After the bomb cyclone

by Gary Lindsay (Seeing Bellingham group)

Here in the Pacific Northwest, last week we experienced a "bomb cyclone" event that caused lots of rain, wind, downed trees and caused lost power for many, which does happen often during the late fall and winter months. Bomb cyclones are a little more rare; however, they do happen around here. But after this one, we had many rainbows appear in the sky, like a benediction from the heavens. I just finished spending some time on Facebook's "Seeing Bellingham" group, and I snagged the picture above from Gary Lindsay, who publishes his photos often to share them with fellow Bellingham denizens.

What is a bomb cyclone, you ask? So did I, and this is what I found on the internet:

Bombogenesis can happen when a cold air mass collides with a warm air mass, such as air over warm ocean waters. It is popularly referred to as a bomb cyclone.

 Many residents in the area are still without power, almost a week later. We didn't lose ours, but when I went to the coffee shop last Friday, I overheard some people say they still didn't have theirs restored. And one of my usual hiking groups, which did a big loop of more than 11 miles last Thursday, posted pictures of the damage to many trees they encountered, so much so that they lost the trail at times. Everyone made it back safely, but I suspect that it qualified as a real adventure! I was busy at my volunteer job of serving around a hundred seniors lunch, after setting up the tables and, afterwards, wiping everything down and putting it all back, to be taken out the next day when it all starts over again. I have decided to make Thursday my regularly scheduled work, with the caveat that if I need to take a day off to join a hike, it would be fine. With the weather turning rather bleak, I am not looking to do that anytime soon.

I have my annual wellness check scheduled for Monday, and a week later I will get my next eye jab. I can't believe how much I obsess over that ten-second episode, but I do. There are two hours of preparation beforehand (eye exams, dilation, numbing, etc.) and a few minutes afterwards before I am taken home by my husband. My eye is uncomfortably sore for about an hour, before it all settles down again. Plus I discovered that next year, when I start a new Medicare Advantage plan, I'll be paying $325 for the privilege of having the procedure. My old plan has bitten the dust, and I did check for something that covers the majority of it. They charge the insurance company almost 5K for each shot. I pondered having it all stop, but frankly, whatever it takes for the possibility of keeping my central vision in my left eye around for awhile longer, I'll do it. Losing my eyesight has been very challenging, but I can still see well enough for most of my daily routines.

That said, I am also very glad to have the opportunity to cherish each day of relative health and happiness that I still enjoy. It's either that, or spend my days wishing things were different, and that does nothing but cause sadness and emotional pain. It's not always easy to grow older and more infirm as the days, weeks and months pass by, but the alternative is unacceptable: denial, or worse, hopelessness. When I look back at my life, the peaks and valleys, they sort of morph into a gentle wave, a tide if you will, that we all ride.

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. —William Shakespeare

This comes from a longer monologue by Shakespeare in his play, "As You Like It," and is interesting to think about. I knew it from earlier times when I could read more easily, but I remember thinking about it and pondering its meaning even back then. Wikipedia has a page that contains the entire poem, if you are interested, here. In reading it again this morning, I was struck by the last lines:  

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Little by little, we move through life's stages and inevitably die, which is the fate of all living things. But reading about Shakespeare this morning, I realize that some of us continue to have effects on others long after we have left the stage ourselves. Shakespeare is one of those people. His lifetime (1564-1616) shows he lived to be into his fifties, which was a full life in those days. I imagine he didn't actually end up "sans" everything, but who knows? Did people who lived into their fifties in those days also end up in a second childhood? I imagine if I didn't have dental care that I would probably not having all the teeth I have today, and people centuries ago did not live to be in their eighties very often, I suspect.

So, looking at my life, I realize that it's been a wonderful adventure, filled with lots of peaks and valleys, and now I sit here in my bed, in the dark, with my dear partner sleeping quietly next to me as I write on my laptop. The room is illuminated by its white screen. I have been doing this now for more than 760 Sundays, and I have not missed any, I don't think.  I remember writing one from my bed in Istanbul when I was there, and many times from Florida visiting my sister. I don't do that every year any more. Travel has become really difficult without being able to see all that well, and it's unnecessary anyway. FaceTime once a months suffices.

Norma Jean and I have been in each other's lives for the entire time we've been alive. I had a short two years between my birth and hers when she wasn't around, but otherwise we grew up together and share many memories of our family members who are long gone. And of course there are those vivid dreams when family members who have died will come to visit me. They are sometimes as realistic as if it were happening right then. The brain is a curious organ, isn't it? I am happy mine still seems to be functioning well enough these days. Tomorrow it might not be, but today is really all we have. That, and our memories, and our hopes and aspirations for the future. But they are just possibilities, not guarantees in any way.

Whatever the future holds for all of us, or any one of us, will be known one day, when the future is no longer the future but becomes the past. In any event, I will try to take advantage of every single day of this unique life of mine, and I will enjoy reading all the blog posts of my virtual friends and family, learning how to navigate our days as they come. And go.

And that is the cue for my exit from this post: it's almost time for me to get up and start the rest of my Sunday. John will be here to take me to breakfast, and then I'll come back home and spend some time with my guy, who will be up by then. And then it will be midday and hopefully not raining, so I can get in a nice walk. I do hope your days are good ones, and that you will be well and safe between now and when we meet again. I also hope you will find yourselves surrounded with love and happiness. Be well, my dear friends.

Grey, cold and windy

The harbor, in between raindrops

It's amazing to see how so many parts of the world are getting incredible amounts of rain, while others are in a serious drought. Last week in Spain, for instance, the country experienced extreme amounts of rain and flash floods, with hundreds killed or missing. And more is still to come, apparently. While all that rain fell there, places in Australia and others in the northeastern part of America are having unprecedented drought. Whether all of this strange weather might (or might not) be caused by climate change, it is very distressing for those caught up in it. There is no doubt that the entire world is affected by changing weather patterns. And nowhere is safe.

I feel rather fortunate to be dealing with just a few inches of rain and some wind, as we navigate through the fall and move into the winter months. All those leaves on last week's maple tree picture, today, show only a few still hanging on and many bare branches. In almost five weeks we will reach the longest night and shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere before the light returns. In the Christian calendar, Advent falls on December 1st, my birthday. This year, it's also the day before my next eye jab, which obviously I don't look forward to in any way. But I also won't miss it, since it's the only chance I have of keeping the central vision in my left eye.

I don't wish this awful eye disease (geographic atrophy) on anyone. Yesterday I walked with my friend Steve down the South Bay trail to Woods Coffee and back, and because it was so overcast and dark, my ability to see ahead was quite compromised. I am often reminded of the Biblical phrase "through a glass darkly." It means to have an imperfect or obscure vision of reality. It appears in 1 Corinthians 13:12, where the Apostle Paul writes, "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

As I continue to deal with this affliction, which will only get worse as I age, I think of Helen Keller, who suffered an infection as a toddler that took not only her sight, but also her ability to hear. She became almost feral in her early childhood, until her teacher, Anne Sullivan, was able to reach her through tapping the word "w-a-t-e-r" into her palm, and Helen finally got the message that allowed her to soar to heights that still astonish people today. In her long and productive life, she learned to read five languages, and she was the first deaf and blind person ever to graduate from college (Radcliffe) which she did by graduating cum laude with a BA degree in 1904. She didn't stop there: Helen met thirteen presidents during her lifetime, and wrote books that are still available today. She lived a long life and died at 87. If Helen could do all that, I think it's appropriate for me to start looking for ways for me to help others, rather than allow self-pity to dominate my life. Although she died in 1968, she still inspires others through her writing.

When I compare my life with hers, I realize that sight is not as important in becoming a good person as having a positive attitude about one's situation. I still remember from her memoir a time when she was reading a story (in Braille) and was so caught up in it that she had to stop and calm herself before continuing. I think it was "Tale of Two Cities" but I'm not sure. In any event, I am grateful for Helen's contribution to our world. She helped to establish the American Civil Liberties Union and was very active in politics. 

She changed her world in many ways, and it makes me wonder if I am being too passive in my own situation today. Although during the past election I supported the losing candidate, I learned so much about the ways America has changed, some for the better, since Helen was alive and active. For one thing, we have instant access to the news of the day, as well as plenty of misinformation that needs to be recognized for what it is. I wonder how she would have dealt with the issues that have emerged in our present-day world.

Helen Keller wrote 14 books and over 475 speeches and essays on topics such as faith, nature, racism, human rights, and overcoming adversity. She read avidly and wrote about many of the significant political, social, and cultural movements of the 20th century.

When I think of how much she accomplished, I realize that I shouldn't compare my life to hers, but instead concentrate on what I can still learn and share with others. If I take her life as an inspiration, I can see how just opening myself up to what I might achieve in the time I have left to me can enrich not only my own life, but others as well. I am eternally grateful for the ability to think clearly, feel deeply, and act accordingly. If I can inspire even one person to give themselves a much-needed pat on the back, it's worth trying, don't you think?

And now I sit here in the dark, thinking with affection about all of you, my dear virtual family, and what we can do to lift up our spirits, as well as those of our neighbors. Let's concentrate on all the good around us; it's there if we just look. Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Feeling my way ahead

Favorite tree in glorious fall colors

I walk by this tree several times a week, year round. It's in Cornwall Park. A huge maple tree, I think a Japanese maple looking at the shape of the leaves. I am not someone who knows her trees, but this one looks so lovely through all the seasons, even in winter when it's bare of leaves. When we get our next windstorm, it will be completely bare. Until next spring, that is.

There are two meanings to the title of this post: the necessity to learn how to "see" things by feel, and finding my way through the sadness that engulfs me every time I think of the election this past week. We Democrats not only lost the presidency, but also the Senate and, most likely, the House of Representatives. Not to mention a Supreme Court that gave away the checks and balances that our founders put into the Constitution more than a quarter of a millennium ago. Even so, all of life's events that are born also have to face a demise. Perhaps this is the end of the wonderful experiment that they created so long ago, or maybe it's just another form of government being created. Who knows? I certainly don't and will probably not live to see the election of another president. I wrestle with fear and sadness almost every day.

Being alone with fear can rapidly turn into panic. Being alone with frustration can rapidly turn into anger. Being alone with disappointment can rapidly turn into discouragement and, even worse, despair. —Mark Goulston

Yes, I am sad, but I am also not wanting to withdraw from life and all the challenges that I face every day. You see, the other part of the post's title has to do with losing my ability to see, to discern shapes as they truly are, and not the way my failing eyes skew my vision. Since I can still see well enough to write on my laptop, I will take advantage of this time to learn all I can about how others cope with low vision. I don't read books anymore, but I can still get any that I want to read in audio form. For the moment, I can also continue to read blog posts from my online community, and continue to post twice a week without much problem.

Getting older and losing one's faculties is something everyone who is blessed to live a long life will have to deal with. Now that I am approaching my eighty-second birthday, I can proudly say I've already done it: gone through all the phases of life and have plenty of like-minded old people to hang out with. And that is what the Senior Center has given me already, and will continue to give me as I grow in my ability to serve others. That is one of the most amazing aspects of aging: finding new ways to be happy and not taking any of my days for granted.  

Like many others, I was devastated on Wednesday morning when I woke to see the news, and the only good part about it is realizing that many of my fellow Americans got just what they wanted. I happen to live in a blue state, and during the election season I didn't see even one Trump/Vance sign. Plenty of Harris/Walz ones, though, and it gave me the wrong impression of the direction the country was headed. I just didn't expect the gut punch I received on Wednesday morning, and now I am trying to find my way ahead.

I am no stranger to grief, having lost both of my children and both of my parents, as well as a sister and many friends over the years. I know how to navigate grief, and I also know that the place I am in right now will change and become easier to bear as the days and weeks pass. When my infant son Stephen died, I was only 22 and had very little ability to navigate the headwaters I faced. It took me a decade to find happiness and wholeness again, but I did, of course. My son Chris was only 4 when he lost his brother, and then his father when we divorced. He bore the scars of his childhood until he too died at the age of 40 while serving in the Army. The feeling I have today resembles the one I felt in the early days after Chris' sudden death.

Yesterday morning I went on my usual walk from the coffee shop with my friend Steve. I was in a black mood when we started, but after a mile or so of being outside in the light rain showers with a good friend, I began to feel much more like myself. Exercise always makes me feel better, and this week I discovered another way to cope: service to others. When I worked on Thursday through the lunchroom hours, I didn't think for a moment about anything except what I had to accomplish to help others enjoy their lunch. I walked out on my way to the bus, feeling whole and happy for the first time this week. It makes me realize what a difference it makes when one stops wallowing in pain by helping others deal with life's ups and downs. Service: I think I'll do more of it.

And just by sitting here in the dark and writing down these words, I realize that I am more grounded and feeling better today than I thought I would. Today, by the way, would have been my son Chris' sixty-third birthday. He never had the chance to grow old, but I can imagine the balding gray-haired old gentleman he would have turned into, since so many of my companions have already done so. Although I don't celebrate his birthday these days, I can send a missive of love and appreciation into the Universe for his life. 

Thank you to my dear readers as well, for being there, for going through your own lives and finding ways to deal with all the travails that come our way during the weeks and years we share. I hope I will be able to see well enough to continue this endeavor for a bit longer, but don't you worry, I'll find a way. My sweet partner still sleeps next to me at this moment, and I have plenty of blog posts to read this morning, as the rain gently falls outside. Soon my friend John will pick me up and we'll go out for our Sunday morning breakfast. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

It's that time again

Leaves carpeting the trail

As much as I love this time of year, for many reasons, I don't enjoy the rain as much as I once did, but the beautiful fallen leaves gracing the trail remain delightful. I'm feeling pretty good and watching the bounteous summer turning into autumn also makes me grateful for my ability to watch the show and play in the cool air once again.

The other thing that happens at this time of year is changing our clocks back one hour. It means that, although my clock says it's 4:30 in the morning, I need to find a subject that will inspire both me and my readers, and right now nothing is coming.

I did come up with the idea of discussing "the vicissitudes of life," whatever that means. Spending some time reading about what different schools of thought consider to be "vicissitudes" is enlightening. According to Buddhist thought, the eight vicissitudes of life are four sets of opposites: gain and loss, status and disgrace, praise and censure, pleasure and pain. The word vicissitude is a descendant of the Latin noun vicis, meaning "change" or "alternation," and it has been a part of the English language since the 16th century. It's not a word that you hear a lot these days, or a concept that is often written about, apparently. Or maybe I have just not been reading much of anything and I have forgotten about it.

Joy is a spiritual element that gives vicissitudes unity and significance.—Helen Keller

 I am always happy to find myself joyful, and although it comes sometimes without warning, I find myself looking for things that fill me with joy. I will sometimes be walking down the street in my usual neutral attitude, and suddenly I find myself feeling happy for no reason I can discern. Anything that takes my grumpy melancholy away is wonderful, even if I cannot exactly say why it happens.

Everyone has different techniques for getting through tough spots in life, and I often find that a walk will do it for me. After about a half hour or so of being outside in the weather, no matter what it is, I feel myself letting go of those things that hold back the joy of just being alive and ambulatory. And I have plenty of different types of clothing that will allow me to be outdoors and feel ready for the elements. That said, I find that I am not exactly thrilled to be heading outdoors in a rainstorm, but it sure does give me pleasure to face the vicissitudes of weather and not be forced indoors just because. Plus I have a warm home to enter, even if I'm wet, and getting into a hot shower and dry clothes is a delightful end to a soggy adventure. And I wouldn't have had it if I hadn't made the effort. No wonder it's often why I feel good afterwards.

By the time I write in this post next week, I'll know what happened with the American election. It's been a tough time for us all, including those who aren't even in this country, and I am hoping that the Universe will allow for the right outcome to emerge. And who knows what that is, really? We sure don't, because while our planet is going through its growing pains, other constellations and galaxies take a much longer view. An emerging star in the dust lanes of a distant cosmic nebula is not all that concerned with what is happening here on Earth.

Falling stars

For now, I'll keep using the tools I have in my own little corner of the world, those that have served me for decades and will probably help me get through the vicissitudes of life that I have ahead of me. Those of service, love for others, and an ability to take a longer view should keep me in one piece. For now.

I do hope that all of my virtual family are doing well, or as well as can be expected considering whatever vicissitudes of life you are facing at the moment. My dear sweet partner still sleeps quietly next to me, my tea is long gone, and I've got some time to read articles and comics on this gentle Sunday morning. John will pick me up and we'll go out for our usual breakfast. There will be more light in the sky for a few weeks, and the sun in this part of the country will set before 5:00 until next year. The dark days of winter lie ahead of us, before the cycle begins again. Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.