A difficult year behind and ahead

Squalicum Harbor

Yesterday morning my friend Melanie and I walked from the Farmer's Market to Squalicum Harbor and beyond to get our steps for the day. We enjoyed the clean air, which cleared up Friday evening, and gave us a chance to breathe normally once again. We both picked a few flowers from the beautiful plants that surround the area and gently dropped them into the water. We said a few words to honor our Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg, who died on Friday. We needed some way to give our bereaved spirits a lift. Life goes on, but we are much poorer today without her presence in the world. It is one more thing that marks the year 2020 as being a trial to the soul. She was my heroine in so many ways; the documentary about her taught me that just being old doesn't mean you stop striving for excellence. In her bouts with cancer, she never missed a day on the court as she recovered, until this past year when she missed a few days, at the age of 87. I will always be glad I lived during this time when she was alive.

It is just the latest trial to my soul. We started this year with the impeachment of the President and the hardening of battle lines in Congress. I watched the proceedings with dismay. Little did I know in January that it would be the beginning of a year filled with difficulty for the entire world. In February, we learned of a new virus that was spreading around the world, and by March we, along with most of the rest of the world, went into lockdown, with the only way to fight the virus being by physical distancing (also known as social distancing), wearing a mask, and washing our hands frequently. World economies plummeted. We spent a spring and summer without being able to gather in groups larger than five, and we remain there today, in my state anyway.

Yesterday the death count from the coronavirus surpassed 200,000 in the United States. Although we have only five percent of the world's population, we have twenty percent of the deaths from the virus. According to the Coronavirus Update page, you can check it out for yourself to see how we are doing. Not well, it seems, but then again, no country is doing perfectly: it's very contagious and there is no vaccine for it yet. Unfortunately for us in the US, it's not very well contained because the only treatment for it has become politicized. Many will not wear masks or social distance because they believe the virus is a hoax.

And on top of all that, the entire west coast has been burning with unprecedented fires, both in quantity and quality. And hurricanes and floods are devastating the southeast of the country. What else could possibly happen, I ask myself, in the rest of this awful year? Plenty. For one, the US has a very consequential election in a few weeks, and people are planning to vote like never before, on both sides of the political spectrum. Our postal service is under attack, and because of the virus, many people are not willing to expose themselves to vote in person. And I have a very bad feeling about it all. It could be that I am hyper-sensitive because of all that is going on, but I really wonder if we are heading for a civil war before the end of the year. 

What else could conceivably make things worse? Well, we could have the earthquake we're overdue to have here in the Pacific Northwest, and that would probably be the end for me. I can almost feel the tectonic plates shifting. The Cascadia subduction zone is a convergent plate boundary that stretches from northern Vancouver Island in Canada to Northern California.

While I was at the acupuncture treatment office last week, Warren (my acupuncturist) asked me if I had heard about a new documentary that has just been released on Netflix, The Social Dilemma. I said I had not, but that I would check it out. It is completely scary, because it shows to me how many of the people who are in charge of what we see and learn from our addiction to social media is manipulated by people whose only concern is making money. I am glad that I don't use Twitter or visit Facebook all that often, because I didn't realize how much my societal viewpoints are shaped by them. And one thing pointed out in the documentary is that there are already two generations of Americans who have never known a world without social media.

If humanity does not opt for integrity we are through completely. It is absolutely touch and go. Each one of us could make the difference. —R. Buckminster Fuller

The positive thing I learned from it, though, is that there are indeed people aware of all this and are actually working to make things more ethical. In the documentary, I was introduced to a very interesting person, Tristan Harris, president and co-founder of the Center for Humane Technology. Earlier, he worked as a design ethicist at Google. He received his degrees from Stanford, where he studied ethics of human persuasion. According to his website, he is the "closest thing Silicon Valley has to a conscience." He, and others like him, make me hopeful for the future, instead of leading me to fall into despair.

I've thought about all this in the past few days, as I look around at my wonderful life, all that I have going for me gives me real joy in the present moment. And really, truly, that is all we have.

Always say 'yes' to the present moment... Surrender to what is. Say 'yes' to life and see how life starts suddenly to start working for you rather than against you. —Eckhart Tolle

I'm so ready to let the world and all its wonders and challenges come into fruition. After all, it's the only thing I can do, isn't it? All any of us can do. But I am also haunted by the phrase in that Buckminster Fuller quote, that "each one of us could make the difference." What does that even mean? The only thing I am sure of is that I am willing to be that person and put myself out there, on the line. 

And I know that I am not alone. I have you, my dear virtual friends, I have my dear partner who is beginning to stir from sleep as he listens subliminally to the clacking of the keys as I write, and my friends and family who love me, and whom I love. And on that note, I will say goodbye for today, and I ask that each one of us take to heart what we can do today, for ourselves, for the world, for the planet. Until we meet again next week, I truly hope you will find a happy corner to sit in and enjoy your wonderful life. Just as it is. Be well, dear friends.

Smoke and memories

View from my living room

Yesterday the wind direction in Bellingham changed from easterly to southerly, and it blew in smoke from Oregon. From just gentle bits of smoke to this, we are now admonished that the air quality is "Very Unhealthy." No kidding. I looked up the AirNow.gov website to see just how bad it was, and I had to agree: it was bad. They have created a very cool dial on that link for you to plug in the name of your city and see what the air quality is right at the moment. 

At first glance yesterday, I thought the majority of the haze was caused by fog, since the air didn't hurt my eyes or lungs as I headed out to the coffee shop. Early on, the dial said the air was "Unhealthy" but had not fallen into the higher category. What is measured is particulate matter (PM2.5) of a certain size that is caused by the burning of trees and buildings. I decided to take a short walk on flat ground with my friend Melanie and then go home and hunker down as the day progressed. We went from a reading of 196 to 211, but just to see how bad it was in Portland, where my blogging friend Ronni lives, I checked to see what she is dealing with: 515! Unbelievably bad air! We don't have any choice of whether or not to breathe, but she has COPD and I truly hope she is able to cope with this awful air. What do people DO who have lost their home to fire and have no place to go? It's beyond cruel.

When I consider how many people are coping with the twin disasters of coronavirus and fires, it simply breaks my heart. I can stay inside, because I actually have a home that gives me shelter from the elements, and from the virus as well. This is the first time I wish I actually had an N95 mask, because they filter out particulate matter, but I suspect it would be impossible to find one now. Instead, I'll just stay indoors and read or watch TV. Maybe I'll watch Hamilton on Disney+ again, since I enjoyed it so much and it's rather on the long side. It also takes me away from the current situation and transports me back in time a century or two. If the library was open, I'd browse the shelves until I found a big thick book filled with plenty of distractions. But it's not: at the moment you can request a book and when it is ready, you can drive there and someone will deposit it into your car's trunk, with no actual contact with anyone.

What a strange world we live in these days. It's the same everywhere, I guess, but at least in Europe and a few other countries the virus is under control. Here, we are lucky to have some places that are relatively safe, but they still require stringent controls to keep it from surging again. Until we have a vaccine, I guess this will be the shape of our lives for months to come. And I am not jumping into line to be the first to get it, since I want others to take it and see how it works for them. That may seem a bit cowardly (and it is, really), but I am afraid it is being rushed to market for political purposes. I want to know if it's safe for old people like me before they jab me with the needle. I'll be getting my flu shot in a week or two, though, as I've done for years now. I feel confident that the worst I'll get is a sore arm for a day or two. I'm just hoping that we can get through this awful year in one piece.

Okay, enough about disasters and pandemics. There are still plenty of wonderful places that I can point my mind towards, and I'll just have to root around in the attic of my mind and look for something positive to focus on. Here I am cruising along, looking, browsing in the mists of memory...

And there it is: my skydiving years! What a wonderful time they were for me. For those of you who don't know the history of how I became a skydiver, it was a simple tandem jump in Loveland, Colorado, with a friend who had always wanted to make a skydive. I went along with it, because it seemed like a fun thing to do. Any of you who have ever made a tandem jump yourself know what I'm talking about. An experienced and well trained instructor straps you to his front, and the two of you travel up in an airplane until you exit together, with him or her in charge of the oversized parachute, while you experience the thrill of a lifetime! I can tell you, the long journey from the seat of the airplane to the open door is something nobody can forget. Then you dangle your feet out into space while your instructor sort of leans forward and you both enter freefall.

I certainly didn't know how much my life would change from that fateful moment until today. But the man sleeping next to me would come into my life because of it, and the thousands of skydives I have made since would become the center of my existence. I became an instructor myself, although not a tandem instructor but a freefall instructor, where you take someone out of the airplane who is wearing their own parachute. I was an active skydiver for more than twenty-five years before retiring at the age of 72. It will always be something I remember and reminisce about with joy and excitement, even today. My memories are filled with more than sixty hours of time spent in freefall, many of them with my dear partner holding my hand, gazing out at the world as we fell towards the earth. Ah, it is a wonderful time, something I will carry with me forever.

I suspect that you have times that you can recall in your past that bring joy when you remember, and you might reminisce about those days. It's also possible that you find yourself surrounded by family and friends right now, today, and that brings you joy. We don't have many choices we can make these days, but remembering and rejoicing is always available to us. In any event, we are truly a product of all we have lived through, including now.

It takes one thought, one second, one moment of positive memory to act as a catalyst for the light to gradually seep in again. —Fearne Cotton

 And with that, dear friends, I will again make my way to the coffee shop to spend a bit of time with my current coffee family, then come home to my dear life partner who sleeps contentedly next to me as I write. He is getting stronger every day, and we continue to spend our days together in gratitude for each other. Until we meet again next week, be well, my dear virtual family.

Crossroads

Dahlias

I took this picture yesterday while on a walk in the neighborhood. I was attracted to that pretty white bloom and then enchanted by the lovely pink color of the others. It's a really special time of the year for me, the end of summer and the beginning of fall. And this is the Sunday sandwiching the three-day holiday of Labor Day here in the US. The unofficial end of summer, with the days growing shorter and the nights longer, heading towards the Autumnal Equinox on September 22, just a little more than two weeks away.

Many people don't like the winter months and relish summer, but I'm definitely a fan of the two seasons that transition from one to another. There's a bittersweet feeling in these gorgeous fall days, because you know what's coming. This year is especially fraught for many of us as the pandemic continues to disrupt our activities, and the upcoming election season as well. It's a reminder that the world is at a crossroads between what has been, and what the coming months will bring. Many people I know are experiencing stress and have few ways to cope with it. I feel fortunate to have beautiful places to walk and hike in, as well as yoga via Zoom, which I am currently enjoying three times a week. It helps so much. And I have my friends at the coffee shop, where we sit outside and drink coffee together in our lawn chairs. I don't know when, if ever, we will be able to gather inside again. It doesn't look like it will be soon, and the weather will become a factor to consider.

One thing that has saddened me lately is the loss of Chadwick Boseman, a gifted actor who played T'Challa in Black Panther. I watched the movie last year, on my iPad, and yesterday I decided to watch it again, out of respect for Boseman, and because I remembered I'd enjoyed it before. It does sometimes amaze me how much I forget about movies I've seen before; it was like the first time, and once again I was so impressed with how wonderful the movie was, in every way. I'm not a Marvel fan, usually, but that particular movie is very special. I knew it is the first Marvel movie to win an Academy Award, and it deserved every accolade it received. The magical world of Wakanda again brought tears to my eyes, thinking of how much today's world needs a place like that to aspire to.

Chadwick Boseman was only 43 years old when he died of colon cancer last month, which is on the rise in young people, for some reason nobody understands. He didn't tell anyone outside of his family about his struggle, and in watching the movie, I can hardly believe that beautiful man would be leaving soon, and that he was probably suffering greatly and in silence. He embodied the King so perfectly that I cannot imagine anybody else playing the role. Charles Carter is the person who first told Boseman he would be playing T'Challa. Carter was a bodyguard who met Boseman in Australia during the filming of another movie, and they hit it off. Carter had been a fan of comic books since he was a child and once he went home, he found his 1977 comic book about Black Panther and sent it to Boseman with a note that said, "You're going to get this role." How prescient was that? Boseman sent Carter a ticket to the premier of the movie. That was the last time Carter saw him.

No-one else can be the Black Panther now. Wakanda can live, but not King T'Challa. Writers should think of developing other leads, strong women, strong people of colour. Not replace Chadwick Boseman, because that is not possible. —Charles Carter

 I am sad that such a good person would be taken from us way too early. And that others, like me, continue to live into our late seventies. There is no justice to the way the world works. It's not up to me to decide when it will be my time, but I sure wish Chadwick Boseman could have lived to continue to light up the lives of many of us. That said, I am grateful that I got to appreciate him in his many screen roles. I'll also watch him as Jackie Robinson, Thurgood Marshall, and James Brown. All those movies are available on my laptop. Chadwick Boseman was a good person.

The only difference between a hero and the villain is that the villain chooses to use that power in a way that is selfish and hurts other people. —Chadwick Boseman

As I sit here in the dark, tapping away on my laptop, another good person lies next to me, my dear life partner, who is recovering slowly but surely from his stroke four weeks ago today. The stroke damaged his insula, a little understood part of the cerebral cortex. It's thought to be the center for self-awareness and the integration of external stimuli and internal interpretation. I see him looking at the world through new eyes, and learning how to deal with an influx of emotions that he had buried deep inside himself. I have to say I really admire and love seeing the way he is dealing with it all. I thought I loved him a lot before, but now I love him even more. How fortunate I am to share my life with him.

There's a lot of good in the world, and we just need to focus on it, rather than on the dark underbelly of the news that permeates our TV screens. I know it's hard, but it's definitely possible. I intend to spend my days spreading kindness and love, and it sure makes me feel better and might actually make a tiny difference in my own little part of the world. Today I'll spend the first part of my day at the coffee shop with my buddies, and then go for a nice walk with my friend Melanie along the Interurban Trail. It's a plan!

I do hope you will have a good week ahead, and if you haven't yet seen the movie, spend a little time watching Black Panther. It's got some violence in it, but a very happy ending, which is what we are all hoping for. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Sunny skies and random acts

Bellingham Bay and boats

Yesterday morning, Melanie and I walked along Boulevard Park for our Saturday outing, and this lovely picture of sailboats anchored in Bellingham Bay caught my eye. The day was picture perfect, as you can see here, and we ended our five-mile walk with a trip to the Farmers' Market, where I figured I'd just take a few pictures of the produce. Instead, I decided to buy some homemade shortbread cookies, and we shared some as we went our separate ways. If I had it to do over again, I'd leave that purchase out, because I cannot resist those cookies and finished them over the course of the day. I'll pay for that indulgence on the scales.

An update on SG's progress: he's continuing to improve after the stroke three weeks ago, but he has a ways to go. Finally he's going outdoors for some walks, and he describes himself as feeling like Bambi, transported from a mountain meadow into the middle of New York traffic, where everything is loud and rushing by at breakneck speed. Each day he's a little better, though, and I see the progress in his continued improvement with joy and hope. He's a little bit like a baby bird that has just fledged, needing to find how to use its wings and trust them to fly. And I feel so impossibly proud of him as I stand by and watch.

Yesterday, as I sat outside our coffee shop enjoying our little spot in the shade, my friend John shared an article with me that I haven't been able to forget. He had actually sent it to me the night before, but I hadn't yet read it, so he suggested that I read it aloud right then, as he wanted to hear it again. It's rather long, but I was very moved by it and cannot stop thinking about the implications. It's written by an anthropologist who lives not far from me, over the Canadian border in Vancouver, BC. It's entitled "The Unraveling of America," and appeared in Rolling Stone Magazine. As an anthropologist who has studied many different cultures over the span of his career, he knows of what he writes.

He suggests that the Covid-19 pandemic will change the course of history and be one of those inflection points we all see in stories of past eras. He writes:

The COVID pandemic will be remembered as such a moment in history, a seminal event whose significance will unfold only in the wake of the crisis. It will mark this era much as the 1914 assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, the stock market crash of 1929, and the 1933 ascent of Adolf Hitler became fundamental benchmarks of the last century, all harbingers of greater and more consequential outcomes.

There is no way for us to know for sure how the pandemic will change the world, not from this vantage point anyway, but I believe that the young people of today will one day look back and see that this is when we began to come to the realization that we would never be able to "get back to normal." The social inequities I see everywhere around me are increasing, not decreasing. As I see more and more people in the streets without homes, and as they look out of their sleeping bags at a world that has left them behind, I wonder what separates me and my friend John from their fate. I am retired now, and I receive not only Social Security benefits from decades of working, but also annuities from a retirement plan I paid into for thirty years. It's the only thing that separates us. I no longer have to think about losing a job and having to try to find work where none exists.

I saw a young woman outside the grocery store yesterday, holding a sign clutched to her chest that said, simply, "NEED HELP." I talked with her for a few minutes, to find that she is living in a shelter, with little hope for the future, and she's trying to find a way to stay off the street. She's young and healthy enough to possibly not end up like so many of the older men I see walking with all their worldly belongings in a shopping cart. I know that when I was younger, there was not such a huge divide between those who have and those who have nothing. What has caused this inequity? And what can be done about it?

Sometimes I get very depressed about the state of the world, especially my country, but then I realize it does absolutely no good to wish things were different. Things will continue to evolve and change, and since I am old now, pushing the boundary of eighty, I know I won't be around to see the next phase of history. So what can I do, if anything, right now?

Constant kindness can accomplish much. As the sun makes ice melt, kindness causes misunderstanding, mistrust, and hostility to evaporate. —Albert Schweitzer

Oh. Right. Find ways to spread a little kindness into the world. Well, I can do that, and I can find people all around me who will benefit from my efforts to be kind. Today, for starters, I'll buy coffee for a stranger when I head to my favorite shop. I'll take whatever occasions that present themselves to notice where a little kindness might make a difference. I'll keep myself open to opportunities to enjoy the little things in life that make me happy. We are all connected, and if I'm happy, that will help you be a little happier, too.

It feels like the right thing to do, in fact maybe the only thing I can accomplish today. I just received a text from Lily, my dear friend who has moved away from the apartment complex, that she will be there this morning. That's just wonderful, and it gives me the impetus to cut this post short and get ready to start the rest of my day. I feel energized, just thinking about the day ahead, and all that I might be able to do to spread around a bit of kindness.

My dear partner still sleeps next to me, more quietly these days as he continues to improve, my tea is gone, and the day beckons. I always want to say thank you to all of my dear virtual community, because you brighten every one of my days. So many of you feel like family because, well, you ARE. You bring a smile to my face just to think of your presence as I finish this post and get ready to launch it out into the world. Be well, dear friends, until we meet again next week.

Two weeks later

Dahlias

It's been two weeks since my hubby had his stroke, and what an amazing recovery I've been able to see him progress through. From being unable to talk at all, a very weak left side and unsteady gait, to what seems to be an almost complete recovery, all in two weeks. He's not really completely recovered, of course, but considering what might have been, it fills me with joy to be able to write this.

And there are many positive side effects to his stroke, believe it or not. The first and foremost is the obvious reminder of the fragility and brevity of our lives, and the admonition to make the most of each and every day, and to give thanks for each other. I have been reminded that my life would be very different without him, and without his ability to transcend this setback. Or is it even a setback?

What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise for which we are later, in the fullness of time and understanding, very grateful for! —Oscar Wilde

Sometimes we need something to give us a reason to get out of the rut of everyday life and clear out the cobwebs, so that we can accomplish whatever it is we want yet to achieve during our brief sojourn on this planet. Because of his stroke, I know that I am no longer living each day in complacency, thinking that I've got all the time in the world. Even though in this country we are still in the grip of the coronavirus, every day counts and needs to be spent in the best possible way. We won't travel this path again, and who knows what the future holds?

Yesterday I joined my friends Melanie and Dianne (and the very delightful dog Joe) for a lovely walk in Hovander Homestead Park in nearby Ferndale. From that link:

The park has been preserved to show the lives of 20th-century pioneers in the Northwest, as well as to preserve the history of the Hovander family. Hovander Homestead Park was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1974. 

I am amazed that I have only recently learned of this park, and the wonderful trails it provides for people and their dogs to enjoy. It is located on the Nooksack River and the old farmhouse and barn are also open (during non-pandemic times, at least) to the public for tours. We enjoyed a wonderful walk in the sunshine, with Joe bounding through the open spaces, some that allow for dogs to be off leash, and others that require them. 

There is also a demonstration garden that shows all the different plants that grow in the area, which includes a beautiful dahlia garden, where I took the picture at the top of this post. There is also a section that labels and identifies all the different plants that you might encounter in the nearby wilderness areas. We spent our morning enjoying being out and covering more than five miles in our wanderings. At one point, Joe and several other dogs took a dip in the Nooksack River at a boat launch. All the dogs were well behaved and looked like they were enjoying the day as much as we were.

I was gone from home for about four hours, and as usual when I come home these days, I worried a little about how SG was doing, but he's someone who likes to be independent and doesn't appreciate me being oversolicitous. And what did I find? He'd been busy all morning, taking out the trash, puttering around the kitchen, and getting in steps. He got more steps yesterday than I did, and I was outdoors walking! He was happy to see me, and I realized my fears were totally unfounded. He's going to be completely back to normal in another few weeks.

It will be a while before he attempts to drive, but he will be cautious and will do it safely, and in the meantime, I can continue to do any and all grocery shopping that we require. From where we were two weeks ago when this all happened, we have moved from me being the caregiver, to him back to taking care of me! As I write this, he's sleeping quietly next to me, and I'm sure that the clacking of the keys gives him a sense of normalcy, too. He's listened subliminally to that sound every Sunday morning now for more than a decade.

When we got together more than a quarter-century ago, when skydiving was the center of both of our lives, I never could have imagined who we would become in our later years. Although we still share stories with each other about those days, the people we have become in our late seventies is even more precious and meaningful to me than I would ever have thought possible. The scare of his stroke has reminded me once again how much I love and depend on him, and how much his sense of humor and way of living his life enriches my days and weeks and years. I am overflowing with gratitude for all my blessings, and I truly hope that we will have many more days and weeks and years together.

And with that, I've finished my Sunday morning post, and it's time to go out into the day with a renewed sense of the unfinished business of my own life, a trip to the coffee shop to sit outside in the sunshine with my friends in our lawn chairs, laugh together and look forward to more days of friendship and joy. Dear friends of my heart, you dear friends of the internet, please don't forget to give thanks for today, with all it brings to you. Today will only come along once. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things.

The Magic Shoes

SG's rainbow Crocs

Well, not long after I finished last week's post, SG went outside to talk on his cellphone to a friend, something he does once a month or so, and I thought nothing of it. He was wearing these shoes when he came back inside and said something to me. I couldn't understand him. It was unintelligible. Uh-oh, I thought: this isn't right. He grabbed our whiteboard and wrote, "Difficulty talking." I asked him to raise both arms, and he did, but his left one didn't come all the way up. "I'm taking you to the hospital to see what's wrong," I said. When he didn't object, I knew we were in trouble. I drove him carefully the ten minutes to the hospital while he sat in the seat next to me, using the whiteboard to "talk."

When I drove up to the emergency room door, I rushed out to tell someone that I thought my husband was having a stroke. Almost immediately, he was whisked away in a wheelchair and the attendant asked me to park my car and then come back, which I did. My temperature was taken and I was asked a few questions before finding out where he was. When I walked into the room, he was surrounded by five or six people who were doing various things, and a nurse told me he was being taken for a CT scan to see if they could identify a bleed. He was lying there with his head back, eyes closed, and the shoes sticking out from under the bed. I was afraid until the doctor reassured me. He was still unable to say anything understandable, but he could almost form words, and I was relieved that he didn't seem any worse.

I learned that they were working quickly to determine whether or not to give him a dose of Alteplase, a drug that dissolves an ischemic stroke blood clot. I was asked when this all began, and I told them it was only an hour ago, or less, and they got two doctors on video to help us decide whether or not to administer it. By this time, SG was able to form a few words, which relieved me somewhat, and after consultation, he and the doctors decided against the treatment. While I watched, they asked him some questions and performed a few cognitive tests to determine how bad the stroke was. I was now able to see now that the left side of his face was drooping, and that he had definitely had some sort of event. As he lay on the stretcher, the rainbow shoes continue to elicit plenty of comments.

It's no exaggeration to say that I was scared and frightened for him, but the amazing treatment he was receiving made me again grateful for the incredible care we receive at our local hospital. The head nurse also made sure I knew he was likely going to survive and had what appeared to be a mild stroke. "Mild" because he was conscious and able to communicate, even though he couldn't talk. She told me that he was going to be admitted, and since by this time it was after noon, I went home to get some lunch.

When I returned, he was not in the room, and I panicked for a minute, before I was told he was receiving an MRI and a few other tests and would be brought back soon. The feeling of helplessness I was having didn't get any better, but I knew he was in good hands. When they brought him back into the room, I could see he was aware and was able to talk even a little better. He sounded like he had just finished a bottle of vodka and was slurring his words, but they were almost understandable. "He's going to be moved into a room on another floor, so you might as well go home until then," the nurse said.

I didn't want to go, but there was really nothing to be accomplished by standing around, so I went home, where I paced around the living room, not sure how our lives were be altered by this event. I wanted to be with him, to have him back and whole again, and it was impossible to know anything for certain, except that he was alive and in good hands.

When I returned to find he had been given a room on the fourth floor and was being given yet another test, so I got to see his new room before he did. When he came in by wheelchair with a cute nurse attending him, I was so relieved to see him looking alert and smiling at her, even if it was a bit lopsided. I was told that his left side was compromised, but that he did have some sensation there, which was good news. He was still wearing the magic shoes, and by this time dozens of people had commented on them. "Nice Crocs!" "Wow, those are amazing shoes!"

A doctor came in to check on him, and I was told that he had suffered an insular ischemic stroke, on the right side of his brain, which affected his left side. The most common side effects of this type of stroke are dysarthria ( a condition in which problems occur with the muscles that help produce speech, often making it very difficult to pronounce words), and motor deficits. I watched his therapist get him out of bed to use the bathroom, and he seemed a little wobbly, but able to get there without too much help. That encouraged me a lot.

He ended up spending three days and two nights at the hospital, and when I brought him home on Tuesday afternoon, he was able to walk up the steps himself, while holding onto the railing. He was so exhausted after all the trauma that he even went to bed in the early evening, which is very unlike him. I kept checking on him, and he was resting very comfortably, and my spirits rose with the hope that he would soon be okay. Part of the effects of this kind of stroke is that he had no appetite and when he tried to eat, he could taste nothing. But he could eat!

Now that it's been almost a full week since it happened, I have watched his daily progress with simple amazement. He is nothing if not determined: his therapist told him to try to pick up a quarter off the counter and turn it in his left hand. At first, he couldn't do it at all, but he persevered and showed me his progress. Yesterday I saw him with his juggling balls (actually little weighted pillows), and he would throw one from his right hand into his left. It took some doing, but now he can throw it back and forth and almost always catch it with the left hand. And he can walk briskly around the apartment, telling me he's ready for a ten-mile run (he was joking of course). But his mental capacities are not dimmed in the least, and his sense of humor is intact. What else does a person need if you've got that, and a partner who loves you? And magic shoes, of course.

And love him I do: I am beginning to become proficient in Stroke Dialect and can almost always understand what he's saying to me the first time he says it. We will be seeing the doctor after three full weeks on aspirin and Plavix, as well as a statin, and he is determined to get over this as quickly as possible. He has begun to taste food a little, and although he says it's not the same, at least it's beginning to return somewhat.

My heart swells with love for him several times a day, and I am happy to see his progress as I try to keep my desire to help him in check. He has always been an independent and stubborn soul, while I crave to make it better, to help him however I can. The best way is to support him emotionally while letting him do the hard work, I'm learning. We both are during this time. And several people have wondered, as I have, whether the stroke occurred because of Covid, which he had in late March. There's no way to tell.

It doesn't really matter at this stage. He's been poked and prodded and tested extensively (he was tested for the virus while still in the emergency room), and he will get over this, even if his ability to talk might take awhile to return, he's made incredible progress in just a week. I'll let you know next Sunday how the week has gone, but we are counting our blessings and know we are in good hands, both here on Earth and also Up There. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things, dear friends.

Staying healthy in a pandemic

Iceberg Lake with flowers

My friend Carol put this picture on Facebook last week, showing this year's incredible view of Iceberg Lake on the Chain Lakes hike, which I've done many times in the past. She said the flowers are the most prolific she's seen, and I have to agree with her that they are almost unbelievably beautiful. A few times I've gone there on a July day to see the lake still covered with ice (earning its name), but this year there is only a small amount on the far shore. Our hiking group is not meeting for our usual Thursday hikes, but two or three people will get together to enjoy the High Country. We have a Zoom gathering once a week to hear what others are doing during this hiatus from our usual hikes.

The last few years I have found it hard to climb Herman's Saddle in full sun, which is the beginning of this seven-mile-long loop hike. Plenty of elevation gain and a lack of shade makes it challenging for me these days. I remember struggling and find that my ability to do these harder hikes is fading. I am no longer one of the people who looks forward with great pleasure to such strenuous exercise. And I am now limited in distance and difficulty.

It's natural and inevitable as I age that my hiking and walking ability should change. The fact that I can walk or hike seven or eight miles on flat surfaces without a problem should make me happy, but if you add elevation and sunshine into the trip, I am no longer able to keep up. I think I could probably still do this hike on a cool, cloudy day, but I am hesitant to try, since my usual exercise routine has been cut in half during this pandemic. No more daily trips to the gym, strength and tone classes gone, aerobic exercise now limited to neighborhood walks and the occasional outing with my friends Melanie and Dianne. The three of us walked yesterday on the Interurban trail for around six miles. It was easy and the cool weather made us all happy. The sun came out around noon, but the temperature never even reached 70°F, and when the wind came up, I was happy for my jacket. In August!

I have really struggled to find the silver lining in this pandemic. Every morning I drive to the coffee shop, and if the weather allows it, my friend John and I will sit in our lawn chairs outside and enjoy coffee together. Sometimes Gene will join us as well, but it will be a long time before we sit around the community table indoors, given the state of the coronavirus in our state. At least everyone is wearing a mask, or at least almost everyone, and maintaining distancing as required. I consider a few friends to be "family," and when we are alone together, we don't wear masks. They are all, like me, limited in their interactions with others. So far, I haven't known anybody to catch the virus and be hospitalized.

As I've said before, I think both my hubby and I had the virus at the end of March. Our doctors both said to stay home unless we had trouble breathing. SG was the sickest of the two of us, and I think he may have some residual after-effects, but nothing that would cause him to go to the doctor. He had a few telemedicine sessions with his doctor, and she felt that it would be counterproductive for him to come in. I myself had a complete physical, my annual wellness visit, in June, and everything was fine, other than a low white blood count, which resolved in another blood test. My lungs seem to be fine.

The truth is that I am still unwilling to reconcile how much aging has to do with it all. That, and the curtailment of day-long strenuous hikes, has taken its toll. I have learned that one of our hikers had bypass surgery, and he is already back on the trails a month later. He is already doing stuff I can only dream of! But then again, I have learned that you cannot use another person's journey to judge the progress of your own; we are all individuals and must pay attention to how much is just enough in one's quest to be healthy.

Health and good humor are to the human body like sunshine to vegetation. —Massillon

 Oh, yeah: that humor part is essential to one's ability to stay healthy. Some of my blogging friends are including uplifting and humorous sayings to their daily posts, and I look forward to them, since a smile and a chuckle help just about anything. I also feel very fortunate to have discovered both yoga and acupuncture, which seem to help with my everyday moods. A positive attitude goes a long way towards getting through difficulties. And since I have a dear partner to share my life with, a roof over my head, and enough money to buy good food every day, there is little to complain about. Plus, I live in a state that is taking this pandemic seriously and hopefully getting it under control. All reasons to be grateful. We have had 40 people die in Whatcom County from the virus, and almost a thousand cases. Very low in the scheme of things. Something else to give thanks for.

And with that, with my tea long gone, partner still sleeping next to me, it's time to get ready to start the rest of my day. I sincerely hope that you are staying safe during this pandemic, and that you will find someone to share a spot of humor with, or a spot of tea if that is not possible. Don't forget that this too shall pass! Be well, dear friends, until we meet again next week.