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.

First weekend of July

Foxgloves galore

I wasn't able to capture the beauty of the foxgloves on our Independence Day hike, but I was not shy about snagging this picture from fellow hiker Joe's Facebook post. Even this wonderful picture does not show what I saw with my own eyes, but it does show it so much better than anything I took. Fourteen of us hiked just under nine miles and several thousand feet of up and down, so Friday I took the day off, just a short walk to the bus and the coffee shop, and then home again the same way. I was the only one of our usual coffee shop crowd who showed up, so it was easy to saunter back to the bus without anybody to even say hello to.

Yesterday was a much different story. I drove to the coffee shop and met Steve there, and the two of us walked to Squalicum Harbor, one of our favorites, because it would be near the water and cooler. It turned out to be a perfect walk, with temperatures feeling even cooler than they were because of a light breeze off the water. Once we returned to our cars and said our goodbyes, I felt much, much lighter and better in every way. Right now I am refusing to so much as turn on the news, since it never fails to bring me down, and I need all the help I can get to keep myself feeling positive. Nothing I can do or say will make a difference in the outcome, and I've given way too much time and money to political campaigns already.

On the way back, we stopped at the Marine Life Center so I could take a look at the giant Pacific octopus that was captured a few months ago. It won't be caged for a very long time, as it will be returned to the ocean before too long. They only live for three to five years, and they require plenty of care. When we arrived, the cage was being cleaned, but I was able to get close enough to snap this picture.

This is Sherlock

That round brown thing in the center is the head of the octopus, and many of its eight tentacles are visible as well. I think that is one of his two eyes on the right side of the mound, but I can't be sure; they are really strange looking creatures. I was curious about all the signs, admonishing people not to point at him, or stomp your feet, as it scares him. He can feel the vibration through the cage and the water, I guess.

I remember years ago watching a wonderful documentary called "My Octopus Teacher" on Netflix. I just checked; if you subscribe, you can still watch it, even four years after it was released. It's a wonderful way to learn about these amazing animals. And they are intelligent as well. This is from Wikipedia:

Octopuses are ranked as the most intelligent invertebrates. Giant Pacific octopuses are commonly kept on display at aquariums due to their size and interesting physiology, and have demonstrated the ability to recognize humans with whom they frequently come in contact. These responses include jetting water, changing body texture, and other behaviors that are consistently demonstrated to specific individuals. They have the ability to solve simple puzzles, open childproof bottles, and use tools. The octopus brain has folded lobes (a distinct characteristic of complexity) and visual and tactile memory centers. They have about 300 million neurons. They have been known to open tank valves, disassemble expensive equipment, and generally wreak havoc in labs and aquaria. Some researchers even claim that they are capable of motor play and having personalities.

 I think I will re-watch it myself, having just been introduced to Sherlock and enjoying learning so much more about the species. It is also one way I have found to give myself some positive input so that I can think about life with a more inclusive perspective. That, and looking every day at the Astronomy Picture of the Day. Today's selection shows rainbow-colored clouds at sunset over Sweden. 

The world is filled with wonders, and every time I lift my head and look out at what surrounds me, I am grateful. I am also grateful that, even if my sight is compromised, I can still see well enough to read and write, even if it is limited and not perfect. It's so much better than I feared, and fortunately there is some treatment to slow the progression. I get my next eye jab in August. Summer has arrived in this part of the world, too. We are under a heat advisory until late Tuesday, with our temperature expecting to reach almost 90°F. I know that sounds pretty lame to those of you experiencing triple digits every day, but for us it's, well, hot. We are in the Pacific Northwest and only occasionally see it get this hot. Homes rarely have air conditioning, but the stores and coffee shops do, thank goodness.

Steve took this yesterday

Steve asked me to take off my hat and sunglasses, but I couldn't bear the bright sun on my delicate eyes; I did take off the hat at least. Standing in front of the ice machine also made me feel a bit cooler, just seeing the sign was a reminder that ICE is not so far away.

I do hope you will find a way to stay rather comfortable during this heat wave, which is covering most of the country right now. And I also wish you might find your own way to happiness and contentment. It's there, if you look for it. I know I will be staying indoors in A/C for most of the really hot days. Until we meet again next week, I truly hope you will discover your serenity. I will be looking for mine and being good to myself. Be well, dear friends.