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.