Mother's Day 2021

Mama and Grandma

I took this picture many years ago, at Grandma's home in Santa Monica. Mama had come to visit from Texas, while I was taking care of her mother as she, Grandma, endured chemo treatment for lymphoma. She was not expected to survive and was given palliative injections of chemo. But then she got better and lived for several more years. I believed it was because she had someone living with her and her two cats, which gave her a reason to look forward to every day.

In trying to figure out when this was taken, I had to think back to when I went on my six-week-long bicycle trip from Boulder, Colorado, to San Francisco (it was in the 1970s). I and a girlfriend spent those weeks on the road, most times sleeping in city parks or campgrounds as we made our way across the country. When I called my parents after we finished the trip, Mama asked me if I would be willing to be a caregiver for what was supposed to be a short time. Since I was betwixt and between, she figured I could spare a few weeks to spend with Grandma. In the end, I was there for more than six months and decided to leave when she was once again able to live alone. She didn't want me to leave, but I needed to resume my own life. It was quite a shock to my system to go from living outdoors to being confined to living in a stuffy two-bedroom house.

I don't know how old Grandma was in this picture, but she died at 79, so she must be younger here than I am today. It is quite a shock to realize this, and reminds me once again that if you live long enough, you'll get old, too. It must have been the mid-to-late 1970s, and both she and Mama have been gone for a long time. Mama died in 1993 at the age of 69. On this Mother's Day, I am glad to sit here and look at this long-ago picture and reminisce about times gone by. Even though they are no longer alive, they will always live in my heart as long as I draw breath.

Me and Chris in the 1980s

And I am a mother, too, even if my two sons are no longer living. This was taken in Boulder at my then-current home. No grey hair yet, and Chris is wearing his hair in the style of the day. He died at 40 and has been gone for almost two decades. He joined the Army when he was in his early thirties, and he died in Germany while serving. It was a heart attack that took him; he had high cholesterol and incipient coronary artery disease that he inherited from both parents. But still, it was a real shock to lose him at such a young age. Chris was jogging when he collapsed, and his fellow soldiers were unable to save him. It was classified as "sudden cardiac death," which (I have seen many times since) often takes seemingly healthy individuals, mostly young men. I remember reading about a young athlete who finished a run and died while getting a drink of water from a fountain, without any warning. After Chris' death, I began to notice that this is not all that uncommon, but before my own experience, I had no idea about the syndrome.

My goodness! I sure didn't sit down here this morning to become so maudlin, but instead wanted to remember why Mother's Day is important to me. After all, we all have mothers, and some of us are mothers too. It's nice to have living parents, but by the time you get to be old yourself, it's perfectly normal to have lost them. Not many of us live to be in our eighties and nineties, and the longer we live, the more we must learn to cherish the memories of our loved ones who have already left us.

Mama was a central part of my life as I grew up, and I have memories of her from my childhood into my middle years. Most of us only have one mother, and she is always a central character in our formative years. One strong memory I have of my parents when I was growing up was watching them get ready to go to a formal party, and Mama wore a dress that I can still see in my mind's eye: its voluminous skirt contained multi-layered clouds of sheer material decorated with streaks of silver and gold. When she moved, it swished around her in dazzling glory. I don't think she ever wore it again, but I will never forget how beautiful she looked that evening. The smell of her favorite perfume, Shalimar, was in the air as well. Of course I had to look it up, to find out if it is still available. These days, the scent is indeed still available, and that article tells us that 

Shalimar is preserved in its original 1925 formulation in the archives of the Osmothèque, donated by Jean-Paul Guerlain. As of 2017, Shalimar was Guerlain's second best selling fragrance, behind La Petite Robe Noire, with approximately 108 bottles being sold every hour.

I would love be able to smell it once again, and see if Mama might appear, but unfortunately my smeller doesn't work as well as it once did. I can still smell certain odors very well, but others are no longer available to my nose. That said, the memory of the scent of that perfume and its juxtaposition to my mother are still with me today.

After I finish this post, I'll start my own Mother's Day with a trip to the coffee shop to share a latte with my friend John, still sitting in his truck's cab rather than inside, since it will be awhile longer before they open the doors to indoor seating. It's cloudy and only 45°F out there right now, so we won't be sitting outdoors, I suspect. Then we will enjoy a gathering at my friend Lily's place for an early dinner. John is bringing some of his cod and will cook it for us. I'm bringing shortcake for his rhubarb sauce (instead of strawberry). Other than probably eating more than I should, it will be a fun gathering. We are now allowed to gather in small groups indoors if everyone is vaccinated. Slowly things are getting back to our new normal. And as I sit here in bed, my dear partner still sleeps quietly as I write.

Motherhood is the biggest gamble in the world. It is the glorious life force. It’s huge and scary — it’s an act of infinite optimism. —Gilda Radner

And with that quote from one of my favorite people, I will continue with the rest of my Mother's Day 2021. I hope you will have a fine day, too, filled with lots of laughter and remembrances. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well, dear friends.

Quality versus quantity

A beautiful bunch of tulips

This picture was taken during my recent visit to the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival. There were so many beautiful flowers that my eyes felt overwhelmed at times, trying to take it all in. The quality of the display was not lessened by the enormous quantity. Is that true about life in general, I wonder?

I sometimes wake in the middle of the night and think about things, and last night I began to ponder my life in terms of duration. When I was a young woman, I would often think about what I wanted to accomplish, not in my entire life, but in that moment in time, where I was headed. I could no more imagine my life today than I could fly, but I sure thought I was more in control of the trajectory of my life than I was. Now here I am, creature of habit that I am, sitting in the dark with my laptop lighting up my face as I begin to create my Sunday morning meditation.

Now that I am in the end stages of life's journey, meaning that I am not only retired from my profession, I am also looking at a body that is moving out of the decade of its seventies and looking ahead at eighty. It is not the same one I enjoyed in my twenties, or thirties, or even sixties. I look over at my dear partner, sleeping quietly next to me, and I realize that, even though we met in our fifties, we have been together almost three decades. We've been through plenty of adventures and trials during that time, and I cannot imagine my life without him by my side. I hope we'll be here together for a long time to come, but who knows? We had a scare last August when he had a stroke and although he has recovered to a semblance of normalcy, it's a different normal. It has reminded me to be grateful for every single day.

Just as most of my readers can attest, our lives have certainly changed over the past year, during the pandemic that is still killing millions of people worldwide. We in this particular part of the country are faring pretty well, but it's not gone and has the potential to get worse if we relax our pandemic restrictions too quickly. Fortunately for us, we have access to vaccines, and I and most of my closest friends are completely vaccinated. This morning I'll gather with some of them at the coffee shop, where we will sit outside and enjoy each other's company. It is springtime, after all, and today we should have sunny skies and mild temperatures. Not warm by any means, but a nice warm sweater under my jacket will make it perfect, I'm hoping.

I can barely stand to watch the news these days, as I see what is happening in other parts of the world, India in particular. We were in similar straits on the East Coast last spring, but I fear that with all the new variants and poor Indian government management, it will only get worse. And not only in India: I see that there are more Covid infections worldwide right now than ever. As of today, there are 152 million reported cases, with 90 million recovered, and more than 3 million deaths. We here in the United States have the largest number of fatalities, but the rest of the world is catching up, as we have managed to vaccinate around half of our adult population. It's been a horrible year for many of us.

There are so many things I can be grateful for, and probably one I am most thankful for is that vaccine I was able to receive, for free, and after several weeks of anxious and nervous excursions into websites to sign up for a shot, they suddenly became available to anyone around here who wants to receive one. And almost everyone inside the stores I frequent is masked and keeps their distance. Yesterday I saw one woman inside Winco's who was not wearing a mask, but she was the only one. And although we can now walk on the trails outdoors without one, most people around here still wear theirs. I've got mine around my neck, and if someone passes me while they are wearing a mask, I pull mine up out of courtesy.

I am not the only one who has noticed that we had a winter without colds or flu, because of the masks. It's going to be hard to get back to being exposed to those nuisance viruses once again. Maybe I'll just keep one wearing a mask even after we aren't required to any more. But who knows when that will be? We are a long ways from being out of the woods with Covid.

As I lay in bed thinking about things last night, I pondered my wonderful circle of friends and acquaintances. We will be having a gathering of Trailblazers on June 3rd, after our Thursday hike, to enjoy food together again and to celebrate the season. We didn't have any gathering last year, because of the pandemic, and so this means the beginning of coming back together in our new normal. Details are still to be worked out, but it will be at Lake Padden, and a few of our members will be bringing their kayaks so that others can experience that adventure, if they want. Just being together again will be wonderful.

Last week I mentioned that I will be having a tooth extraction on May 13th. I pondered whether or not to get a second opinion, since there is no pain in that molar, but after some research and talking to others who have been through similar experiences, I decided to go ahead and do it. After all, it's not going to heal up by itself, and a 9mm pocket is serious. I found this article, What to Know about Periodontal Pockets, and that was enough to make me just go ahead and do it. So now I am in the process of mourning the loss of the tooth ahead of time. I also learned that seniors over the age of 65 have, on average, only 19 teeth left out of the 32 adult teeth they began with. So I am ahead of the curve by a lot, and I'll just enjoy my remaining healthy teeth. I had my wisdom teeth out long ago and don't remember it being particularly traumatic, but as I said, it was a long time ago.

As I age, I realize how fortunate I have been in my life. Not only do I have reasonable health and the ability to pretty much do all that I want these days, I also have many advantages that many don't have: I have a primary care doctor I like (and see as little as possible), I am able to attend three yoga classes a week through Zoom, get a monthly massage from a practitioner I adore, and receive acupuncture treatments every few weeks. I never thought I would enjoy having needles stuck into my body, but I do. And I always feel much better afterwards. One of these days I'll feel better about going back to the gym, but I'm not yet ready. Plus my favorite class is gone, perhaps forever (hi-lo aerobics). 

When I first began this weekly blog post, in 2009, I could not have imagined that I would still be doing this every Sunday morning. What would I write about? How could anybody be interested in it? At first I agonized over each post, but not any more, now I just take each Sunday as it comes around, and hope for the best. As I've said before, sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn't. For now, I'm glad I have the mental acuity to continue, and I so look forward to the comments from my friends.

A poem from Emily Dickinson has been rolling around in my head for a day or so, and therefore it seems I should share it with you. The entire poem is here, but the part that keeps coming back to me is this:

Elder, Today, a session wiser
And fainter, too, as Wiseness is —
I find myself still softly searching
For my Delinquent Palaces —

And a Suspicion, like a Finger
Touches my Forehead now and then
That I am looking oppositely
For the site of the Kingdom of Heaven —

And with that, dear friends, I will wish you the best of weeks ahead, and that you will please find another to give thanks for all that you have and all that you share with others. The world will be better for our having given each other a sincere wish for happiness. Be well until we meet again.

Thirteen years

Cherry tree in bloom

We moved into this apartment complex thirteen years ago now, and this tree was the first thing I saw as we pulled into the parking lot, with SG driving a U-Haul and me driving my silver Honda Civic. He had made an earlier trip to the area and found this place for us, left his own car and flew back to Boulder. The two of us arrived April 17, 2008 to begin our retirement years. This seemed like a good place to gain a foothold in the area. We did move from one end of the complex to the other in 2012, but otherwise it's been our home all these years. Twenty-six units make up the place, with lots of open area around us, which has changed over time, but it's quiet and mostly serene, and we see no reason to move anywhere else.

Many tenants have come and gone, and our rent has almost doubled over that time, but we have a community garden in the back, a large front porch and two entrances to the unit, which I had never enjoyed in an apartment before. I think it's a wonderful addition to apartment living. We live simply and have good relationships with our neighbors. People are mostly respectful of each other's space, and most of the children are on the far end of the complex. I do occasionally hear them playing and find the sound soothing, much as I find the birdsong coming from the trees.

It's not ideal, but it comes as close to ideal as we could find around here, and we are happy to be renters and not owners. We try to live lightly on the land and have only modest needs. This past year during the pandemic has been hard in many ways, but it would have been the same wherever we lived. Our county is undergoing a resurgence of the virus, but it seems to be getting under control, and most of the community is respectful of the need for masking and social distancing. We are in what is called Phase 3 of reopening, meaning that restaurants, gyms and bars can have up to half capacity in their facilities.

So much has changed during this past year, but we are slowly but surely regaining some normalcy, although I am still doing my yoga classes through Zoom, and frankly I prefer it in many ways. Once we return to the studio, only a few people at a time will be able to be inside, and we will need to bring our own mats, blankets and other props. Being in enclosed spaces still bothers me, even after having been fully vaccinated. I shop at the local Costco during senior hours, and mostly spend my time in close contact with only a few regulars. The coffee shop is still closed for anything other than buying takeout. I really miss hanging out inside. My usual spot these days is the passenger seat in John's truck. It's so much better than not having any place at all to visit. The weather, however, is now beginning to warm up enough to gather outside. 

Our ten-day warm streak of full sunshine is gone, and now it's just a rainy drizzle and makes the warm cab in John's truck much more inviting than sitting around outdoors. Once I finish my post and take care of the usual morning activities, I'll drive to the coffee shop and enjoy a latte with him. And I will be very happy when we will once again gather indoors to log onto our iPads and share stories. That is a ways in the future, however. I need to be happy with what we do have, and to be grateful that I can still get outside to enjoy life.

I'm trying to change my rather gloomy mood right now. Last week I finally made it to the dentist's office for a cleaning and an exam. It had been well over a year, and I knew I needed it, although I'm one of those people who rarely appreciates having good dental care until something really hurts. Everything checked out well, except for one back molar, which has a deep "pocket" and needs to be extracted, according to the dentist. My options are limited, but since there is no pain from that tooth, I am really skeptical about the necessity for losing it. I've never had any tooth pulled except for two bottom wisdom teeth long ago. My two top ones never descended and have never given me any problems.

I did get my dentist to agree to give me a prescription for two valium pills, one to be taken the night before, and the other the morning of the procedure. But of course the whole process is constantly on my mind. I have two more weeks before the big day. In my Trailblazers weekly Zoom meeting, I heard horror stories that have NOT helped me feel better about it at all. I'm wondering if maybe I should get a second opinion about the necessity of going through all this. But then again, it seems quite common for people in their old age to lose teeth. I'm willing to consider anything, but I sure don't need to hear more stories about what might happen. My dear husband has had two pulled during the past few years, and he didn't go through anything so horrific, so maybe I'm just making it all up. But it sure is on my mind a great deal of the time.

Other than that, however, I seem to be doing quite well overall. Although my sister Norma Jean likes to brag that she doesn't have any aches and pains, mine seem to be mostly in check at the moment. Never does a day go by when I don't have to nurse something that hurts; usually it's my knees or my right ankle, but one grows accustomed to having these little annoyances. At least I do. 

I wonder sometimes how much my daily exercises help me. Every morning I perform the Five Tibetan Rites, and I realize it's now been almost a decade that they have been part of my daily routine. Several friends have also been doing them, and one thing I know for sure is that they have helped me with my lower back pain. I also try very hard to get 10,000 steps on my iPhone every day, but lately it's been hit and miss. When I was going to the hi-lo aerobics class four times a week at the gym, it was no problem: the class always gave me more than half of them in an hour. I wonder if that class will resume someday. If so, I'll be there. I miss all those fellow regulars who were there along with me and wonder if there will ever be a time when we'll be back together. It's been hard to let go of what I loved.

Everybody has to deal with tough times. A gold medal doesn't make you immune to that. A skater is used to falling down and getting up again. —Dorothy Hamill

You know I couldn't end this post without finding a quote from somebody, and once I started looking I found this one from Dorothy Hamill. I am very used to falling down and getting up again, I do it almost every day. And the need I have for routine means spending some of my Sunday morning reading quotes, looking for just the right one to leave you with. It was the image of Dorothy trying and failing, and getting up again and again that stayed with me. 

And with that, I have reached the end of another Sunday morning post. Now I can get up and out of bed, while my dear partner still sleeps next to me. The sun has already risen, but it's cloudy and drizzly out there, not exactly calling me to get on with things, but you know I will. It's my nature. And I do hope, dear friends, that this coming week will bring you joy. Life is good and I'm looking on the bright side. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. 

Our world today

Taken yesterday at the train station

Just last week, there were so few tulips up around town, but yesterday we saw these gorgeous tulips while on our six-mile walk from downtown to the Ferry Terminal in Fairhaven and back. On Thursday, Melanie and I will venture down to the Tulip Festival in Skagit Valley to see what's showing up there. When Lily and I traveled there a few weeks ago (on Easter Sunday), the daffodils were open but very few of the tulips. It's amazing how quickly that has changed.

When I went to bed last night, I wondered what I might write about today. It often comes to me during the night, but not always. It's my first task of the week, if I consider Sunday as being the first day of the week and not the last. Sunday is different: on some calendars it is on the right side and others on the left. Curious, isn't it?

Of course, we make it up ourselves. There is really no difference between days of the week, or months or years, for that matter. The sun rises and sets as it has been doing since the dawn of time, but here we are, observers who have given names to it all and believe that we are in charge of things. How silly is that? I have no more control of my life than I do over the change of seasons or the weather. 

As I make my way through this beautiful springtime, I ponder the state of the world, and especially my country. We are in the midst of a terrible period of gun violence in America, with more than 45 mass shootings in the past MONTH. People going about their business, in grocery stores, or at work, or simply just being outside, are killed for no reason other than some crazy man with a gun, usually an assault rifle. What is happening? Can it be changed or at least mitigated? It fills me with despair.

And it makes me realize that nobody anywhere is safe from it. Just as I have no idea when it will be my time to die, I realize that there is no guarantee that I will not be shot dead in the street today. Or at the coffee shop. Or in a grocery store. If not me, then some other poor soul who doesn't know where the bullets are coming from, or why. It's hard enough to navigate through our lives, but now we must be aware of death coming from an unknown adversary.

We, my partner and I, talked yesterday about taking the time to fill out some forms that will help each other if we might be killed suddenly. Ways that we can cope if we are left behind and need to take care of business. I looked online and there are plenty of workbooks and other tools for this task. We have already filled out and registered our Advance Directives, but that doesn't take care of the details we need to know if for some reason we are left behind. I found this one that I particularly like, The Final Chapter: An End of Life Organizational Planning Tool. Here's an excerpt from the description:

Having everything documented in one place relieves emotional stress, heartache, and chaos for those who are grieving. Now, more than ever, our digital world necessitates a structured depository for passwords, accounts, insurance details and other crucial information, as much of it is saved online and cannot be accessed by anyone after death.This book provides peace of mind, financial security, guidance, direction, and knowledge for the survivors’ coming days and will be a major part of your legacy. 

I went ahead and ordered this one, after reading several reviews from different versions and found this one quite useful. Many people have been using things like this during the Covid pandemic, and some reviewers were grateful for having had so much of their burden lifted when a loved one ended up dying in the hospital. We just never know how our final chapter will be written. We live in an uncertain world in an uncertain time, and this is one way to give some semblance of control over our lives. 

I realize that my readers might have found other ways to cope with today's world, and I would be so happy to hear of other approaches to this time in life. One thing I know for sure: nobody can ever say about me that I left prematurely, since I have already lived a full life. Many of those who were killed in the most recent shooting were young and their families certainly didn't expect this. 

We think about leaving behind a legacy for our loved ones, but the most important thing I can do is to remove some of the pain from my partner, who would have to figure out how to access all the different avenues left unfinished, such as (perhaps) this blog, how to get onto it and let my readers know I am gone. We all die, and certainly I have been blessed to have my faculties intact as I begin to make my way through my own final chapter. I don't have an end date, none of us do for sure, but by the time we get into our late seventies, we know it's not that far in the future. It's actually kind of a relief to open up to this task and get it behind me.

Yesterday I watched the funeral of Prince Philip, who died at 99, and had lived a full and meaningful life. I was moved by the image of his sword and his hat on top of his casket, reminding me of my own son's memorial service that had his helmet and boots in front of his picture, since he died while serving in the Army. The Prince was married to the Queen for 73 years and I was also moved by the picture of her sitting alone in the chapel. We do what we can to lessen the burden of our passing for our loved ones. Nothing can remove the grief we feel for our loss, but it's so much easier when it is expected and not a sudden death, such as from being shot dead while shopping for groceries. But even that, we can recover from.

You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly - that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp. —Anne Lamott

 I wish I could have written about something more uplifting and positive, but that's just not where my mind is today. It is the state of our world today, and of my heart and mind as well. That doesn't mean I am not hopeful for the future, and for all the good that surrounds me. Sometimes life is a mixed bag, isn't it? 

But my dear partner still sleeps next to me, as normal, gently breathing, and my tea is long gone, and it's time to out of bed and step into the rest of my day. And nothing can stop me from giving thanks for the delight that all the opening flowers fill me with. And for you, my dear readers. I hope you will have a lovely and safe week, until we meet again. 

Paying it forward

Skagit Valley daffodils

 I overslept this morning, and I've got a massage scheduled early, so here goes a Sunday post with little to no idea what I've got to say. It's always a little bit disconcerting to awake and find that half my morning is already gone, and I am already feeling less than serene. This picture was taken last Sunday when my friend Lily and I drove to the Skagit Valley, hoping for tulips but seeing very few, although the daffodils were in full bloom! Gazing at that picture does bring me a little more serenity.

We've had a very cool spring, and everything is behind. But coming up this week we've got a big change in the works: a week (at least) of above-normal temperatures, and everything should catch up quickly. The weather has been really strange in so many places in the world, probably because of climate change, they say, but who knows for sure? We are still in the grip of the coronavirus in much of the world, as well as countless wars and rumors of war everywhere. It's a very unsettled time in the history of the world.

And here we are, right in the middle of it all. We in the United States had the first presidential election in our history where there was not a peaceful transfer of power, with an insurrection on January 6th, and many people still not convinced in the legitimacy of President Biden. It has caused so much strife and difficulty already, and I fear there is more to come. Not since the 1960s have so many citizens marched in the streets for change. And now almost everyone has at least one gun and I wake up every day to learn of another mass shooting in my country. It's inexplicable, and many of them seem random, making me more fearful for my safety and for those around me.

There are so many homeless and hopeless people in Bellingham, and it seems to be increasing daily. As I sat in the cab of my friend John's truck yesterday as we enjoyed our coffee together, at least six homeless people walked by, some with all their belongings in a grocery cart, few dressed appropriately for the cold weather. And a few obviously in a bad mental state, shouting and cursing at everyone they see. It's a very depressing state of affairs.

However, for now we do have a functioning government, and there are places for those without homes to get some food, even as many of them are huddled in doorways in inadequate sleeping bags, trying to sleep with all their belongings surrounding them. There are homeless shelters, but many of these unfortunate people don't go there because of the rules they must follow. And they must leave each morning to walk the streets. At least we are in springtime, and the weather will soon warm and make life a tiny bit easier for them. I fear that the trickle of homeless will soon become a flood, along with all the pain and suffering that we will all be forced to endure.

Not that it seems to be any better in other countries. I shudder to read every morning about what is happening in other parts of the world, where military are executing their own citizens in Myanmar, where innocents are being starved to death in Syria and other places, and where governments are teetering on the brink of collapse. Is it just me, or is the world really in worse shape than ever? The pandemic is raging in most countries, and we endured a horrible year in 2020. People want a scapegoat and are going after Asian Americans, as if they had anything to do with the virus.

Bad times, hard times, this is what people keep saying; but let us live well, and times shall be good. We are the times: Such as we are, such are the times. —Saint Augustine

What do you suppose St. Augustine means by that statement? That if I can live well, times shall be good? My life is pretty darn good, and I have a roof over my head and hopefully no bullets will come through my windows. I can sit in my bed on a dark Sunday morning and ponder the state of everything. I don't know how to go forward when times are so bad everywhere around me. I feel almost guilty for my good fortune, when I see so many others suffering. If there is a way for me to make the world a better place, I ask for guidance to find that path.

First of all, I realize that even in the midst of so much suffering, there is plenty to be grateful for. Yesterday I observed several acts of kindness that were unexpected by the recipients, and I saw that and even offered one myself. Kindness is catching. I realize now that is the way forward for me: find ways to spread more kindness through my own little world, and life will get better. If everyone could find a way to be kind today, we can spread that benign virus into the world. Perhaps that is what St. Augustine means by living well. What do you think?

Paying it forward is also something that can help spread kindness through the world. I read not long ago about a long line of people in cars waiting to get a chance to buy coffee, and one person paid for the coffee of the people in the car behind them, and that started a chain that went on for 11 hours, from morning to evening. You can read about it here. 

Upon realizing as I sit here writing, there are definitely many ways for me to become part of the solution instead of part of the problem. Life gives us, every day, choices to make that can either brighten the world around us, or allow us to fall into despair and consent to its becoming darker. I was well on my way to darkness until I asked for guidance and found that article. Yes, it is possible for my small little self to make things better by looking for ways to spread kindness in my immediate environment.

One of the ways I can also spread kindness is to ask my readers to start a chain of kindness in their own lives. That would be you, my dear friend, and perhaps this day will become bright enough to light many sparks that will change the world. And with that admonition, I hope to feel that this bright new day will offer many of us a new beginning. 

My dear partner still sleeps next to me, my tea is long gone, and I am ready to begin the rest of my day. I will be getting a massage in a few short hours, and that will help me, too. I hope that your day will be bright with promise and lots of love, dear friends. Until we meet again next week, be well. 

Easter 2021

Rita Eberle-Wessner creation

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. —Rabindranath Tagore

Here we are again, the week has slid around to another Sunday, this one Easter. I went back to look at previous Easter posts I have written, and the picture I thought I might use at the beginning, of my sister Norma Jean and me with our Easter baskets many decades past, has been used too many times already. This one, snagged from one of my Flickr friends, thrills me with its perfect evocation of springtime joy.

And I love the image that comes to mind when I read that quote from Tagore. What does it mean, to "let my life lightly dance on the edges of Time"? Almost every person whom I choose to emulate has already danced there, and they have left the realm of the living and now are only present through their past works. Does it matter that they are gone from this earth? Does it make them any less relevant?

No, certainly not. Easter reminds me that we are all caught in this wonderful and magical creation of ours, that of being born into a world we know nothing about, learning and growing, moving from youth to old age, feeling ourselves the same, but always dancing on the edges of Time. After living through a pandemic winter, the birds are now singing, the flowers emerging from the ground, and my life feels filled with promise. We are not through to the other side of the pandemic just yet, but there is much to be grateful for and to enjoy through each moment of the day.

Easter always comes on a different Sunday, and I learned that it was decided to be held the first Sunday after the full moon following the vernal equinox, by the First Council of Nicea in AD325. It's also the celebration of Passover, the eight-day-long Jewish celebration of the Israelites being freed from Egyptian slavery. It's not by coincidence that all these events happen at the same time. But why in the world has Easter become associated with bunnies and Easter eggs? Here's why:

All the fun things about Easter are pagan. Bunnies are a leftover from the pagan festival of Eostre, a great northern goddess whose symbol was a rabbit or hare. Exchange of eggs is an ancient custom, celebrated by many cultures. Hot cross buns are very ancient too. In the Old Testament we see the Israelites baking sweet buns for an idol, and religious leaders trying to put a stop to it. The early church clergy also tried to put a stop to sacred cakes being baked at Easter. In the end, in the face of defiant cake-baking pagan women, they gave up and blessed the cake instead.

The celebrations of annual events has been followed by humans immemorial, and here we are in 2021, still following the same paths set down by our ancestors. It makes sense, since we are all experiencing our magnificent planet and its seasons throughout our lives, whether we dance lightly on the edges of Time for a long or short moment. It's sort of reassuring to me to realize that even as momentous events occur, the march of the seasons stays the same through the years. Easter comes and Easter goes, but will return again and again.

For me, the holiday is also a time to remember those who are (as they say) on the other side of the grass. My parents are both gone, but when I sleep at night, my mother often visits me in my dreams. My children are both gone, but my son Chris sometimes comes to laugh and rejoice with me, and I remember that all that I am today is part of my history that will never disappear as long as I breathe.

And it is also a time to count my blessings, which are numerous. As I sit here in the dark with my laptop, I feel the presence of my dear partner, who sleeps next to me, and my gratitude for him in my life only grows as the time passes. When he had a stroke last August, and I worried that I might lose him, it became very clear to me that I had better appreciate our time together every single day. He has mostly recovered from it, but he's different now. In some ways it has been a good thing: he's more emotional and less reticent to share his feelings with me. He still makes puns and bad jokes that cause me to groan in protest, but now they are precious and unique. But he also still struggles to speak clearly and works on making progress every day. If anything, I love and cherish him more because of the stroke.

During this last year, I was unable to carry on my life as usual, and now what I realize is how much of my routine was fungible: although now that I walk with one or two friends, I still walk. If I cannot hike in the mountains, I can still enjoy the wonderful forest environment within a few minutes drive from here. I do miss my workouts at the gym, but three Zoom yoga classes a week in my living room have helped me stay moderately fit. And some things will never return to their pre-pandemic place in my daily life, but it's not something to lament, just to notice and appreciate today.

And yes, there is always my social calendar, one which I am enjoying right this moment: a conversation with my virtual family. Once I finish this post and hit publish, I will look forward to your comments and hear what you have to say. One day soon, I should be able to attend a movie theater inside, but for now I am happy to keep things virtual. Now that I am fully vaccinated, I feel so much less apprehensive about walking around in close proximity to others. Here in my town, we are all still wearing masks and keeping our distance, but lately I have been able to hug dear friends who are also vaccinated. It's wonderful and something I once took for granted.

And with that, dear friends, I will finish off with an Easter wish for you: that you will find joy and companionship in your day. And that you will also remember that whatever else happens, you are appreciated. Be well until we meet again next week.

Living the dash

Camellia in bloom

Walking back home after my coffee shop visit, I saw a bush laden with camellias in bloom already. It's almost April, but I am always taken aback by how quickly we go from winter to spring in this part of the country. And since this pandemic started, I've altered my route from the bus stop back home, making for a longer walk. I am not getting the same amount of exercise every day that I did before, but I've managed to find ways to get in most of my steps through determined effort. And now the weather is getting better and being outdoors is much more pleasant than it was when it was dark and wet.

Have you heard the phrase "living the dash" before? It refers to the line used in obituaries between one's birth year and one's death, as in (my case) 1942–20xx. Obviously I don't yet know what those last two marks will be, because I seem to be hanging in there still today, into the third decade of the 21st century. One day my relatives and friends will be able to complete it. Happens to everybody eventually. So we are busy living our dashes as we progress through our days.

Yesterday I watched a very moving documentary about Audrey Hepburn (1929–1993). I always loved watching her in movies, and I remember her work as an ambassador for UNICEF in her later years. For some reason, I thought she had grown quite old, but she was only 63 when she died of a rare form of stomach cancer. She had two children, both boys, one from each of her two marriages, and she apparently had suffered miscarriages as well. She wanted to have lots of children, but it was not to be. I am well aware of how little most of us are able to plan out our lives. She was an amazing woman who would be in her nineties today if she had lived that long. I tend to think of her has having died prematurely, but is that really true? If one dies in their forties or fifties, that is definitely premature, but living until one is well into their sixties, I'm not sure. In some ways I look at my own life, rolling quickly towards my ninth decade of life, and I know I've been fortunate and have lived the vast majority of my dash already. No premature death for me.

Audrey accomplished so much during her life. She was fluent in six languages and made some memorable movies. I loved Breakfast at Tiffany's when I first saw it many years ago, and thanks to the miracle of today's world, I think I'll watch it again for free on Amazon Prime, which I subscribe to. She won an Oscar for her performance in that movie and is one of only a handful of people who have garnered an EGOT: which is shorthand for receiving an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony. She was such a kind person, and you could see it in her face over the years she performed, and in the documentary you can tell how much she cared about the starving children she raised money for. During the time she was affiliated with UNICEF, contributions more than doubled because of her efforts. And she also found true love in her later years. If you subscribe to Netflix, you can see the documentary yourself.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mode but the true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives the passion that she shows. The beauty of a woman grows with the passing years. —Audrey Hepburn

That was certainly true about Audrey: she is more beautiful in her later years than in her youth. And because of film, we have the ability to see all the phases of her life, from her first movie to this documentary that covers her life after she left Hollywood behind. Even today she is enriching my life and that of many others. Who could ask for a better legacy?

* * * 

I am now fully vaccinated. Last Tuesday I went to PeaceHealth, where I received my second Pfizer dose, and on April 9th, two weeks after that shot, I will be as safe as possible from the coronavirus. Nobody knows yet how long that immunity will last, but for now I am quite happy to know that I am protected from Covid and its variants. It is a good feeling, and yesterday I went to a restaurant for brunch after my walk. Lily treated me to a wonderful vegan meal at Twin Sisters Brewery, which offers both indoor and outdoor seating and seemed to be doing a brisk business. We are now able to have restaurants at 50% capacity, meaning that we are through the hardest part of the pandemic, and hopefully businesses will now begin to recover. I read somewhere that more than 2,000 restaurants have closed permanently in Seattle, never to return. That means all those employees will have to find other jobs.

I was expecting that I might have some after-effects from the shot, but other than a sore arm and a few aches and pains (which I might have had anyway), it was pretty easy. And a minor headache that didn't require me to take anything, but it's gone now, and I'm feeling happy to be among the thousands of old people who cannot pass it to others. There is still a five to ten percent chance of getting it, but if I do it should be a mild illness, probably similar to what I experienced last March. It was difficult a year ago to get a test, so I don't know for sure whether or not I had it, and fortunately I am not one of those people who developed what is called "long Covid," where you don't really get over it but continue to have symptoms that vary from mild to severe, and never let up. That must be really hard to deal with. This virus has truly altered our world, and not for the better.

But we are through the worst of it, at least in the US. I am hoping that we will not have another surge, although we are still getting more than a thousand new cases across the country every day. I am certainly not going to stop wearing a mask or keeping my distance from others. It's funny, I now feel quite happy to have my face covering, and considering that we didn't get much of a flu season because of it, maybe it would be a good idea to keep on with the masking in public places. They do it in Asian countries, where masks are pretty permanent accessories. Just another way our lives have changed. Plus I have quite a collection of them now.

Well, dear friends, that pretty much wraps up another Sunday post. I enjoyed writing this one, mostly because of Audrey, and now that my tea is gone and my dear partner sleeps next to me, everything feels bright and a new day beckons. 

I do hope that whatever you do with your day, it will be a good one. And remember, whatever you find to do with it, find a way to spread around some kindness. It will make the world a better place, as well as brighten your own day. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things.