April flowers and showers

Cherry blossoms are amazing

On my walk home through Cornwall Park on Wednesday, I saw that the cherry blossoms are now at their peak. Such a breathtaking sight, it caught my eye and I ended up taking quite a few pictures. I think this is the best one.

We have had so many days in a row of sunshine, plenty of it, that I can no longer pretend that we are not moving into a wonderful period of the year: my favorite part of springtime. The birds are all singing, feeling the fragrant and abundant time of the year, when nests are created (or returned to) in order to attract their species to procreate. A week ago I wondered where the song sparrows had decided to nest, since I hadn't heard their birdsong. And that all changed this week; they are everywhere and loudly singing in the trees around here. They join the chickadees, robins, bluejays, and yesterday morning I heard barred owls calling! It's a plethora of feathered friends, and they lifted my spirits as I listened to them as I walked.

Today, I think I'd like to contemplate all that is going on in the world, and see where, if anywhere, I might be able to make a positive difference. All over the globe yesterday, April 5th, people gathered to protest what is happening not only in our country, but all over the world. Not just the awful tariffs that Trump has imposed, but the number of important offices that have protected us in many ways. I am mostly worried about the destruction of the Social Security Administration, which has never missed a payment in ninety years, and now is on the chopping block to be destroyed, because it is seen by some as a giveaway. But the truth is that we have all paid into the system during our working lives, and now they think they can take away our benefits by calling it a "Ponzi Scheme."

There are many other programs that have been eliminated or are being destroyed, just because they can. Although I cannot fathom where this will end, I know that we will all be impacted, and not in a good way. What I have trouble understanding is WHY? I am pretty sure that the current administration will eventually pay the price at the ballot box, unless they suspend elections. That is not just hyperbole, I have read that they are considering it. Hopefully somehow we will return to a semblance of normal, eventually, but I am not holding my breath. 

At the same time that our country is falling apart, it seems that my body is joining in the cacophony. Ever since I had that fall in February, I keep getting messages from my right leg and hip that long walks may be behind me forever. We'll see, because yesterday I was able to walk five miles but not without pain. I did complete my volunteer work on Thursday, even though I was slow and not feeling my best. It was nice to be back with my friends, though, working together as a team to get the place set up and then put back together at the end. I have to admit that I kept watching the clock and hoping I would be able to make it before my need to sit down and rest gained traction. I did make it, and once I got home and settled into my comfy recliner, I felt quite happy to know I am better. 

This Tuesday is the dreaded every-other-month eye jab. My eyes continue to deteriorate, but I can still see well enough to write on my laptop and pray that will continue for awhile yet. I have magnifying glasses and other aids to help me see better. I have purchased another headlamp to help me see things that I cannot see without a bright light. It sure does help, as I sort my vitamins or fix myself something to eat. Or sit down to read a novel on my Kindle, set at the low vision option. I'm reading a new Liz Moore novel, The God of the Woods, which is really a fascinating thriller. Once I am unable to read on the Kindle, I'll start listening to audio books so I can continue to "read." And since I've just discovered the wonders of Liz Moore's writing, I've got lots to catch up on. 

There is so much to continue to be grateful for, and I realize that all of us are in the same boat: feeling unsettled about what is happening in our country, and not knowing what to do other than to join a protest march. I am so glad I live here in Whatcom County, in the upper left quadrant of the State of Washington, which is also in the upper corner of the entire country, just a few miles from the Canadian border. And as I started this post with, the days are growing longer, the skies are filled with blue and fluffy white clouds. We are at the beginning of a really wonderful time of the year, and I am hoping against hope that the political situation will mellow along with the weather. I can hope so, anyway, and why not?

Well, it's time for me to get out of bed and get ready for my trip to Fairhaven with John for our usual Sunday morning breakfast. I hope you will find some happy moments in the week ahead, and that you will surround yourself with lots of love and positivity. Why not? That's what I am going to do. Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.

The other Dorothy

Blossoms burgeoning

¥ou might not see able to see those blossoms on your first look, but they are coming out all over my neighborhood, now that we are at the end of March and beginning to see them coming out to celebrate the first signs of spring. Yesterday, on my short walk around town with my friend Steve, I saw these with the backdrop of partly cloudy skies. In another week, these will be in full bloom. 

Today, I think I'll reminisce a little about my father's mother, who has been gone for a long time, but is still quite present in my memories. Here's some background information:

Dorothy Billings

Very little is known about the early years of my paternal grandparents' life together. This is an old photograph of my grandmother, Dorothy Billings, obviously taken in a studio when she was young. There are no pictures of my grandfather, Robert Stewart. My father told me once of watching his father walk out the door and knowing he would never return. Daddy was 12, and it was at the beginning of the Great Depression, in 1929.  Before that, however, they had had four children: Marlow, my dad's older brother, then Daddy (Norman), Edith, and the baby, Jack. I never knew my aunt Edith, but I remember Marlow and Jack very well.

Marlow, Mommy, Norman, Jack

Although you can't actually tell in that picture, Dorothy was quite tall. We, her grandchildren, were not allowed to call her Grandma, but instead all of us were told to call her "Mommy," as her own children did. In this picture you can see that Marlow was the tallest, and Daddy, next to Mommy, is almost six feet, and then Jack is over there on the right. That look on Mommy's face is what I remember most about her. I don't think I saw her smile very often, but I saw that stern expression regularly. By the time this picture was taken, Mommy had disowned her only daughter. If asked about Edith, she replied, "I have no daughter."

One thing I know for sure: every one of the siblings was above average in intelligence. And they were all alcoholics. I don't know how old Marlow was when he died, but he took an overdose of Seconal along with his usual evening three liters of wine. Nobody knew if it was intentional or not. But I think 50 Seconal along with all that wine was at least suspicious. I was too young to know, but I remember overhearing conversations between my parents about it: Mama thought he did it, and Daddy thought it was an accident.

Who was my paternal grandmother? Well, my first name is Dorothy, after her, except it wasn't my mother's idea. Mama had decided, because I was the first granddaughter and my name had become an issue, to simply name me "Jan Stewart" with no middle name. I can imagine the arguments that must have taken place.

In those days a mother was kept for ten days in the hospital after giving birth, even with no complications. Somehow or other, Mommy was able to get into the hospital records and got her name on my birth certificate (really!). You can see that it's written in at an angle as if it was an afterthought. My mother was furious, of course, and she refused to acknowledge my first name at all. Being called by your middle name tends to be problematic, especially when you move from school to school on a regular basis.

Mommy never talked about her husband Robert or her daughter Edith. She lived in Burbank while I was growing up, in the same house as Marlow and his wife Mary Kay.  When we lived in California, we visited them occasionally, and I remember their backyard because, small as it was, it had a lemon tree, which seemed amazing to me. Once I remember cutting a lemon in half and writing my name on the cement wall of the garage, and Daddy punishing me for incriminating myself by writing "Jan" all over the wall!

Mommy would also visit us, and I remember that she took care of Norma Jean and me when my mother was not around for whatever reason. She was with us when my sister P.J. was born: I was seven and remember that time vividly, since my father came home from the hospital devastated because he had another daughter instead of the son he craved. Mommy, Norma Jean and I tried to comfort him for his "loss."

Once, long ago when my dad was "in his cups," he told me about my grandfather, and that is when I learned that he and Uncle Jack went into the California mountains to find their father. Robert lived as a hermit in a small cabin, and he came into the nearest town once a week for groceries and to frequent the local bar. That is where they met him and the three of them got drunk together. I don't know how they had found him. I also learned that some years later he had died of exposure, when he was out hiking and had broken a leg, unable to get back, or to get help.

Mommy was unforgiving of human frailties, and when I think of her, I remember that stern look and her no-nonsense ways. In her later years, she had a stroke and came to live with us for a short while. She sat around in her housecoat (similar to the one in the picture) and shuffled around in her slippers. I also remember whispered conversations between my parents, with us children unclear about what was going on. Mommy left after a short while and I suspect she went into a nursing home, but I really don't know. When I was told by my parents that she had died, Norma Jean and I were old enough to see the distress my parents were experiencing, but I never felt like I knew her well enough to grieve for her loss.

She couldn't have been really old when she died, but I have no way of knowing how old she was. Nobody knew her age, including my father. Now that I have written this all down, I wonder how much of her tendency towards a lack of empathy lives on in me. Perhaps it's the cause of me wanting to think of myself as being "generous to a fault." I have given away possessions and refused to care about acquiring things, and now I wonder if this might be an unconscious backlash against being accused of having a "hard heart" like Mommy.

All those early turbulent years of striving for happiness are behind me now. I have found it. As I spend my days blogging, working out, hopefully continuing to hike in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, conversing enthusiastically with SG about our respective interests, I realize that I have found something I was looking for during all my past years: equanimity.

What lies ahead seems, like it must for most retirees, predictable. But as we all know, everything can change in the blink of an eye: an illness, a car accident, even external economic upheavals. So I am consciously saying to myself, and to you, dear reader, I am, at this moment, feeling pretty darn lucky. Yes, I have lost more than most people must endure, especially to the parents among you, but I am left wondering if I did indeed work through all that grief. I don't remember Stephen very well, but I sure do remember my son Chris, and I still miss him, but when he visits me in my dreams, he is happy.

Until we meet again next week, I will count my blessings and be grateful. And I wish you, my dear virtual family, all good things. Be well.

Finding meaning in life

Time to plant flowers

Yes, even though it seems early for these flowers to appear at the grocery store, it's not at all early: we have already passed the first day of spring here in the Northern Hemisphere, and the first day of autumn in the South. Yes, the seasons keep on coming, never stopping here on Planet Earth as we move from the cold and rainy winter to a hopefully bright and sunny summer. 

Lately, I've been working to keep my spirits up, since it's becoming clear to me that the hard fall I experienced back in February has meant that I can no longer hike long distances, as I work towards being able to walk just a few miles to some longer and more challenging hikes. It will be awhile, if at all. The good part is that I am definitely learning to be patient with myself and taking each day as it comes.

With all of the bad things that are happening in the world right now, I think we need a message of togetherness and true unity. I believe that starts with personal reflection and then we can find kindness toward each other. —Marielle Heller

When I first sat down with my laptop to think about today's post, it was actually yesterday, and I began to ponder what's on my mind. I looked at my favorite websites first, one of which is The Guardian, a really thoughtful UK website that has articles that always expand my horizons. There is an article about What is the Meaning of Life, with excerpts from 15 different people and what they think it is. I find it fascinating, since it's something that speaks to my own desire to find what I think it is. After having lived a fairly long life already, being well into my eighties, it seems that what excites me the most these days is communicating with my peers and finding out how they are coping with all the really awful things happening globally. It's sometimes hard for me to keep my optimistic worldview, but I find it imperative that I at least try to stay positive.

Yesterday, I asked Steve to walk with me to the Fairhaven green, something I haven't been able to do quite yet after the fall. I did make it a bit further along I have managed so far, but I still didn't make it there before I began to feel my lower back and right leg develop some stiffness and a little bit of pain. So we turned around just before the Turner Dock uphill, and went back to our usual town environs. It was a little bit more than two weeks ago, but I am not able to make it all the way to Fairhaven yet. I could have pushed it, but fortunately I have my dear friend Steve to make me feel fine about turning around. We stopped at the Farmers' Market, which was having a non-produce display of vendors selling jewelry, CBD items, and various different items for sale. We bought three delicious homemade cookies and enjoyed them as we walked back to our cars. It was mostly sunny and got quite warm as we walked on the crowded streets. It seemed like everybody was out and about.

I was pretty happy with my progress, and once I got home and settled into my favorite chair, I worked the NYT puzzles that have become a daily tradition for me. I went to bed early, as usual, and woke up feeling almost like my old self. It's raining hard outside, and John mentioned yesterday that he might not want to go to breakfast this morning and just skip it for a change. So I don't know whether we will go or not; he said he would call me. Since it's 5:30am already, I will hear from him in the next hour or so if he decides to keep our regular schedule.

SG had some good news last week, when he got his monthly blood draw and saw his oncologist. He's been on this chemo treatment for over a month now, and the doctor was very pleased with how well he's tolerating the drug, and said his numbers had improved significantly. That was very good news to both of us. I wish there was something I could take for my eyes that would give me such a happy outcome, but of course there isn't. The every-other-month eye jab is coming up soon: the first week in April. I dread it but won't stop until my central vision is gone in both eyes. 

As I sit here writing on my laptop, I can see well enough to read and find the keys I need to use to get this post written and published. I can hear the rain outside, and as I ponder my life, I realize how lucky I am. Although I have lived through plenty of hard times, I have also been fortunate to have a loving partner, good friends whom I care about and who care for me, enough good food to eat and keep me healthy, and the ability to be ambulatory, even if I cannot run and jump and play like I once did.

One of the more interesting stories told in that article about life's meaning is a woman who is a Holocaust survivor, 94 years old, who still travels around to give speeches to those who only know about that awful time through people like her. She has a Wikipedia page, and I read with interest about Susan Pollack. Although she was almost dead on that long ago day when she was saved by the kindness of a soldier who gently placed her in an ambulance. During the next few years, she was able to become a person once again and eventually went to college and got a degree. She married and had children. It's a wonderful story and gives me hope for our world to survive, since goodness and kindness are everywhere if we just look for them.

Everyone is capable of adding something wonderful to our environment, just by allowing kindness to become a guiding principle in our lives. I will spend today, and every day, looking for ways to increase the best parts of life: kindness, goodness, and love. I will smile and watch how that simple gesture can increase the happiness of those around me. Why not?

And until I return here again next week, dear friends, I hope you will have a kindness-filled time ahead. I will be doing my best right here, as I feel the spring in the air, in my step, and stroll into joyful activities. I wish you all good things, dear ones, and hopefully we will meet here again next week. Be well.

Sister memories

L-R: PJ, Fia, Norma Jean, me, Markee in 2011

A picture of me with my sisters in March 2011. I really had nothing I wanted to write about that is currently in the news, since it's all bleak and discouraging. So maybe it will be more fun to look back a decade and a half ago and think about my lovely sisters. This picture was taken by our lone brother in his home, when we got together to celebrate the life of my brother-in-law Pete. He died earlier in the year, the long-time husband of Norma Jean (in the middle of the photo). My sister PJ, standing next to me, died in 2014 of heart disease. It has claimed the lives of so many in my family. Now that I am probably no longer going to be able to hike vigorously to stave it off, who knows whether it will eventually come for me, too.

Frankly, these days it seems like it would be a blessing to succumb to a disease that would allow me to concentrate on something other than the current news. It seems unremittingly bad, no matter what part of the world I am reading about, and much of it originates right here in the good ol' USA. I am well aware that all things change with time, such as all of us in that picture; we are fifteen years older but still very much the same in many ways. In our country, many of us are the same as we were before the last election, but I truly didn't realize how deep the chasm is between us, those who voted for the winning party, and those who voted for the losing side. I now see it perfectly, and it doesn't make me feel hopeful.

At first, I felt that since I was well into my retirement years, with a fairly secure Social Security monthly allotment, and a (now somewhat diminished) annuity from my investments, I should be in better shape that someone who is just now getting ready to move into retirement. But it seems that no one and nobody is safe from these draconian cuts to our social infrastructure. If we lose enough, my husband and I will be unable to pay our rent and will join the huge unhoused population that already exists. We know we could be next.

Other than PJ, who has gone to the Other Side, the four of us sill around are doing pretty well. At least for now, we all have relatively stable home situations. I will start with the youngest of us, Fia, who is now a matron in her sixties, but happily married with two grown children who are both producing plenty of offspring, and to Fia these are her precious grandchildren. She posts often on Facebook, and although I am no longer posting there, I still get a notification when someone I follow posts a picture. I always go look to see the newest addition to her delightful brood.

Markee married a Canadian many years ago and they are now the proud grandparents of a beautiful granddaughter. Bob and Markee ended up with three children, two twin boys and a girl (Sarah) who produced Evelyn and are thinking about a sibling for her. They live in Alberta for most of the year, but bought a home in Apollo Beach near Norma Jean where they come during the cold winter months to enjoy the Florida sunshine.

Norma Jean has had two children, a boy and a girl, and Allison, her daughter, has two girls who are now teenagers (can you believe it?). Her son Peter lives with her and is a good carpenter who helps to keep her mobile home in good repair.

And then there's me, with my dear partner, who have no living children, but then again, there's this wonderful thought from an earlier post:

I suppose it's inevitable that as I age and look back on the decades of life I've lived, that there are several versions of each of us. I was once a young mother with two beautiful children, and now the ghosts of my nonexistent grandchildren shine through each one of my relatives' progeny. Life is like that, I guess. I'll take it, happily.

 Many of my current acquaintances will show pictures and share stories of their grandchildren during our classes or volunteer work. When they do, I am always happy to see those sweet faces and hear stories of their exploits. When I was a young mother, I felt it was inevitable that I would have lots of children like my mom did, and that one day I would have lots of grandchildren, too. We never really know what the future holds for any of us. Now that I am an octogenarian, my days of adventure and discovery are behind me, and it's time to reminisce and look back, as well as enjoy the world of today. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect the world to look like it does right now. But as I contemplate the future, I am hopeful. And I have so many wonderful sister memories to remember with pleasure.

From that same gathering

My life is a good one, with plenty of happy memories, and I will continue to enjoy whatever the future brings my way. There is so much that I can focus on that is positive: my dear sweet partner, my family, and my dear friends whom I have made over the years. And I enjoy the routine that my life brings me every week. Since it's once again Sunday morning, I will hopefully be meeting John for breakfast, and then coming back home to settle into my recliner and spend some time talking with my guy about whatever is on his mind. And spring is just right around the corner, with early spring flowers already sprouting out of the ground. 

I will also spend some time today reading about the lives of my current virtual family. That would include you, dear reader. I enjoy hearing about how you are coping with the peaks and valleys of your own life. And hopefully giving those of us who are on this solitary planet among the billions of constellations some perspective on life and love. I am hopeful and filled with anticipation for another day filled with happy thoughts. Why not? Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Hanging in there

Crocus showing their beauty

One of the best parts about living in this neck of the world, the Pacific Northwest of the US, is that it takes very little time after winter's onslaught before we begin to see signs of spring. There are crocus blooming everywhere, and shoots of daffodils are emerging out of the ground, too. New growth, new beginnings after so much darkness and grey skies.

Today, in that relentless annual ceremony that attempts to take sunlight from the morning hours and tack it onto the evening hours so we have more time to play in the sun, happened overnight. I lost an hour of sleep, just so it will be lighter later in the day. I am not a fan of this ridiculous occurrence, but what can I do about it? I will just go ahead and try to get everything done that needs to happen before I head out for my usual Sunday breakfast with my friend John. I go through this every March, and then I forget about it until the next time it comes around. One of these days I suspect we will stop this charade, but probably not within my lifetime.

We finally got our toilet installed last week, and it's really quite lovely. I didn't realize that we had one of the original toilets from the early 1960s. I notice that the new one uses a lot less water when you flush, and everything is whisked away efficiently. It's a much nicer toilet, so that's a plus. I'm glad we got it installed before the next big problem hit the apartment complex: some kind of underwater leak that managed to flood the entire front lawn, with rivulets of water running down the driveway. When I returned home last Friday, I saw lots of impressive looking trucks and diggers had arrived. Since we are just renters, we were not told what was going on, but I do think the poor owners are going to have quite a big water bill. I hope it doesn't get back to the apartment dwellers, to which we belong. There are twenty-six separate apartments in our complex, and the owners have worked hard to keep the place well maintained.

I have come to a watershed moment within my own life since the fall: I am no longer able to hike long distances, even fairly flat ones. Something has caused my already-damaged right leg to give up on me after a couple of miles. I know it might get better over some time, but I am beginning to consider that it might be an excuse to find other ways to get exercise. I wasn't always a hiker, and I've had almost two decades of weekly hikes with the Senior Trailblazers. We go to the same places and I've had countless visits to every location over the years, and now it's time to move on. I am in my eighties, after all, and hard hikes are long behind me. I think I'll be hiking solo or with maybe one other person, rather than with a group. I've already signed on for more volunteer hours at the Senior Center, and I have enjoyed so much meeting new people as I learn the ropes of other ways to volunteer. Right now I am learning how to collate and wrap silverware separately for the hundreds of people we serve every day. It is not as easy as I thought it would be, but I'm part of a team as we work, and that makes it fun.

And the weather has been just wonderful: not too cold, a bit on the breezy side, but very mild and enjoyable. I was only a little distressed to find I could not walk my usual harbor excursion before my back and leg began to go. My friend Steve helped me get back to my car, and I drove home without incident. Today I might try the usual Sunday walk I've developed and see how far I get before my leg goes bad. The hard part for me is that until it starts hurting, there are no signs to warn me of what's coming. I will adapt, as we all do, as our world changes. Life is a dynamic process, not static, and I tend to forget and want things to return to the way they were earlier. Nope, that's not possible, or even something to wish for. I will ride the waves of change and find ways to enjoy what's possible today and in the days and months ahead. I can feel my usual optimism beginning to emerge from the depths of my recent sadness. And I can also be happy to find that once again I can get out of bed like a normal person, no longer needing to roll onto the floor and then stand up. 

I just checked the clocks in the apartment, and they have all made the change without a hitch. The only clock that needs to be manually set is the microwave, and my guy did it before he went to bed last night. 

My mother and father had to change every clock in the house manually and they had three small children. Yet I never remember them complaining about something so inconsequential as Daylight Saving Time. —Mary Katharine Ham

Yes, in the scheme of things, it's pretty inconsequential. And frankly, if I forget about my lost hour, it's true for me, too. As I age, I notice that change of any flavor seems a little harder to deal with, but I also know I'm not alone in this, and that within a short number of days, I won't even remember having had a problem with it. I know that my gratitude will surface for all the magical transformations happening in the world today. It depends on where I look, and what I focus on. Emerging from the ground are beautiful flowers, and we are less than a month away from the Tulip Festival in Skagit Valley. Here's a reminder of what is to come; this one taken a few years ago.

Coming soon!

And so, dear friends, I will finish up this post and get ready to greet John as he picks me up to head to Fairhaven for our usual Sunday breakfast. Before that happens, I will have done my morning exercises, had a short meditation and shared my morning prayers with the Universe, jumped out of my jammies and into some fresh clothes to start the new week. I'll have two yoga classes and two volunteer sessions to intersperse with my other daily routines this week. There is so much to be grateful for, as I busy myself with life's roller coaster of ups and downs. 

And I know that the love and happiness of the week ahead will engulf me if I let it, and if I will put aside any and all distractions, moving away from that which brings me down. With the help of my loved ones, especially my sweet partner who still sleeps quietly next to me, I look forward to a wonderful week ahead. Be well, dear friends, until we meet again next week.

Our chaotic world

Wishing for inspiration

We were doing pretty well around these parts, as I have been slowly healing from the bad fall from a few weeks back, and just a few hours ago, we got another big setback: our toilet simply broke right down the middle where the water reservoir is, and water was gushing out everywhere. My guy managed to get the water shut off, and we called the Maintenance man for our complex. He said these are old toilets but need to be specially ordered. Sigh. Tomorrow he will do that, and maybe by Tuesday we will have a working toilet again. Until then, we will be using water from the bathtub to flush down our waste. It could be worse, but it's hard for me to think right now how that might be. The water is pretty much up off the floor, with lots of soaked rugs needing to dry. I imagine that if nobody had been home when it happened, we would have returned to a flooded apartment and that one under us would also have been flooded. So that's the good luck

So. That is the main reason I was still up at what for me was a very late bedtime. I was lying in bed waiting for sleep when this all happened. I am so grateful to have a partner who can handle these things so well. 

And I have almost regained my strength after having experienced the fiasco of my hike last Tuesday. (I don't want to think about any of it at the moment.) With everything that is going on with our political situation, everything piling up and I am feeling very stressed. I haven't been able to get ahold of John to find out whether he is planning on picking me up for breakfast, but I suspect he will, since he is also slowly regaining strength after a bad bout of the flu. It's a tough time for so many of us, but at least I am retired and don't have to worry about being laid off, like so many people are right now.

I watched what happened in the Oval Office and the sad display of bullying that Volodymyr Zelenskyy endured from the President and Vice President. At least when he got to Europe, he was given a hero's welcome. I am saddened by what is happening, but there is really nothing I can do about it, other than to support my elected representatives here in Washington State. I suspect that I will be joining some marches one of these days, once people get motivated to make our voices heard. It's a terrible time in so many ways, and I for one never imagined I would be so devastated by what my country is doing to another one that is at war with Russia. None of this bodes well for the world at large. I hope I will continue to receive my Social Security and annuities so that money will not become an issue for us. I never thought that it would be possible for so many people to be thrown into chaos all at once. And although it's bad here in the US, there are so many worse places to be. At least I don't have missiles flying overhead and needing to worry about my imminent survival.

Another wrinkle in our daily life is that SG has begun a regimen of cancer treatment for his lymphoma. He's been treated for a few years now by his excellent cancer specialist, and mostly it has been diagnosis (like a spinal tap), lots of blood draws, and presently he's taking a drug that he will need to continue indefinitely. He started it a few weeks ago, and now he's beginning to feel the effects of it. Fortunately none of the most awful side effects seem to have come about, but he's more tired now than before he started it, and I worry that he's not getting enough rest. But every day he seems to be hanging in there, and yesterday he handled the toilet break quite well. Better than I did. I just tried to stay out of his way as he went about getting our temporary flushing situation in hand. He's a wonderful partner, and we are both grateful that we have each other, to support and encourage one another through these trying times.

My current task is trying to find some really uplifting to write about, while the world seems to be coming apart around me. Maybe there isn't anything really that might help both my and your spirits to rise. I think I'll watch the Oscars tonight and hopefully there will be plenty of elegant (and not so elegant) outfits to admire. I haven't seen all the nominations, but I did see Anora and am hoping that Mikey Madison gets best actress and the film gets best picture. I'm glad it was decided to have the awards, even after the devastating wildfires that recently tore through Southern California. See, there I go again: trying to find something positive while everywhere I turn there is sadness and loss. I think I'll just give up for now and look forward to better days ahead. If you, dear reader, can find some light in the darkness, please feel free to share it in the comments.

Be well, dear friends.

Getting there

Last March in the Chuckanuts

Yes, another scene from last year's hiking, since I'm still not able to be out there myself at the moment. I especially liked seeing this picture, since I'm in it, looking happy and uninjured, and directly behind me is Karen, who led last Thursday's hike. She recounted her experience on the eleven-mile hike and how she was able to deal with leg cramps. I've had some minor experiences with them, but nothing like she felt. Fortunately for her, Chris, a strong and capable hiker, had some pickle juice in her stash. Yes, pickle juice! Have you ever heard of this? I hadn't, but then again, if given the chance I will always enjoy a dill pickle spear if one comes with a sandwich. I am fond of sour stuff anyway.

I looked online and found that there are plenty of different brands of pickle juice to choose from, but I am drawn to one that looks like a, well, pickle. The individual packets aren't very expensive, and it seems it would be a good idea to carry a couple for emergencies. It sure helped Karen: in just seconds, her cramps disappeared. Reading about the use of pickle juice for cramps, I learned that it seems it's truly magic: the juice helps almost instantaneously before it could actually get into your system. Hmpf. Color me skeptical.

I am getting better, but I am certainly not back to normal. I did walk to the bus and take it to town twice last week, going to the coffee shop and then over to the Senior Center before returning home the same way, by bus. But after two days doing this, my legs were sore and my back wasn't happy. I guess I should be pleased that I am doing as well as I am, but again, I never expected to be this old and slow. And I never expected to become a grumpy old complainer, either. That I can do something about: let's focus on the good around us, shall we?

Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. It is far better take things as they come along with patience and equanimity. —Carl Jung

It's true that I have been blessed with a truly happy existence. Just as most of us, I have experienced plenty of sadness and even misery, but mostly I have seen the brighter side of life. I've had a good career, from which I have retired; I have a wonderful partner who shares the ups and downs of the world with me;  sitting in my lap is a delightful instrument that connects me with the wider world; I have a lovely place to live (even if it's rented); I can ponder, think about things, and write blog posts like this one. That's just for starters: if I dig a little deeper, I can find many other reasons to be happy with the life I have today. So much better to look on the bright side. Why not? 

There is plenty to feel doom and gloom about, but there are also myriad ways to enjoy life, even when things are really dire. I remember years ago reading about people who found joy and compassion even when thrown into concentration camps with death all around them. They even had weddings and celebrated birthdays, glad to still be breathing. No matter how glorious our life, or how humble, we all one day reach our final days and take our last breath. To have had the incredible experience of life is to have already reached the summit. Standing on the edge of the precipice, looking out at the infinite landscape below us, we can be filled with joy and gratitude. Why not?

We get to choose whether we concentrate on the good stuff or the bad stuff. If I spent my entire day sitting with the laptop and reading the news of the day, I would be in despair and wallowing in the awfulness of life. But, conversely, if I spend my entire day reading inspiring stories and enjoying the company of family and friends, the world looks brighter and happier, and nothing changed except my attitude. Surrounding myself with what I want to experience is a tactic that works, even when I am still unable to run and jump and play. Yet.

My Sunday morning will look very different, too. John will not be coming to take me to breakfast, as he got a bad case of the flu last week. He had gotten his annual flu shot, but he was exposed to it, caught it and ended up very sick. He's 85, after all, and not in the best shape. He went to his doctor's and was given the antiviral tamiflu, which he says makes him feel worse when he takes it. But today is the last of the seven-day regimen, and then he will start to feel better. He got really walloped by it this time. I read that our area is having a real strong outbreak and that one should stay away from others as much as possible. I started wearing a mask when riding the bus (which I had stopped doing a while ago) and in crowded places. I sure don't want it; I got a flu shot in October and hope that it's still effective.

So there you have it. I am going to take a hot shower and then decide on what I will do with the rest of my day. It's strange not starting with my exercises, but each day I am closer to being able to resume my normal life. Perhaps this has been somewhat of a wake-up call, making me realize that things change, life moves on, and to stop and smell the proverbial flowers now and then. Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Making progress slowly

Teddy Bear Cove January 21, 2025

I didn't realize when I took this shot at Teddy Bear Cove last month that it would be the last hike I would be sharing with so many good Senior friends for awhile, but it was. 

I took a very bad fall on the ice and wrote about it in detail here last Sunday, if you want the whole story. For now, I'm being grateful that I am much better than this time last week. But I am still not there. The other part of getting older is forgetting how much longer it takes to get back to normal after an injury. The good part is that I can now make it out of bed by myself and can crawl back in without help. Of course, that doesn't mean I am not truly enjoying being tucked into bed like a baby. I have stopped taking all drugs, even though I have a few set aside in case I really need something. Twice so far I have attempted to do my morning Five Tibetan Rites, which I have done every single day for decades. Until now. 

The first time I tried them, I couldn't even get from a sitting position on the floor to standing without extreme discomfort. I managed to spend maybe an hour going from one sitting position to the next. And then I needed to take a muscle relaxer and 2 Advil, and decided it was too soon to try them. Then yesterday, just over a week since the injury, I tried again. I was able to do some modifications but managed a few poses without too much pain. It was only the last Rite that I still cannot do at all. I'm thinking that if I am not well enough to do them next week, I'll order a back brace from Amazon and continue trying. It seems like a long way from where I am today to being able to hike, do my volunteer work, and attend yoga classes once again.

But what else can I do? Just keep on trying and noticing how much better I am with each passing day. I've learned that the SI joint (the right one was shattered back in 2000) is responsible for transferring the weight from my torso to my legs.

Red area shows where the pain is

The x-ray tech was nice enough to show me the x-rays, so I could see the two pins that reside in the joint, and I could plainly see the device that the doctor placed in my back, after he needed to just plug the artery, rather than try to sew it back together. I've managed quite well, all these years later, until I went and re-injured it. Fortunately I am resilient and used to pain, so I am hoping I will once again be back to a semblance of normal. The good thing is that I am able to get up and dress myself, careful to pay attention to my movements. I stop when I feel pain. A week later, I am off the meds, able to get out of bed by myself, and even able to do a bit of grocery shopping, with help from SG. So, life is good, if I will acknowledge my good fortune.

Our awful and unusual cold snap has broken, finally. We had more than two weeks of cold where the high temperature for the day didn't even reach the freezing point. But now the rain has returned, along with much warmer temps. I received a bill for last month's electric usage (we have electric heat) and was shocked at the number, more than $100 higher than I've ever gotten before. Another reminder that we are all in  the same boat of trying to find our bearings in a changed world. If I compare my situation with many others, I am still blessed with a wonderful partner, relative health, and a place to live that I can mostly afford. Not to mention good food, an internet connection, and lots of virtual family to converse with.

I'm doing my best to navigate the news these days, keeping the most distressing parts on a short leash, as they say. When it gets really bad, I stream a comedy show or something else that will make me smile and gain some perspective.

Keep your face always toward the sunshine, and shadows will fall behind you. —Walt Whitman

This morning, John will not be coming to take me to breakfast. He went out dancing last night and knew he would be staying up later than usual, so he wants to get enough sleep. I am fine with it, although I'll miss seeing him. And it's still too soon for me to attempt my exercises, so I'll snuggle into my recliner with my feet up, and enjoy the world as it is today, not as I wish it to be. I hope that you, dear friends, will find joy and peace in your life. You deserve it, as do I. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Happier times

Coming down from Hannegan Pass

I have always loved this picture, me gazing back down from the pass, on my way back from the summit. Well, maybe not the actual summit of Hannegan Peak, although I've climbed it three times over the years, but maybe just to the pass, where we usually stopped, had lunch and turned around, heading back the way we came.

I think the days of climbing that peak are behind me, but I might one day, maybe this summer, make the nine-mile hike to the pass and back. When I think of the peak, I can only remember lots of climbing, rocks, loose shale, and heat from the blazing sun. Obviously in this picture, we were not in full sun and probably didn't make the full eleven miles to the summit. 

It was last Wednesday, the day after I was warned to be careful on the slippery and icy walk to the bus. Well, I shouldn't have been out there, because I slipped and fell backwards onto the hard driveway. But it was the metal water bottle, strapped to my right side, that caused some major damage to my pelvis. Yes, the same one that I broke in six places, shattering the right sacrum and losing an internal artery in the process. That was a quarter-century ago, but I have now been reminded of the pain I endured, since I am suffering once again. This time, however, I think the pain will diminish faster, and I am no longer needing that external fixator I wore for seven weeks.

When I went down this time, I landed right on my back, a little to the side, right on top of the metal bottle, and the pain was excruciating. A red-hot fire of pain. I lay there in shock, waiting for the pain to subside, so I could get up from the ground. Finally I stood and then carefully made my way back to the apartment, where SG slept, knowing little of what his next few days would look like. Once I made it to the bathroom and pulled up my shirt, I looked at my back in the mirror and saw no sign of the fall, but I could sure feel it. Thinking that I would be back to walking in a short time, I didn't panic, and I knew that if I had done any real damage that I could get to the Emergency Room within a few minutes if necessary.

That night, Wednesday, I attempted an uncomfortable sleep, but it wasn't to be: I was unable to get up by myself and needed help just to get out of bed and get to the bathroom. I was still feeling reassured, although I was stiffening up as time passed. I took a few Advil but otherwise just allowed myself to believe it would get better quickly. But Thursday night, once I went to bed, I was unable to get up by myself at all. And the pain was unremitting. My partner became my caregiver and had to help me as I would scream in pain if I moved a certain way. Once I made it to the bathroom successfully, I decided to spend the rest of the night in my recliner in the living room. Not much sleep, but I knew it was time to make a visit to the ER.

We are still in a cold snap, with the temperature, even with full sun, not reaching to freezing during the day. So Friday morning,  I asked SG to drive me to the ER, once the sun had melted the ice and snow. We got there around 10:00am, and I went through the intake procedure and then waited for an X-ray. The triage nurse had given me some drugs for the pain, and I felt much better once they took effect. The anti-spasm medication helped a great deal. The X-ray showed no permanent damage. We filled the prescriptions, one for hydrocodone, an opiod, and one for a muscle relaxer. Also we got some lidocaine patches.

I was glad to learn that all my hip hardware is still in place, and realized that the soft tissue took the brunt of the fall, and that it will get better, but I need to remember that it takes awhile to heal when you're old. I cannot do my morning exercises yet, and I need to be careful hobbling to the bathroom or climbing into bed, but I was able to sleep for eight hours last night (not uninterrupted), thanks to the meds and the helpful ministrations of my sweet partner. I have had to wake him to help me get out of bed, but each night is a little better. It's only been three days, but they are long ones when you're in pain.

My friends Steve and John have been in the loop, both willing to help if necessary, but SG has been the best caregiver I could have hoped for. At first he slept as I rolled out of bed, got my feet on the ground, and then stood up to hobble to the  bathroom. I managed to keep from waking him, but in the morning he woke before me, made me a cup of tea and settled me in the recliner before going back to bed. He is sleeping right now, and I feel bad that I've kept him up once again. But I am marginally better and hope that by this time next week I'll be functional. Other than the trip to the ER, I've been either in the recliner or the bed. He's taking such good care of me, but I am tired of being injured and unable to accomplish my normal routine.

Every four hours, I can take another muscle relaxer and Advil. I'm staying away from the opioid as much as possible, since I well remember how hard it was to get off the oxycontin that I took during the initial trauma. I made it, and I refuse to consider this drug as something I need. Frankly, the muscle relaxer and Advil are sufficient if I allow myself to be in some pain.

So here's my lesson for the future: listen to the voice of reason and stay home when you're unable to keep from falling on the ice. I pray that I will be back to some semblance of normality by this time next week. Until then, I'll be sitting in my recliner or tucked into bed by SG, warm and cozy and hopefully getting better. Until next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Take care of yourself and stay healthy!

Searching for serenity

Foggy winter day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clear and cold, still

Lake Padden

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

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

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

Nothing ever stays the same, and we deal with what we're dealt, right? I recently learned that Georgia O'Keeffe, the famous painter of gorgeous flowers, mainly, developed the condition long before she died. Here's how she coped:

By 1972, O'Keeffe had lost much of her eyesight due to macular degeneration, leaving her with only peripheral vision. She stopped oil painting without assistance in 1972. In 1973, O'Keeffe hired John Bruce "Juan" Hamilton as a live-in assistant and then a caretaker. Hamilton was a potter. Hamilton taught O'Keeffe to work with clay, encouraged her to resume painting despite her deteriorating eyesight, and helped her write her autobiography. He worked for her for 13 years. The artist's autobiography, Georgia O'Keeffe, published in 1976 by Viking Press, featured Summer Days (1936) on the cover. It became a bestseller. During the 1970s, she made a series of works in watercolor. She continued working in pencil and charcoal until 1984 (Wikipedia).

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

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

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

Bellingham Bay, with Lummi Island in the center

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

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

 

Learning new things

Generic high school kids in choir

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

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

First I went to Wikipedia and found that Emma Lazarus wrote the lyrics, which were inscribed on the monument.

She is remembered for writing the sonnet "The New Colossus," which was inspired by the Statue of Liberty, in 1883. Its lines appear inscribed on a bronze plaque, installed in 1903, on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. —Wikipedia

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

Front view

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

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

Back in early days with Mama

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

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

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

Peace among turbulence

Peaceful Lake Padden

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remembering and forgetting

Mt Baker from Goose Rock trail

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me landing at sunset in Eloy, AZ

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

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

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

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

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