Wet, soggy but delightful

Wet pavement and brilliant trees

 Yesterday, I met Steve and John at the coffee shop and we decided, as a group, to stay out of the weather, which was unremittingly wet, and go instead to a local restaurant (the Daisy) for breakfast. I sure didn't have much desire to pile on the rain gear I brought, just in case I could be cajoled into braving the weather. Nope, nobody else was champing at the bit to go catch some rainbows. We enjoyed a very nice breakfast, and then John headed home, reminding me that we would see each other on Sunday (today) for our usual Fairhaven breakfast.

Steve and I waffled a bit before deciding to just go for a drive around town in his nice warm (and dry) car. That picture above was taken on Cordata Parkway, before we found a parking place at the community college where he works, and he took me on a tour of the Chemistry Department. The college is quite beautiful at every time of the year. I see the campus a few times a week on my bus ride to the Senior Center North, for my yoga classes.

Gentle scene from the first floor

There was a time, not so long ago, that I would not let a little thing like rain stop me from going on a hike. But that was then, and I've decided that it's just fine for me to stay inside and wrap myself in a favorite blanket and sit in my favorite chair.  And now that I am just a few months away from my eighty-third birthday, I have been telling new friends that I am already 83. Gotta get used to those huge numbers gradually, right?

I had a great week, considering everything going on. I have been trying to keep my spirits up as I watch my beloved country struggling every day with the politics of it all. I try to pretend that we will be all right, but I have my fingers crossed most of the time, hoping it will indeed turn out for the best.

I worked in the lunchroom both Thursday and Friday, getting more than 10,000 steps each day, and I talked to my sister Norma Jean for an hour or two on Wednesday. She lives in Florida, and I live in Washington State, thousands of miles apart but connected to each other by love, decades of life, and the internet. She's never known a world without me in it. And I cannot imagine my world without her presence. Fortunately, we are both in pretty good shape for our ages (she's two+ years younger and never lets me forget it). One of my favorite actresses, Diane Keaton, just died this week, and it reminds me once again that we are, each one of us, headed for the same fate, although I think she was too young to die, only 79. As I age, I find that anybody younger than me should still be vigorous and healthy. That is getting harder as I know that it's a privilege to be an octogenarian, not at all guaranteed. 

Steve outside his office and labs

It ended up raining just under an inch yesterday, with the same amount forecasted for today. It's been awhile since we've had that much rain, so it was really needed for the ground to get saturated before the cold comes. I am ready for the change in weather, and I look forward to continuing to enjoy the beautiful world that surrounds me. Although I can no longer see it clearly, it's still there, and I am still able to walk to the bus, take care of the seniors who look forward to my ministrations, and stay active, although in a limited capacity.

I have so much to be grateful for, but it's not easy watching my eyesight continue to deteriorate, slowly but surely. Of all the maladies I could have imagined befalling me, losing my ability to see clearly is not one I would wish on anybody. But apparently the rest of my physical body is doing well. I get to visit the dentist in the middle of the week, which I really don't like but see the necessity for the cleaning and examination of another part that is gradually deteriorating. *Sigh* I can either lament getting older or embrace it and make the best of it. Fortunately everybody I love and hang out with are also on this journey with me, so I am not alone.

You, my favorite virtual friends, are finding your own ways through the maze. I am jost so glad you are still around, still here to tell me about your own worlds and how you are coping. I send a heartfelt prayer in your direction, letting you know that you are not alone. Climb on board and let's see what adventures lie ahead this coming year. It bodes well for us all that we are still connected and engaged in life. Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Into the fading dreams of yesteryear

Spooky times are here again

This delightful decoration is something that I have enjoyed from this nearby neighbor every year. It's always a little different. They have good Halloween stuff, and then wonderful Christmas stuff, before they put it all to bed for the winter. These are mostly new this year, and I especially love the dancing skeletons. (Makes me wonder if they show any difference between males and females, since the pelvic structure should be different for each gender. Right?)

Yesterday, I walked with my friend Steve for the first time since he moved and spent several Saturdays dedicated to getting his several-years-long home moved into a smaller apartment, but one that should be adequate for him and his children, when they visit (two, a boy and a girl. If you can call people in their twenties children. But you know how it is: your kids will always be your kids and expected not to age too quickly.) My son Chris lived to be forty, had a full life and then joined the Army in his thirties. I'm glad he met Silvia, whom he married while he was stationed in Germany. She had a son who was a boy of ten or eleven when they got together. She spoke very little English, so I never got a chance to know her well. Nobody expected Chris to die so young, but I for one am glad he got to experience matrimony and fatherhood, even if he wasn't the boy's the biological father. 

Chris has been gone since 2002, more than two decades. I don't think of him often, but he used to visit my dreams fairly regularly. Not so much now, for some reason; maybe it's because he's reincarnated and is busy living another life. I like to think that we might actually get more than one chance to go around the Universe. But who knows?

I was a very young mother, just shy of my nineteenth birthday when he was born. Neither of us knew what we were doing when we first met, after his unremarkable birth. He weighed seven pounds, seven ounces, and was a pretty normal looking newborn. We were both at the Army Base Hospital, on a ward with seven other mothers. I was the ony one attempting to breastfeed; the others were happy to have their milk dried up and give their babies formula. I don't remember now why I was so adamant about wanting to nurse him. In the early 1960s, it was just not done, and I would turn my rocker around so that I didn't have to watch the other mothers with their bottles. I ended up breastfeeding him for almost six months and wish I had kept it up, but the pressure was still there to join the others and I figured that I gave him a good start in life.

In those days, giving birth was treated very differently than it is today. I was kept in the hospital for several days, and when I gave birth in a civilian hospital to my second child three years later, I wasn't even kept overnight. Thinking of my life as a mother, I am reminded of many memories of happy, laughing babies and a happy mother. Everything changed when Stephen, my second child, contracted spinal meningitis and died. My marriage ended, and I entered a long period of depression. Eventually, however, I rejoined the world and put my sorrows behind me. The one who paid the highest price was Chris, who not only lost his brother, but his mother as well. Derald, his father, stepped up and really helped Chris through that hard period. I was of no help at all.

I had a wonderful job for years, working at the National Center for Atmospheric Research in Boulder, Colorado, and I got to travel extensively, including many trips to Southeast Asia. Now, here I am, an elderly woman living out her retirement years, with the wonderful man I met while skydiving in the early 1990s. SG and I have now been together for more than three decades, and although we are both dealing with health issues, that's pretty normal for people our age. It's been over a decade since I last made a skydive, but the memories I cherish of those days will remain with me forever. At least I hope so! I no longer take anything for granted, including keeping my mental capacity intact. Losing my sight has been no picnic, but I am adapting, and I can still type on my laptop and read the blogs of some of my dear friends in the blogosphere. It's like my virtual family, actually; I have been following some for decades and feel invested in their lives. I've lost a few friends over the years, and it's no easier than if we saw each other daily. When I think of how different my life would be without you all, I continue to be filled with gratitude for what I can still enjoy every single day.

Lavender at the harbor

I am not sure whether you can see the pretty color of the lavender I saw yesterday at the harbor, because I wanted to try to find a way to share the delight with you through my camera lens. And I am hoping that you will also find a way to share some beauty in your own life with others. It feels good, and looking at the world through a lavender tint makes me happy. Today John will pick me up and transport me to Fairhaven for our usual Sunday breakfast, and then I will return home to share my day with my guy, which will punctuate with hugs and laughter. 

Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.