Fall is upon us

Steve in front of mums, eating a jalapeño bagel

Yesterday, I went on my usual Saturday walk with my friend Steve. While at the most distant spot on our walk, we stopped at the Haggen Grocery Store so I could use the bathroom and he could buy himself a tasty bagel. He likes spicy stuff and when I asked for a bite, he gave me one with some jalapeño on it, and it immediately cleared up my nose, like magic.

We walked just over six miles, and I began to feel myself tire around the five-mile mark, so instead of extending the walk, we headed back to the starting point. I have not yet recovered fully from the effects of covid, even though I had a booster just a week before getting sick. It took me a few days to get over it and feel better, but I didn't test negative for a day or two after that. My dear partner is still sick, having gotten it from me, and since he is immune compromised, he's still coughing but gradually, slowly, recovering. I feel a tiny bit guilty for having given it to him and then bounded back so quickly. However, my continued tiredness and low energy is expected, I guess. I am grateful to be in such good health that I can fight off the illness with little after-effects. Just the lack of boundless energy, but it's a little better every day.

On Monday, I will receive another eye jab, and I am not ashamed to say that I am NOT looking forward to it, but the fact that this treatment exists at all, and that I can get it mostly paid for by my Medicare Advantage Plan is a benefit that I hope will help me keep more of my sight from deteriorating. It's only expected to slow the progression of the geographic atrophy, not stop it completely. But the fact that I can still to this day sit here with my laptop and see to type is worth whatever I must endure. Every day when I wake, I am unsure whether I will be able to see well enough to write a post. One day, I will find that the central vision is gone from my left eye and although I will be able to make some adjustments to help me get something on this post, it won't be easy. Sometimes I cover up my left eye and see whether I could continue to write. The answer is complicated: yes, I could use the audio feature to write something here, but I couldn't go back and read it, rewrite parts of it (as I always do). I'll come to that one of these days, but for now I'm still functional with my good eye.

We all know that everything in life is temporary anyhow, right? I've been blessed with good health and work-arounds for many aspects of aging, especially if I am willing to take "good enough" and not pine for the days when I didn't even have to think of these shortcomings.

Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant, as the years multiply. —Zane Grey

 The fact that I have outlived both of my parents and most of my immediate family makes me feel quite accomplished in some ways. I am the oldest of six siblings, and my dear sister PJ died more than a decade ago. We all have been taking statins for many decades to combat the hyperlipidemia that we inherited. I will be signing up for my annual wellness visit within the next few weeks and will see how my blood work lines up with past years. But before that happens, I need to get through the eye jab and the dentist. Sigh. As I sit  here in the dark, I realize how fortunate I am to have these options open to me, but it doesn't mean I enjoy them.

That said, I realize how lucky I am to live in the Pacific Northwest, with its moderate climate, and to have a warm rented home to live in within my means. There are so many people in the world who would see my life as incredibly fortunate. So I do my best to help others and give as much as I afford to charitable organizations. Right now most of my disposable income is going to political campaigns, but that will end soon and I can go back to Doctors Without Borders and St Jude Children's Hospital. 

I am reminded that I have a choice every day, when I begin my week, looking at my circumstances and realizing how much better my life is than so many others. At the coffee shop, I see homeless people everywhere, those who carry their few precious belongings around behind them in a cart. I see them on the bus, on street corners, and gathered together sometimes to create a makeshift community. They will struggle to stay warm during the upcoming cold weather. I wonder if they look at me, many decades older, and feel compassion for me, as I do for them.

This morning I am hopeful that my dear partner will be a bit closer to being healthy. He's been coughing so much I worry about him, but his body aches and tiredness are beginning to moderate. When I think back to the days of the pandemic, I never imagined that we would still be getting the virus and being vaccinated against it, these many years later.

I feel so much gratitude for the life I have been given, and I am happy to share the small little corner of my world with my life partner, as well as with all my virtual family that comes to visit me every day. I am also feeling blessed to have such wonderful activities available to me, such as the Senior Center and the hiking friends I have known all these years. And I can still walk on most of them, feeling just a little twinge that the hard hikes are no longer within my reach. There are plenty of other walks and hikes to enjoy, so I will.

My friend John will be by to take me to breakfast, our usual Sunday morning activity, and I will then come home to do some mundane tasks (like laundry) and go out into the sun and clouds as I walk my usual three miles, taking in the changing leaves and feeling the fallen ones swishing under my feet. And I also hope that you, my dear virtual friend, will have a wonderful and satisfying week ahead. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

So pretty!

Made it through covid

Late summer rose in Cornwall Park

 Yesterday morning, for the first time in a week, I tested negative for covid. I was surprised at how sick I got, considering that I have never missed a covid vaccination or booster. I had received my last one exactly a week before I came down with it. However, the fact that even though it is only a week later and I'm done with it, I sure was sick. When I think back in my memory, four or five days ago I was so sick that I was unable to walk more than a few steps without becoming exhausted. And you know how much I have prided myself on not getting sick.

One of the worst parts, though, is that I got my dear partner sick with it. He first got covid four years ago, just after it emerged in early 2020, and he well remembers the painful sinuses and distressing cough. He's got both again, and he's as weak as a kitten, just the way I felt a week ago. When I woke this morning after a really good night's sleep, it was hard to remember that I could have been so sick. Now am so much better. Not all the way better, but enough to appreciate feeling good.

Nothing, however, focuses the mind better than being sick enough to think ahead to what the future most definitely holds: more illness, more downtimes, and less energy to carry me through my days. By the time my eighty-third birthday slips into my back pocket, I hope to be back to whatever fitness level I am able to attain at this period of time in my long life. And to be grateful for every single moment.

This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness. —Dalai Lama

 I just want to spend these final years enjoying the life the two of us have created here in the Pacific Northwest. My days of hard hikes in the mountains are over, but there are still so many places to walk around in and enjoy. There are still so many wonderful people working at the Senior Center, now the center of my activities. Of course the hikes I've enjoyed over the past decade and a half originated from there, but now I am exploring the rest of the many offerings they have. I am very blessed to have such a fine center available to me. If you're interested in what is offered, you can check out the monthly newsletter.

October starts on Tuesday, and it is now only a month away from Election Day. We here in Washington State vote entirely by mail, and we have about three weeks from when we receive our ballots until November 5, when they must be either mailed back or placed into drop boxes. When we lived in Colorado, we always voted at our local precinct, and we were some of the first people in line, up in the early hours before the sun came up. In all the years we lived there (over thirty), we never missed a chance to vote. At first, when we moved here, I missed that, but these days we spend quite a bit of time perusing the ballot and making our choices on the referenda and learning about our local politicians' different stances on the issues. It's so wonderful to be able to be part of it all, especially when I see what is happening in other parts of the world, where the citizens must obey whatever laws are passed without their input.

Our country may not be perfect, no place is, but it's one of the better places to have been born and lived our lives. Now that we are into our final years, I can think of no place on the planet that I would rather be. Well, except for Canada, and places within their provinces that seem to be well managed. I follow a dear friend from Prince Edward Island, and I so enjoy seeing their environment and sometimes wish I could live there. But I am really perfectly happy living here in Bellingham, Washington, with its wonderful activities for seniors, which I have become, while nobody was looking. I see other seniors around, but also young people and families that are just beginning to form. I sit on the bus sometimes with crowds of students on their way to classes, and they seem to be from another planet, from another time and place at least, from my own student days. 

John called me yesterday to see whether I would be up for breakfast this morning, and I said yes, I am now testing negative for covid, and I am also feeling good for the first time in a week. I guess that is one side effect of having received all those covid boosters, I wasn't sick for too long, and now, a mere week later, I feel pretty darn good. I am grateful for small favors, like being able to walk in the sunshine and enjoy the company of my good friends. Yesterday Steve met me at the coffee shop, and he was very solicitous and wanted to make sure I didn't try to do too much. We walked for just under three miles, slowly and deliberately, and then I drove home, after a quick stop at the grocery store for some supplies. I am grateful that I can still see well enough to drive, but I also am aware that it won't be for that much longer.

 Since I started receiving those eye jabs, my eyesight has not deteriorated any further, but I do know it's only temporary. I am grateful every morning I can see well enough to read and write here, and I suppose it's possible that my central vision on my left eye might continue, but I am not expecting it to. I now must use that little light on my phone to see many things that were once quite visible. My next eye jab is October 7th.

Don't think I am complaining, because I continue to be very grateful for everything I have. It's normal to lose ability as we age, and I am content to enjoy what I still can. And for now, life is continuing to be something to look forward to in every single day. I can still walk with a spring in my step, I can still look forward to my yoga classes, and I can also look forward to the volunteer activities at the Senior Center. And I have friends who love me, and whom I love also. What's keeping me from being happy? Nothing! I am feeling on top of the world right now, and I am also looking forward to seeing my friend John who will take me to another Sunday breakfast.

So, with that, my dear virtual family, I will wrap up this post and get on with the rest of my day. Until we meet again here, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.

A wrench in my routine

Last Sunday's surprise

Well, now I can say that I have joined the huge number of people in the US who have had a doozy of a virus hit, and I am now in the process of getting over it. So that is the only thing on my mind today, Tuesday, and the reason I haven't joined the Happy Wanderers in their trip to Goose Rock. My adventure began on Saturday, when I woke feeling moderately good, but with a little bit of soreness as if I had worked out a bit too much. A scratchy throat wasn't much to worry about. Little did I know what was to come.

By the end of the day, I was barely able to stay awake until my usual early bedtime, so I went toddling off to bed. I didn't sleep well, and when I woke in the morning, I felt truly sick and figured I had picked up some sort of virus, not thinking about covid, since I had gotten my covid booster a week before. I think I probably got infected on Thursday when performing my volunteer duties during the lunch hour at the Senior Center. I was not wearing a mask, and I was exposed to numerous people over the course of three hours, as I went about helping to set up the tables, finding places for people to sit, and then getting them coffee or tea as they enjoyed their wonderful chicken pot pie lunch.

The timing of it all seemed to make Thursday the D-day for infection, but who knows for sure? On Saturday I went for a walk with my friend Steve, and felt only a little "under the weather." By Sunday morning, I called my friend John to cancel our breakfast plans, and I went back to bed. The main difficult symptoms was my sinuses, which felt like they were on fire. I had zero appetite, and the muscle aches by this time were coming on strong. As I lay in bed, I felt worse and worse as they day went on. I took my temperature and found it to be 100.7. (It eventually reached 101.) I also realized that I could barely hold myself upright and returned to my bed, not leaving it for the rest of the day and night, except to get up once to pee. I felt a little like I had been hit by a truck, as much as I hurt all over. I couldn't function at all, and the amazing thing was that I had zero appetite and could barely make myself drink, but I knew I had to. I had developed the covid cough, too.

I was so happy to have a sweet partner to take care of me, as much as he could anyway. I was really sick, not having experienced such misery since my last bout with the flu back in Colorado, years ago. He helped me take a covid test, with the result you can see above. The "test" line is really dark! After all the tests I have given myself before, now I know what a positive test result actually looks like. There was no doubt. I also ordered some more covid tests from Amazon.

Yesterday morning, Monday, I felt a little better after a night's unrestful sleep. I called the Senior Center to cancel my yoga class and let them know I have covid, so they can pass it along to the volunteer coordinator. And now, just a few days after the onset that was so painful, I am now well on the road to recovery. My temperature is down to normal, body aches almost gone, sinus still not quite right but much better. The weakness is not completely passed, but I can now make it to the bathroom without worrying if I might need help to get there. My appetite has returned, and I enjoyed a wonderful lunch that made me feel almost human again.

I still have a runny nose and bouts of sneezing, but that is all quite doable, and I would bet that by this tomorrow, I might feel like myself. I did get up today and did my Tibetan exercises (two days lost) and put on some actual clothes, not just my jammies. I've watched some TV and downloaded The Daily Show and The Colbert Report for some laughs. 

And now I can appreciate that an elderly old lady can actually recover fairly easily from covid, but I am convinced that all the shots and boosters I have received have helped to make this less severe. I have also developed a true compassion for all those people who did not make it through this awful disease, and I am truly grateful for all my friends and family who care what happens to me. I'm thinking that I will test myself again tomorrow to see what the results might be. It will be five days since the onset of symptoms, so maybe it won't be too long before I can venture out in the world again.

:-)

September songs

Taken by Rita Eberle-Wessner

Looking for just the right picture to start off my post, I checked out a favorite Flickr artist, Rita Eberle-Wessner. She took this one earlier this month, and I was simply mesmerized by its loveliness and downloaded it onto my Mac and then made it my display picture. It brings me peace just to look at it. I hope it does the same for you.

September has long been a hard month for me. My son Stephen died on September 17th, sixty years ago now. I am sometimes amazed that I am still here, still kicking up my heels at my advanced age, while so many I know and loved have been gone for what seems like forever.

I don't have any memories of my sweet baby any longer. I read somewhere that every time you access a memory, it changes, and after awhile it bears little resemblance to the original moment. I can believe that, but just picking up an infant and holding him for a minute seems to bring back some ancient recollections from my distant past. I know that my sister Norma Jean and I both experienced much of the same memories from our childhood, but now they have diverged so much that they feel like different events. I think I'll just let my memories rest and gather starlight.

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. —Rabindranath Tagore

'f'I woke this morning feeling "under the weather," as it refers to feeling sick. I have a little temperature (99°F) and my sinuses are burning, my energy is nonexistent, but I am not sneezing like I have a cold. I did get my new covid booster a week ago, felt pretty good until I went to bed last night. I think I'll stay home this morning instead of going out to breakfast with John. No need to expose anybody else to whatever I've come down with. I hope it's not the flu, since I haven't yet gotten my annual vaccination. Who knows? I guess I'll know soon enough. 

This morning I intended to recall some old memories of having been a mother, moments that still live in my heart. When I gave birth to my son Chris, I was barely nineteen and his father was twenty. We were such innocents! Chris is now gone, having died at forty of heart disease, and his brother Stephen was felled by spinal meningitis at the age of thirteen months. Chris was happily married, and his widow still texts me now and then. I don't usually respond, since it's still painful to recall those awful days. Grief never really completely leaves people; it just morphs into something less hurtful after many years have passed. Almost everybody my age has lost parents and sometimes other family members as well, but that is just what being mortal is all about. We will all one day lie down in our beds and will not get up again. Do you believe in the afterlife? I think I do, but I'm not completely sure it makes any sense. Probably it's nothing like we imagine, but I do believe that something of who we are continues. I know that there are nights when my loved ones visit me in my dreams, and they are as real to me as they ever were. Memory is a curious thing, all right. I think I'll just do as Tagore suggests, and dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.

Interestingly, as I sit here pondering my post, I'm beginning to feel a little better. Nothing quite normal, but I do think that maybe I'll be able to start my day with my Tibetan exercises and sit in meditation, which are both constant companions when I arise out of bed, every morning for decades now. I'm such a creature of habit, but I don't know if it's such a good idea when feeling so under the weather. That usually means I am feeling a bit ill, unwell, poorly, or sick. My throat is slightly sore, nothing too bad, but I suspect that when I try to speak this morning, it will be with a croaky voice.

But into every life some rain must fall, and getting a littile sick is nothing too terrible, but it makes it hard to write about anything else, It's what my life is right now, although I have a sunny day ahead of me. Should I get out of bed and join the living? It's not easy to think of much else, so I think perhaps I'll stop here and spend some time gazing at that photo. Sorry I'm not my usual self today, but I can't pretend to be feeling perky. Nope. I'll be back next week, hopefully with  a smile and a better attitude.

(P.S. It's Covid all right.)

Our Senior Center activities

Me with two other volunteers

Last year, I decided to help at the Senior Center and along with many others, we created an assembly line to pack 1,200 lunches to be distributed the next day, at the Senior Day in the Park annual event. I actually had a really good time, and this week I have decided to join the volunteers at the Senior Center who help serve lunch to dozens of senior citizens who receive a good meal for a donation (or not) every weekday. I will try to schedule a couple of days every week.

Friday was my first day to see if I am interested in doing this on a regular basis. It was different from being on an assembly line, like the one pictured above, but I found out how the process is managed. I felt a little bit like a fish out of water, not knowing where or what to do exactly, but I was mentored by Tom, a fellow volunteer and after a taxing three-hour initiation, I decided that this is going to be my next task: learn how to become part of this team of volunteers and do a really good job. I was on my feet the whole time and working hard, my favorite way to get exercise.

I was really impressed with the coordination and dedication of the volunteers. I learned where everything is stored, and how to help set up the eleven round tables that occupy the lunchroom, and how to keep my hands sanitary (with gloves) and how to make sure that I am not touching any part of the setup that comes into contact with the clientele's hands or mouth. I had to change gloves three times, but I eventually learned the ropes. The seniors come in several times a week, I suspect, for a good meal.

The lunch hour begins at 11:30 and runs until 12:30. The volunteers arrive at 10:45 to get everything set up and ready for the onslaught. Only people who have gone through suitable training handle the food itself, but the rest of us were busy getting everything ready. The large room was transformed from a place for exercise classes to a very well-thought-out place for a lovely lunch. I wish I had taken pictures of the transformation, but I was, well, busy. I helped to bus the tables when one person was finished, so that another patron could sit down and enjoy a spotlessly clean space and nutritious meal.

I was also taught how to help those who need assistance in getting their tray and finding a place to sit. Then I would ask if they wanted coffee or tea (glasses and pitchers of water were already on the tables) and bring that to them. This was the only place where I noticed my eyesight was a hindrance: unless I have full light, I cannot see well enough to pour liquid into cups. I found some places where there was more light, but I still think I'll have to find someone to help me. Otherwise, my vision was quite sufficient for the tasks.

During the lunch hour, I walked between the tables looking for anyone who needed anything, and cleaning up after people were finished. Since these are seniors, there was plenty of variation in ability throughout the room. I feel very happy that I am in good enough shape to assist others, and I found myself feeling very good about the whole day.

People are allowed to stay and visit with others until 1:00pm, but as the time passed, more and more people left and we were able to clean the tables and utensils (like salt and pepper shakers) until everyone was gone and it was time to put everything back. Nothing was left undone, and I have to say it works like a well-oiled machine after years of perfecting the lunch hour routine. One lovely lady (who is perhaps my age, but who knows for sure?) thanked me profusely for my assistance and after everything was wrapping up, she pushed her walker towards me and again thanked me for doing this task. It was the first time I could see what a difference it makes to acknowledge people for their assistance. I still can see her face in my mind's eye, and it makes me smile with happiness to think of her.

In the woods

It is a pretty big change from my usual activities, such as the one in the picture above. It's time for a change of scenery, I guess, but the woods will always be there for me to enjoy for as long as I can continue to hike and walk. It's awfully nice to think of what I have in store for the future, which will entail indoor activities more often, but I will continue to be surrounded by wonderful seniors who inspire and inform. As the days continue to shorten and we move into the fall season, I will be stepping lively in the hallways indoors and the byways of the outdoors, all in the company of my fellow seniors. Life is good!

Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little. —Edmund Burke

And this morning I am sitting here in the dark, once again, noting that the sun won't rise for another hour or two. My sweet partner sleeps quietly next to me, and I am careful not to wake him as I tap away at the keys, grateful that I can still see well enough to write a post. Grateful for my many blessings, which also include you, my dear virtual family members. My cup runneth over. 

Until we meet again next week, I wish you health and happiness, and a fervent wish that all good things will come your way. Be well.

Puzzles and lazy days

Sky, harbor, and boats

I think this is one of the prettiest sky pictures I've ever taken. It's one of those sky situations that comes just before a weather change. We are just finishing up a short-lived heat wave, not terrible like some parts of the country (and world) have just endured. But it only has to get into the low eighties (28°C) for me to be feeling like wilted lettuce left out in the sun. This may be partly due to my age, since the past five years or so have seen a definite diminution in my ability to function in the heat. It might be also partly due to having become a Pacific Northwest denizen, too, since we don't usually get much toastier than that, even during the hottest days of summer. We never reached 90°F this year, thank heavens.

It astounds me that it has already been a week since I last wrote in here. How is it possible that time has accelerated so much that I barely feel recovered from one week before the next one is at hand?

How did it get so late so soon? It's night before it's afternoon. December is here before it's June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?—Dr. Seuss

 I know this happens to many of us as we age: what used to seem like a long time, such as a week or a month, now seems to pass in the blink of an eye. Already I am seeing the signs of fall, leaves beginning to turn and fall from the trees, with winter not far behind. Didn't summer just begin? Or, alternatively, in the Southern Hemisphere, winter? One of my blogging friends who lives in Australia has been showing the spring flowers emerging, with their tulip festival coming up soon. It heartens me to realize that seasons are not constant on our gorgeous planet, but vary depending on which side of the equator you are living on. What a beautiful world!

This is one of those mornings when I have little to no idea what I'm going to write about. I'm happy that I can still see well enough to get up, make a cup of tea, and come back to my comfy bed, prop myself up with pillows and open my trusty laptop and see what comes out. I will continue to do this for as long as I can.

I will have my fourth eye jab on October 7, and already I look forward to that date, and experience, not only with dread, but also with hopefulness that these treatments are slowing down the progression of my geographic atrophy. Nobody is making me take them, but I wouldn't miss them on purpose, no matter how much I don't want the treatment. Anything that will keep the central vision on my remaining eye from going away sooner is worth it. When it is gone, I will no longer be able to do this, because I will not be able to see anything but a blur instead of seeing the words on the page. You can get used to pretty much anything, but losing one's ability to see takes some special determination to deal with. But I am not the first to go through this, and I will always retain my peripheral vision. I'll not be dealing with total darkness.

Another activity that I will probably have to give up is doing the NYT puzzles that have become part of my daily routine. It all started with Wordle, the five-letter puzzle that gives you six tries to figure out. I am currently on a streak of around 150 days without a miss, although I did cheat once or twice by looking up the answer online when I got stuck. Then I started doing Connections, a word game that gives you sixteen disparate words, and you can make up to four mistakes before the game is over, trying to figure out the connections between the words. I enjoy that game the most when I'm playing it with someone else, usually a coffee shop companion. My friend Steve wakes up in the middle of the night and solves both Wordle and Connections before arriving, so he will sometimes give me hints. Sometimes the game seems very easy, but usually I am not successful at getting all of the categories.

More recently, I've started playing Strands. The game begins once you start finding words in a 6x8 grid, going up, down, forwards and backwards. The goal is to find words that fit into that day's designated theme, but puzzlers only have a hint to that theme. The trick is, the theme is itself one of the words hidden in the grid. I find it very satisfying to play this game and don't usually miss a day.

And lastly, I play the NYT Mini Crossword Puzzle. It's a short one, taking usually under ten minutes for me to figure out the words, although the biggest, larger crossword puzzles usually don't keep my interest long enough to finish them. I put them in the same category in my mind as jigsaw puzzles, which some people love but I find boring.

Working these four puzzles every day gives me a great sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and I'll miss it when I can't do them any more. For now, I am enjoying each day. I learned online that playing these games increases dopamine, a neurotransmitter that makes one feel good and helps with focus and the ability to pay attention. Makes sense to me. In any event, I don't usually work any of them until I am at the coffee shop with my iPad.

And I think it's probably a good thing for me to start doing some volunteer work. I've done a little at the Senior Center lately and think maybe that would be a good place to start doing more, or perhaps the Assistance League, where my friend Steve volunteers. For five years I volunteered to help people write their End-of-Life directives, but the program was curtailed; it's only recently that I've begun to miss volunteer work, and I can certainly do plenty even with my low vision. Just thinking about it gives me a little frisson of energy, so that will be my next project. 

I do enjoy just small little activities, always trying to get my daily steps in, deciding what to eat for the day, and hanging out with my guy. My life is pretty full, and even though I can see how it has been changing lately, I can still feel great pleasure and satisfaction in every day. Today will begin, after I get up that is, with doing my daily exercises and a meditation session, then heading off to breakfast with my friend John. I have much to be thankful for, and once again I am reminded of my virtual family, that means you, and how much joy you give me every single day. I'll read the posts that appear in my news feed and comment on them, happy to learn how you are doing in your own little corner of the universe.

My tea is gone, SG still sleeps quietly next to me, and it's getting to be time to wrap up today's effort at a post. I do hope you will have a great day and week ahead, and that we will meet here once again next week. Until then, I wish you all good things.

Decades of skydiving memories

Me in front, SG behind at Skydive Snohomish

September is a memorable month for the two of us, because we both started skydiving in early September, albeit a few decades apart. He made his first jump on September 1, 1962, and I made mine on September 3, 1990. I have written about some of our adventures in many earlier posts, but today I want to return to the incredible story of us together in the 1990s, never considering that we would end up getting married and, even more incredibly, find ourselves happily together more than three decades later. I will be lifting some earlier writing because I feel some of it doesn't need to be improved upon. Two years ago, I wrote this excerpt about what he remembers, all these years later:

There I was, scared shitless! Jack, the pilot of his Piper Cub, had me sitting in the back seat, and he said, "okay, climb out!" It was a very tight fit, so I scraped the back of my container across the back of the door, and then there I was on the strut, and my parachute was falling out, so Jack pushed me off the airplane. I don't remember much after that. But what I do remember is that when I was about to land, I was steering and it was looking okay, but suddenly I realized how fast I was coming down. The ground jumped up and hit me! I was twenty years old. I could hardly wait to do it again!

There wasn't even a Drop Zone for him to find to land at, but he managed to figure it out while he was under the round canopy, landed safely and was back again as soon as he could, eventually making many thousands of skydives, much of them under rounds, rather than the square canopy design that I would learn under and use, almost three decades later.

I was only going to make one tandem skydive with my instructor, but that isn't what happened. I was completely and totally in love with the feeling of being in freefall and wanted to experience it again. I made two more tandem skydives before enrolling in the First Jump Course at Skydive Colorado in Longmont that September. Before the year was over, I had purchased my first skydiving equipment and would end up making more than 4,000 skydives in the quarter century before I made my last one in February 2015, at Skydive Snohomish here in Washington.

I met SG on a now-defunct skydiving message board, where he would post stories about his skydiving career, and I couldn't get enough information about skydiving there, so I sent him a private email, and the rest is history. We corresponded by email and then phone calls for several months, before deciding it was time to meet. After several months going on like this, he eventually quit his job in San Francisco and moved to Boulder. It was a rocky beginning, but we eventually decided to get married, which we did in freefall over the Longmont Drop Zone.

May 5, 1994 over Loveland, Colorado

I was wearing my "wedding dress," a custom-designed jumpsuit with rainbow grippers, since he loves rainbows. He passed to me what we called the "baton of commitment" in freefall, and we specified in our marriage certificate that we would be married when we passed through 5,500 feet of elevation on May 5th. (We left the airplane at 12,000 feet above the ground.)

So, as you can see, this post is about several anniversaries: our wedding anniversary and our first jumps. Although we are no longer active skydivers, we will always be connected to the sport. Some couples might say (for example) that they still have Paris, but we will always have skydiving. Although the memories might fade as time goes by, the amount of time we spent in freefall will never change.

Since it has now been so long ago, we have incorporated a kind of shorthand in our language that recalls some of those moments, but other than that, we are simply octogenarians with an interesting past. The sport has moved on, and much of what people attempt in freefall these days doesn't interest me. I learned how to fall and control my body in a belly-to-earth position, but now people like to make formations while attempting to hook up in a vertical position, head down or feet first. It makes for a faster fall rate and therefore a shorter skydive. I was quite accustomed to having almost a minute of time in freefall before needing to separate from my companions and open my parachute. As I've said many times before, nothing stays the same, and change is the only constant in life. Even freefall positions.

I would never have been able to even dream of the life I have lived, since much of it was way outside of my ability to imagine it. Who would have thought that a casual incident of making a tandem skydive would have caused such a major shift in my life story? Certainly not me. But my partner of more than thirty years still sleeps next to me, and although I have some injuries that will never leave me, I wouldn't trade those years for anything. If I think about it, I can still remember the feeling of the nylon of my canopy as I prepared to repack it in order to make yet another skydive. But life moves on, and as amazing as it is to me, I have little to no interest in pursuing stories about the sport. It's like remembering my school days; they are still there in my memory, but don't hold much interest to the person I am today.

I do hope that the holiday weekend, Labor Day, will be a good one for you, if you live in the United States, that is. I don't think it's a global holiday. I am so fortunate to have plenty of sunshine without terribly hot temperatures, surrounded by signs of the fall season to come. My favorite time of the year. Please be safe and don't forget to think of all the reasons you have to be grateful for your life. It too is not permanent, and we need to remember every day how lucky we are to have this time. Be well, dear friends, until we meet again next week.

Exercise Lite

Walking in the rain

This week, I got the least amount of exercise that I can remember getting in years. At first it was because I wasn't feeling all that well, and then we ended up with days and days of rain. In the old days, I didn't let a thing like that stop me, but that was then, and now I sit back in my favorite chair and watch some easy-to-forget episodes of whatever catches my eye. I am working on not feeling like too much of a sluggard. I did take a three-mile walk yesterday, finally, once the rain let up a little. It was actually lovely and reminded me how much better I feel once I get the juices flowing.

I am a bit of an addict when it comes to exercise, but I am also reaching the place in life where things are beginning to change. My desire to close all the exercise rings on my fitness app has fallen to a historic (for me) low point. So what, I say to myself, if I don't log as many steps today as I usually do? What is going to happen if I don't keep striving for some imaginary goal? I don't think anybody is going to think less of me, except maybe myself. It's a habit I think I began to develop many years ago, and now my life is beginning to wind down. If there is some summit I thought I'd climb, well, I already reached it and it's time to explore other possible goals.

I have felt this moment coming for awhile now, and I think this blog is one of the best ways to chronicle life changes, in my own humble opinion. Since I have been posting here, I have fifteen years of retired life to look back on, and compare the person I am now with the one who began to write back in 2009. Much life experience has passed through the river of time and now I am respectably old. Each year that passes by brings me closer to the inevitable demise we all meet. While I'm busy living my life, every day brings me closer to the final destination. I am beginning to understand why people get more philosophical as they age; it's an attempt to make sense of this short, exquisite period of time.

Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes. —Carl Jung

I was born in 1942, and when I look at stories from that period, I realize that I have been alive during what some consider to be of the most consequential and radical periods in human history. But maybe it's only because it's part of my lifespan, and that other periods have been  just as consequential to those living during their times. I am a member of what is known as The Silent Generation, those born between 1929 and 1945, the post-World War I generation. My father was in the Air Force back before it actually was named that; was initially called the US Army Air Corps when my dad first joined up as a young man.

My dad was absent for long periods of my childhood, when he would be stationed somewhere, with periods in Europe and other places that I didn't even know about as a child. I learned what the acronym "TDY" means because that's where my father was when he wasn't with us. It stands for "temporary duty." But when I was little and asked where he was, Mama would tell me he was TDY and would be back in a few months. It seemed perfectly normal to the young girl I was back then. Didn't everybody's dad disappear for long periods like that?

I don't think of my dad much these days. He has been gone from this earth since 1979, when he died of a heart attack at the relatively young age of 62. Heart disease is rampant in my family, having taken both my parents and my son prematurely. In fact, it is the reason I began to exercise in my thirties: to stave off the inevitability of developing heart disease. Because of the evolution of statins, and because I have been a faithful exerciser for decades, I have not developed it myself. That I know of, anyway. My numbers are all good, and statins keep my cholesterol in check.

I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if for some reason I didn't take up exercise. I well remember the day I decided to learn how to run for my health, and I slipped my feet into the first pair of running shoes I ever owned. I was in my early thirties, I think, and within a few days I had developed shin splints that kept me from even being able to walk, much less run. I went to a running store and was fitted with orthotics, which allowed me to jog without pain. I ran a few 10K races during my running career, and even tried to train for a marathon. I couldn't ever get close to doing that, though, because I would get injured in one way or another when I tried to increase mileage. But I did jog, and even run, for years. 

These days I get my exercise through walking, mostly, and the occasional hike into the mountains with my fellow seniors. But that is beginning to change, as I find myself skipping the hard hikes that I used to love, and walking for a few miles at a leisurely pace has become my preferred exercise. Occasionally I try to pick up the pace because I know I should, but "shoulds" are beginning to fall away as I age.

Although I will probably never be a full-fledged couch potato, I'm trending in that direction. However, I really don't feel quite comfortable not heading out to the bus stop for a trip to town, or taking a walk in the neighborhood, before settling into my easy chair. That might change, but for now, I'm happily allowing myself to slow down.

That's it for today, my dear friends. Time is slipping by and I realize I need to do a few things online before getting up and out of bed. My dear partner still sleeps quietly next to me, my tea is gone, and I am feeling the need to finish up here. I'll explore this topic again, but for now, I'm needing to find where I left my impetus to get up and go! Wishing you all good things, dear ones. Be well until we meet again next week.

Midsummer musings

Sunflowers against a blue sky

 I know that most people don't look forward to the end of summer and the beginning of fall, but I sure do. I love the feeling of abundance and good harvests that abound in the Pacific Northwest during late summer. And I have already begun to be reminded that fall is when my allergies begin to kick in. Trees in some parts of town have begun their first gentle color changes. Not many, but it is only the middle of August, after all.

Twelve people went on the long Senior Trailblazer hike last week. It turns out it was cloudy and cool for the entire time, while it was sunny here all day. I was still glad I didn't go, because a more-than nine mile hike is, I think, pushing my limits these days. I can't deny that there was more than a little regret about not being out there. Instead, I went on a nice six-mile flat walk. I have been pondering my future, and whether or not I have decided to stick to the Tuesday easy hikes and only go on the Thursday hikes only when I'm sure I can do it and not end up holding anybody back. It's a real change in the way I consider my abilities, along with losing my eyesight and looking ahead to even more restrictions and change in the future. But that's true for everybody, isn't it? I've just never been here before and am still trying to regain my equilibrium.

If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. This is the most basic kind of peace work. —Thich Nhat Hanh

That is just what I need to practice: smiling and being peaceful and happy. And that gentle Buddhist monk reminds me that this basic kind of peace work is where I need to focus my attention, not in some esoteric practice that is beyond my present ability. Yesterday, I smiled at strangers and sent plenty of good vibes out into the world. I like the way it feels, thinking that I am actually making a difference in my immediate environment, which radiates out into the larger landscape.

I haven't looked at the numbers on my Watch yet, to see how much sleep I got last night. We had a strong thunderstorm descend on our town in the middle of the night. I woke to seeing flashes of light through my eyelids, but at first the storm was far enough away that I didn't hear any thunder. That changed, however, as it grew closer. Just about the time I'd drift back to sleep, a loud clap of thunder would jolt me awake again. We don't get many thunderstorms at midnight around here, but we sure did last night. Sometime after 2:00am, I did get back to sleep, but here it is 5:00am and I am sitting here in the dark beginning my post. The only thing on my mind right now is managing my mental processes and trying to find something interesting to write about.

Bellingham Bay

Yesterday I walked along the Boulevard South Bay trail from Bellingham to Fairhaven, one of my favorites. The sea was calm with a few boats visible from the walkway. I've been here in all kinds of weather, but at the time I visited yesterday, it was calm and cool. The day did get on the very warm and humid side before I went to bed, and this morning it's still quite warm here in the apartment. Usually it cools down overnight, but I suspect that the thunderstorm didn't help much; it was around ten degrees warmer inside than usual when I woke this morning. Unsettled weather indeed, but I am not really complaining when I look at temperatures around the country. We are fortunate to be so close to open seas, with the normal nighttime temperatures being very conducive to good sleep. Very few homes in my neighborhood have, or need, air conditioning, other than fans.

Today is supposed to be cooler than yesterday, but not by much. It's the unusual humidity that I think makes it seem so much warmer. It reminds me of that Yogi Berra gem, "It ain't the heat, it's the humility." He had a very curious way of thinking, and his Yogi-ism are definitely worth reading again, just for fun. 

A lot of guys go, ‘Hey, Yog, say a Yogi-ism.’ I tell ’em, ‘I don’t know any.’ They want me to make one up. I don’t make ’em up. I don’t even know when I say it. They’re the truth. And it is the truth. I don’t know. – Yogi Berra

These days, I am always looking for something to smile about, rather than sitting around feeling glum about the state of the world. I wish I could sit down with a good book and read like I once did, but now it's listening to audible books, which I find tend to keep me separated from my surroundings. I don't listen to them when I'm outdoors walking for that reason, but I suppose I will eventually get used to it and will get better at finding times and places to "read." Getting older means change for all of us, and I am grateful for every day I have to learn how to go with the flow. 

Sitting here in the dark, I hear rain falling on the roof, which helps to explain a little why it's still feeling so humid this morning. My sweet partner still sleeps next to me, and I can hear his gentle breathing, a soothing sound. My tea is gone, and John will be coming to pick me up in his truck and take me out to breakfast, being Sunday and all. I am hoping that you, my dear friends, will have a wonderful week ahead and look forward to greeting you again next week. Until then, I wish you all good things.

 

Dahlias already

Peering into the dahlia depths

Every year, long before I feel ready, the beautiful dahlias come into bloom. August brings such lovely blossoms at the end of the season, while beautiful tulips and wild trillium spring from the ground early, to get us primed for the incredible bounty of flowers, vegetables, and lush gardens to come.

The days have grown noticeably shorter, and the sunlight seems a little muted, especially in comparison to a month or two ago. The change seems quite sudden and the summer days bring a feeling in the air of fall not too far away. I smiled at the Pickles cartoon yesterday morning, where the old couple talks about how, when you are young, a year seems like an eternity, but as we grow older, it speeds up. How by the time you are old, a year goes by in a flash, lamenting about how a blink is all it takes for a year to pass by. Oh yes, I can definitely relate. I am feeling my mortality and notice that I no longer spring out of bed, but tentatively feel for the ground, taking my time, before standing up and taking stock of the state of the day's vehicle. Knees working? Yep. Ankles holding up? Yes. A grateful yawn as I make my way to the kitchen to start a cup of tea. Everything still seems to be working well enough, for yet another Sunday, for another week ahead.

I have been watching the Paris Summer Olympics and enjoying very much seeing the athletes compete with one another in their various categories. And noticing how very different these athletes look from one another, depending on their sport. For instance, the long-distance runners are scarecrows, lean and stringy, while the shot putters, for example, are sturdy and muscular, looking almost like a different species. I saw a picture of gymnast Simone Biles (4'8", 105 lbs) next to basketball great Shaquille O'Neal (7'1", 325 lbs) and realized that both are perfect specimens of the human body for their individual sports. And what a difference!

Shaq and Simone

The two of them are at different spectrums of individual variations, with a few more probably between them and what might be possible to determine in our amazing species. The one thing we all have in common is that we are born and come into fruition and then begin to decline as we age. The oldest Olympian in these Olympics is 65:

Juan Antonio Jimenez, a distinguished Spanish equestrian and Olympic medalist, continues to defy age barriers as he competes in the Paris 2024 Olympics, making him the oldest participant. He clinched a silver medal in dressage at the Athens Olympics in 2024.

I guess he's the best at horse whispering, too. But there are no actual athletes in their seventies, those who must compete with all ages. We wear out, and that makes people like me happy to be able to sit and watch, dream of days gone by, and enjoy the feats of the young people of today. And yes, I am thrilled that I can still see well enough to write on my laptop, watch movies and more, and enjoy the fruits of medical advances that allow me to endure those awful eye jabs in hopes of slowing down the progression of geographic atrophy. Amazing time to be alive, I'd say.

April flowers

I took this picture of the tulips in Skagit Valley in April, and now they have all been dug up and the ground is resting, getting ready for another year's blooming after we go through fall and winter and move into next year. It all seems to be happening so fast, but I intend to enjoy every last moment, every dahlia and chrysanthemum, and every day that I am blessed to be present in. What a wonderful life!

And, dear friends, I am so incredibly fortunate to have been born in a time when I can make infinite numbers of acquaintances virtually through the internet. I can write these blog posts and send out an electronic missive to anywhere in the world, and you can open your own device and read it, comment if you want, and here we are, friends embracing our connection. Isn't that great?

Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does. —William James

And now I come to the next part of my Sunday morning routine: finishing up the last touches on this post and sending it out into the universe. Reading the Sunday comics and checking the news before rising up out of bed and checking out the ambulatory vehicle I have to work with on this beautiful midsummer day. I am sending to you, my dear friends, my hopes and dreams for you to have a pain-free delightful day ahead. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

August heat and more

Iceberg Lake and Mt Baker on way to Bagley Lakes

I took this picture last Thursday while on the hike with the Senior Trailblazers. I thought a few years ago that I would never see this sight again, that I was finally unable to take such hard hikes. And now that it's over, I realize I was right: it was almost too much for me. I've learned a valuable lesson and won't be going up into the High Country again on hot sunny days. I just don't have the stamina and ability to cool off like I once did. But I still had a great time, once I was back to the cars and ready to cool off and enjoy the nice ride back to the Senior Center. I needed to be out of the direct sun, especially at altitude. We spent the entire day above 5,000 feet elevation, and with that sunshine, it was (for me) rather brutal. I did make it, but I felt bad for my fellow hikers who had to listen to me whine. It's a bad habit of mine, but it always makes me feel a little better when I get to complain.

On Friday, I finally got myself properly rehydrated, and truly enjoyed my monthly massage. It was scheduled weeks ago, but sure made me feel like a million bucks when I walked out of there with what felt like a brand-new body. I also slept incredibly well for a couple of nights, as I felt myself begin to come back to my new normal.

I keep forgetting how old I am, and how much of a difference it makes when you exercise in heat, humidity, and thin mountain air. I took my ability for granted for so long, that I could do whatever I put my mind to, But! I am an octogenarian now, for heaven's sake! That said, I remember someone once telling me that whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. So I figure I must be much stronger today.

And I realize how incredibly blessed I am to have the ability to hike, and walk, and generally move through my days with little discomfort. I intend to enjoy every moment of every day, to the fullest. I just have to scale it back a notch. Or two.

Sitting here in the early morning with my laptop, I can see how much the days have shortened since the summer began. We have reached Lammas (from Wikipedia):

In Anglo-Saxon England, Lammas was the name for the first day of August and was described in Old English literature as "the feast of first fruits," being mentioned often in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. It was probably the day when loaves baked from the first of the wheat harvest were blessed at church.

It is also halfway from the summer solstice to the fall equinox, and that means the journey back through time's arrow towards the dark days of winter. Since I was born in December, I guess that might be one reason why I feel more comfortable with shorter days and longer nights. Up here in the Pacific Northwest, the difference in day and night length is pretty pronounced. I love most of the weather and whatnot up here, except for the longest and hottest days.  And compared to the rest of the country, we are enjoying mild temperatures, in the low eighties (27°C) rather than triple digits.

Me in front of Mt Shuksan last week

I have seen this wonderful mountain when it was winter and covered with snow, when it's been so cloudy that I could barely make it out, and even like this, in the summer heat. I will cherish these days forever. But I'm already looking forward to my favorite season, fall. I forget sometimes to be grateful for the wonderful life I have been given, but not right now. Today, Sunday August 4th, I am filled with gratitude.

Tomorrow I get my next eye jab, which of course I am not looking forward to exactly, but I am also grateful that there is actually something that might allow me to keep my central vision in my left eye for a while longer. I am sitting here in the dark, with the bright screen in front of me, which allows me to see the dark letters a little better. I might be sad if I didn't remember how lucky I am that there is finally some treatment, and that I can receive it, and hopefully will be able to continue doing everything I've grown accustomed to for a little while longer. I no longer can sit down with a book in my lap and read for hours, like I once did, but it's a small thing when I remember that I still can see so much, and that there are now audio books and large print, just for people like me.

Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude. —Denis Waitley

Yesterday morning, I walked from the coffee shop to the harbor with my friend Steve, who willingly gives me his arm to cross streets and looks for traffic, both in the street and on the sidewalk, gently guiding me to safety, and often telling me that someone is coming long before I become aware of them. I truly appreciate our walks and will miss him when he heads to Hawaii at the end of the month to visit his mother. She celebrated reaching ninety last year, and she is still doing very well. He does visit a couple times every year, a good son. When my son Chris was alive, he would call me twice a year, on his birthday and on mine. For some reason, he has been on my mind lately and I realize that even after all these years (more than two decades), I still miss him. Maybe as you get older you begin to reminisce about all the loved ones that you will perhaps join on the other side. Who knows what comes after this life? I am not one to ponder the mystery very often, but if there is another dimension of reality, we will all find out one day. I realize that I am a believer in something after this, but I don't worry about it much. 

This morning, I am content. Although I had some waking moments last night, I got enough sleep to feel rested and ready for another beautiful sunny (and hot) day ahead. My sweetheart still sleeps next to me, and I have time this morning to read the blog posts you have posted since I last looked. I love my virtual family, and I am glad to have this time with you every week. I do hope the coming week will bring you happiness, and that we will be able to get together once again soon. Until then, I wish you all good things and that you will be well.

A week like no other

Purple heather behind me

I just reread my post from last Sunday and looked carefully at the picture at the beginning, of me a decade ago in front of Coleman Glacier. Although I don't look all that different today, I can feel the last decade in many ways, like the increase in aches and pains and my inability to do hard hikes any more. But I can still hike. My friend Steve took this picture while on our usual Saturday walk, and I notice that I'm wearing the same shirt and vest that I wore in last week's picture. Nobody can say I don't get plenty of wear out of my clothing.

Last Thursday I decided to join the Trailblazers for a favorite hike in the High Country, Church Mountain. It's not long, but it's grueling, in that it climbs almost 3,000 feet of elevation to the meadows, which was where we were headed. It was cool and rainy when the ten of us started out, and I was very happy to realize that I was going to make it without any difficulty. We were traveling pretty slowly, but one of our number was having real problems trying to catch his breath. He kept asking us to slow down or stop to allow him to rest. We got about halfway to the meadows when our leader, Owen, decided it was best for us to turn around and return to the cars. It does happen, not often, and although I was disappointed in not going any farther, I was also happy that once we started downhill, the person's breathing returned to normal. I was secretly glad that it wasn't me who couldn't handle the elevation and steepness of the trail. 

We will, I suspect, make another attempt later in the season, but for now I feel quite pleased that I didn't have to take any medications and didn't feel any residual soreness. Usually (when we make it to the meadows) I am stiff and sore for a day or two afterwards, but it was different this time, although we went up more than a thousand feet and almost two miles up the trail.

After I wrote a post last Sunday morning, we watched our President, Joe Biden, in the afternoon tell the world that he decided to step down from running for another term, partly because of his advanced age, which was catching up with him, but also because he saw the handwriting on the wall that if he didn't leave the race, the Democrats would lose. He passed the baton to his Vice President, Kamala Harris, and in what seemed like record time, the entire Democratic Party has rallied around her. I have already contributed as much as I can afford to the election effort.

When I woke up Monday morning, the day after, I felt such relief and joy that maybe the election was not already lost. Of course, it's really late to be launching an effort like this, and there is no guarantee that we can come from behind and actually win this thing, but now we do have a chance. You know I don't often bring up politics on my blog, but it's really all that has been on my mind since last week, so I figure I can make an exception and bring it up here. If you are offended, I hope you will not make any angry or derogatory comments, but if you do, I will remove them.

Our country, and indeed the entire world, is at an inflection point. Democracy is in peril in many places, and climate change is altering the environment in ways that have been predicted for decades. But now it's here: we just experienced the two hottest days on the planet since humans have been recording such things. People around the world are dying from heat-related causes, and it's only going to get worse. I feel very fortunate to live in the Pacific Northwest, where our summers are still comfortable and manageable. I don't think I will be alive by the time that the climate situation will reach this area, but there are many other climate events that I might have to endure, like earthquakes or floods.

The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance. —Alan Watts

And here I am on a summer Sunday morning, thinking of the future of the world, of our country, and of the circumstances in my own little neighborhood. My own little corner of the world, with a task at hand: write this post and publish it. The amazing difference in my internal attitude between this time last week and today is that I have hope that the world will now have a chance to be more loving, that we can end the war in Gaza, and that we will turn a corner with climate change and begin to take it seriously. That was all there last week, but I didn't believe it, and now I do.

When you are old, your way of looking at the world becomes more expansive. My days may be numbered (they always were), but what I might be able to accomplish in my own little world is not diminished. There is so much happening around me today that I feel a sense of optimism and possibility. I will join my friend John for our usual Sunday morning breakfast and give thanks for our ability to continue this small but important activity for at least the coming season. When I write here next week, we will be more than halfway through summer and soon we might begin to feel the first inklings of my favorite season, fall. We have had a few days this summer when it got hot, but nothing like the sizzling temperatures in a place like, say, Phoenix. Or Tehran.

When I stop to count my blessings, several items rise to the top, like my ability to continue to see well enough to write in here, and maybe keeping enough sight that I will not ever have to find another activity to begin my week. Like Alan Watts says, it's time to enjoy the dance and plunge into change. I've got my virtual bathing suit ready for the plunge!

My dear partner still sleeps next to me, breathing gently in and out as I listen, and the birds have just begun their morning stretches, and the sun rise will come in just a few minutes from now. My Sunday looks to be a good one, and I'll walk outdoors in the sunshine before the day is over, happy to be alive, grateful for all my many blessings. You, my friend, are one of them, and never forget that you can choose to have a good day, no matter what. I am talking to myself here, of course, and you will be bathed in light and happiness along with me. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Breathe and listen

Me in front of Coleman Glacier on Heliotrope Ridge

This hike, Heliotrope Ridge, was one of my favorite hikes back a few years ago: we climbed up to the glaciers on Mt Baker, eight years ago next month, when this picture was taken. I've done this hike many times, but we didn't always manage to get to this spot because of the treacherous stream crossings. The last one to cross was especially hard, so sometimes we just trekked up the climbers' route and skipped getting this close to the glacier.

Last Thursday, on the hike I skipped, nineteen Senior Trailblazers made it up the Park Butte trail to the lookout, more than a 2,000-foot elevation gain and loss over eight miles. I just didn't know if I could do it and the last thing I want is to hold up my friends. I smiled when I found this picture because I am still wearing that shirt (just yesterday) and use that vest still today. But the old bod just doesn't want to make those hard hikes in the sun any more. I am thrilled to have all these great pictures to go through and reminisce over. Some of my dear friends have died, and some have stopped going on the hikes, and yet, some still continue all these years later.

What interests me most these days is learning how to make the transition from an active and fit senior to one who can still do plenty, but not the really hard stuff any more. I find it fascinating to notice how much of my daily life is still filled with adventure, happiness, and things to learn.

Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance. —Confucius

As I am aging, the things to learn are becoming more important to pay attention to, like how to get around my failing vision. And how to deal with the inevitable aches and pains that accompany me as I move through my days. But I cannot find any of them that keep me from my usual routine, thank goodness. Of course, knees, hips, ankles and rotator cuff injuries from the past still hang around, but they don't keep me from moving forward. There are many people my age who have traded in their old joints for some fancy metal ones, but I decided long ago that it would be a last resort for me. And now that I've reached my octogenarian years with my original joints, I suspect I won't be needing to replace them, given the short number of years I have ahead. Yes, I know I might live to be a hundred, but I really don't think so, and instead I look forward to each day, each month, each season with optimism.

Wildflowers on Skyline Divide

On a recent solo walk, I began to get some serious lower back pain and rummaged around in my pack for some Tylenol and found nothing. That meant walking back the rest of the way, about two miles, with some discomfort. It continued to increase and, if I had been using a cane or trekking poles, it would have been easier, but I did make it back to my starting point and relaxed in a comfy chair at the coffee shop for awhile, before going home. I still hadn't taken anything for the pain, but it receded once I rested.

The next day, when I woke, there was only a bit of residual pain and I pondered whether or not to take proactive medication before heading out for my usual three-mile walk. I decided to go ahead and take it, but I'm not sure I needed it. The back pain didn't recur as I walked. What caused it? It's a mystery indeed. Yesterday, Saturday, I made my usual six-mile walk with my friend Steve, and there was no sign of any pain. I was glad I didn't take anything, except to make sure I had some with me just in case, and my back was pain free. Even innocuous drugs like Tylenol or Advil are habit forming, and I don't want to be one of those people who needs them just to exercise. I remind myself that pain is something to pay attention to, like a friend who tells us to listen, please.

I think much of how we experience our days is within our power to change, to make our days happier and more serene. I have now been meditating for a couple of years, every morning after I do my Five Tibetan Rites, which I have now performed every morning for more than a decade. There have been times when I've been injured one way or another so that I need to modify them, but mostly I can perform them 21 times as my wakeup exercise in full. Although they are supposed to rejuvenate, I think they just work out the kinks from sleep. They are part of my daily practice, though, and indispensable to the start of every day.

My daily meditation is focused on the breath. I sit down on my kneeling bench (I can no longer sit cross-legged for any length of time) and take a deep cleansing breath. Then I begin to count my breaths, one to ten, and then starting over at one. At first I would lose track of what I was doing and needed to begin again at one, but I now only occasionally feel so distracted that I lose my focus. It's something I look forward to and would love to expand into a second session in the evening, but so far I haven't done so. After I finish, before getting back up, I spend a few minutes in prayer, asking for my beloved friends and family to be free of disease, pain and suffering. Then I ask the same for the entire world, before I begin the rest of my day.

On Sundays, I get up a little earlier than usual and write this post. These days, I begin it the day before by finding the pictures I want to use in it, and then pondering the theme of the day. Then I put it aside until the early morning hours of Sunday, which is right now, and sit down with my laptop in bed, while the sun rises and the birds begin to sing, and I just let it come out. Sometimes it's pretty good, and sometimes it's not, but isn't that the way our days come and go? The river of time has its crests and valleys, and they are reflected in my posts. I look forward to the Sunday ahead, and to the time spent with my friend John, my beloved partner, and whoever else comes into my day. It's a pretty good life, I have to say.

At some point during the day, I will read the posts written by those bloggers I follow, and it feels a little like spending a virtual cup of tea with good friends, one by one, as I learn what is on your mind and how you and your loved ones are doing. While I only imagine you virtually, it's just as nourishing as if we actually sat across from one another and raised our cups in celebration of our day, our connection, our daily life. As I look at my life, I am feeling incredibly blessed to have you, dear friend, to share it with. I hope the coming week will bring you joy and satisfaction. Until we meet again, be well.

Being mortal

Peering into its purple depths

I love walking around the neighborhood and taking pictures of things like this beautiful poppy. It's also good to have the picture to enjoy since the flowers only last for a few days. Summertime is filled with so much beauty and I appreciate the ability I have with my camera phone to snap pictures and have them for as long as I might want to enjoy them. With my eyesight going wonky, I can still see these guys and will continue to act as though I will be able to continue on like this for a good long time to come.

But who knows, really, how long it might be? My right eye can still see everything except the central portion, and I think I might be able to learn to read a little with my peripheral vision. And I still have my left eye's central vision, but there is a section of missing vision just to the left of it, and I hope it doesn't slide over any further. I get my next eye jab in just over three weeks. I have not noticed any change in my perception since I received the first ones. Since they are only supposed to slow the progression, not fix the problem, I am grateful for any possible visual stabilization.

I didn't go on last Thursday's hike to Sauk Mountain with the Trailblazers, since I've been there many times before and realize that the steep switchbacks, slippery with soft dirt, are hard to get down without falling, even using trekking poles. So I reluctantly skipped it. Ten people went and had a great time, but I'm realizing that I am no longer able to be safe in all those circumstances, with my failing eyesight. 

This is my new reality. Hopefully I'll be able to continue on most hikes, but I'm no longer physically able to do what was easy a decade ago. I'm mortal, as we all are, and I must take into consideration that I might put not only myself, but my friends as well, into compromising situations if I don't pay attention and take care.

It's also hard to ignore the fact that our President is weighing whether or not he should run for a second term, being that he is already oldest person to have been in the office. I saw that awful debate, but he's shown that with enough ability to rest and recuperate, he can continue to hold up. I am worried; Joe and I are in the same boat, a week apart in age. I cannot fathom how he might fare for the next four years, but his adversary is only a few years younger and in the same situation, really. How did this ever come about? With all the young talent in both political parties, I am flummoxed and hope that something good might come out of this fraught situation.

The only person I can actually take care of is myself, along with my dear partner, who is also mortal and prone to physical infirmities. Not one of us is guaranteed even one more day of life, and we need to learn to roll with the punches, so to speak. And last night there was an assassination attempt on Trump at a rally. The bullet just grazed his ear (or maybe it was glass from a shattered teleprompter) but he was defiant and pumped his fist as they carried him away. This should invigorate his campaign and give him lots of sympathy. 

The shooter and a rally attendee are both dead. I saw a picture of a bullet whizzing by Trump's head, taken by a journalist who was just feet away from Trump. It brought back years ago when I saw the killings of so many of our leaders, from JFK, to his brother Bobby, to Martin Luther King. I was around during them all, and I was just as shocked and grieved by those assassinations as was the entire world. Sixty years have brought only more guns, more divisions, and more fear and hatred into my once beautiful country. It is the same everywhere across the world.

Mt Baker from Skyline Divide

Whenever I get really down about it all, I remember that there is still respite in the beauty of nature. It has its seasons, just like the rest of life, but during the summer months I am able to hike into such places and remember that I am just a small part of the enormity that makes up our world. Although I will probably not join the Thursday hikers next week, since they are going on one of the harder hikes in the wilderness, I will find some way to enjoy our incredible mountains, even if it's not the ones that were once so easy for me. Nope, this mortal being will find a way to stay within the boundaries that surface for the octogenarian that I have become.

I don't want to sound like a Hallmark card, but to be able to wake up each day with food and shelter, that alone is good. Forget aging and the fact that my butt is becoming a little more familiar with my knees than my tailbone. If you are six feet above ground it's a good day. So, give me more! —Faith Hill

It's a good quote, even if Faith is only in her fifties. She has the right attitude, and that is worth a great deal. It would be nice to see how she might fare as an octogenarian, but I won't be around to find out. Some time in the next decade or so I will be happy to lie down on my comfortable bed, surrounded by loved ones, and breathe my last. It's what happens to all of us eventually, and it shouldn't be resisted, in my mind at least. Just go with the flow, right?

Cultivating an "attitude of gratitude" is what I am focusing on right now, today, tomorrow, and in the coming days, weeks, and years. This past week I received an acupuncture treatment and a wonderful massage. I am doing incredibly well but realize that it's all temporary, and finding myself grateful for that realization, too. It makes every moment a precious one, worth paying attention to and giving thanks from the bottom of my heart.

My dear sweet partner still sleeps next to me and John will arrive shortly to take me out for our Sunday breakfast. I'll come home and go out for a lovely walk in the cool of the morning and then retreat into the comfort of my home and spend some time holding the hand of my beloved. Until we meet again, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.