and being alive have evolved me from this cheeky little toddler to the elderly white-haired old lady that looks back at me from the mirror. Well, sort of: my loss of vision means that I don't actually see all the wrinkles and whatnot that might make me feel sad. Instead, I see well enough to actually like the person who stares back at me. There are advantages to having low vision. Not many, but they are there. Here is Emma's sonnet:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

And with that ending, I'll finish up my post and get ready for the rest of my day ahead. It's sunny and very cold outside, but John will pick me up and we'll go out to breakfast together, enjoying the company and the food. Until we meet again, dear friends, I truly hope the universe will bring you all good things. Be well. 

Sunday, January 12, 2025

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.

Sunday, January 5, 2025

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.

Sunday, December 29, 2024

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.


Sunday, December 22, 2024

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.