Exercise Lite

Walking in the rain

This week, I got the least amount of exercise that I can remember getting in years. At first it was because I wasn't feeling all that well, and then we ended up with days and days of rain. In the old days, I didn't let a thing like that stop me, but that was then, and now I sit back in my favorite chair and watch some easy-to-forget episodes of whatever catches my eye. I am working on not feeling like too much of a sluggard. I did take a three-mile walk yesterday, finally, once the rain let up a little. It was actually lovely and reminded me how much better I feel once I get the juices flowing.

I am a bit of an addict when it comes to exercise, but I am also reaching the place in life where things are beginning to change. My desire to close all the exercise rings on my fitness app has fallen to a historic (for me) low point. So what, I say to myself, if I don't log as many steps today as I usually do? What is going to happen if I don't keep striving for some imaginary goal? I don't think anybody is going to think less of me, except maybe myself. It's a habit I think I began to develop many years ago, and now my life is beginning to wind down. If there is some summit I thought I'd climb, well, I already reached it and it's time to explore other possible goals.

I have felt this moment coming for awhile now, and I think this blog is one of the best ways to chronicle life changes, in my own humble opinion. Since I have been posting here, I have fifteen years of retired life to look back on, and compare the person I am now with the one who began to write back in 2009. Much life experience has passed through the river of time and now I am respectably old. Each year that passes by brings me closer to the inevitable demise we all meet. While I'm busy living my life, every day brings me closer to the final destination. I am beginning to understand why people get more philosophical as they age; it's an attempt to make sense of this short, exquisite period of time.

Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes. —Carl Jung

I was born in 1942, and when I look at stories from that period, I realize that I have been alive during what some consider to be of the most consequential and radical periods in human history. But maybe it's only because it's part of my lifespan, and that other periods have been  just as consequential to those living during their times. I am a member of what is known as The Silent Generation, those born between 1929 and 1945, the post-World War I generation. My father was in the Air Force back before it actually was named that; was initially called the US Army Air Corps when my dad first joined up as a young man.

My dad was absent for long periods of my childhood, when he would be stationed somewhere, with periods in Europe and other places that I didn't even know about as a child. I learned what the acronym "TDY" means because that's where my father was when he wasn't with us. It stands for "temporary duty." But when I was little and asked where he was, Mama would tell me he was TDY and would be back in a few months. It seemed perfectly normal to the young girl I was back then. Didn't everybody's dad disappear for long periods like that?

I don't think of my dad much these days. He has been gone from this earth since 1979, when he died of a heart attack at the relatively young age of 62. Heart disease is rampant in my family, having taken both my parents and my son prematurely. In fact, it is the reason I began to exercise in my thirties: to stave off the inevitability of developing heart disease. Because of the evolution of statins, and because I have been a faithful exerciser for decades, I have not developed it myself. That I know of, anyway. My numbers are all good, and statins keep my cholesterol in check.

I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if for some reason I didn't take up exercise. I well remember the day I decided to learn how to run for my health, and I slipped my feet into the first pair of running shoes I ever owned. I was in my early thirties, I think, and within a few days I had developed shin splints that kept me from even being able to walk, much less run. I went to a running store and was fitted with orthotics, which allowed me to jog without pain. I ran a few 10K races during my running career, and even tried to train for a marathon. I couldn't ever get close to doing that, though, because I would get injured in one way or another when I tried to increase mileage. But I did jog, and even run, for years. 

These days I get my exercise through walking, mostly, and the occasional hike into the mountains with my fellow seniors. But that is beginning to change, as I find myself skipping the hard hikes that I used to love, and walking for a few miles at a leisurely pace has become my preferred exercise. Occasionally I try to pick up the pace because I know I should, but "shoulds" are beginning to fall away as I age.

Although I will probably never be a full-fledged couch potato, I'm trending in that direction. However, I really don't feel quite comfortable not heading out to the bus stop for a trip to town, or taking a walk in the neighborhood, before settling into my easy chair. That might change, but for now, I'm happily allowing myself to slow down.

That's it for today, my dear friends. Time is slipping by and I realize I need to do a few things online before getting up and out of bed. My dear partner still sleeps quietly next to me, my tea is gone, and I am feeling the need to finish up here. I'll explore this topic again, but for now, I'm needing to find where I left my impetus to get up and go! Wishing you all good things, dear ones. Be well until we meet again next week.

Midsummer musings

Sunflowers against a blue sky

 I know that most people don't look forward to the end of summer and the beginning of fall, but I sure do. I love the feeling of abundance and good harvests that abound in the Pacific Northwest during late summer. And I have already begun to be reminded that fall is when my allergies begin to kick in. Trees in some parts of town have begun their first gentle color changes. Not many, but it is only the middle of August, after all.

Twelve people went on the long Senior Trailblazer hike last week. It turns out it was cloudy and cool for the entire time, while it was sunny here all day. I was still glad I didn't go, because a more-than nine mile hike is, I think, pushing my limits these days. I can't deny that there was more than a little regret about not being out there. Instead, I went on a nice six-mile flat walk. I have been pondering my future, and whether or not I have decided to stick to the Tuesday easy hikes and only go on the Thursday hikes only when I'm sure I can do it and not end up holding anybody back. It's a real change in the way I consider my abilities, along with losing my eyesight and looking ahead to even more restrictions and change in the future. But that's true for everybody, isn't it? I've just never been here before and am still trying to regain my equilibrium.

If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. This is the most basic kind of peace work. —Thich Nhat Hanh

That is just what I need to practice: smiling and being peaceful and happy. And that gentle Buddhist monk reminds me that this basic kind of peace work is where I need to focus my attention, not in some esoteric practice that is beyond my present ability. Yesterday, I smiled at strangers and sent plenty of good vibes out into the world. I like the way it feels, thinking that I am actually making a difference in my immediate environment, which radiates out into the larger landscape.

I haven't looked at the numbers on my Watch yet, to see how much sleep I got last night. We had a strong thunderstorm descend on our town in the middle of the night. I woke to seeing flashes of light through my eyelids, but at first the storm was far enough away that I didn't hear any thunder. That changed, however, as it grew closer. Just about the time I'd drift back to sleep, a loud clap of thunder would jolt me awake again. We don't get many thunderstorms at midnight around here, but we sure did last night. Sometime after 2:00am, I did get back to sleep, but here it is 5:00am and I am sitting here in the dark beginning my post. The only thing on my mind right now is managing my mental processes and trying to find something interesting to write about.

Bellingham Bay

Yesterday I walked along the Boulevard South Bay trail from Bellingham to Fairhaven, one of my favorites. The sea was calm with a few boats visible from the walkway. I've been here in all kinds of weather, but at the time I visited yesterday, it was calm and cool. The day did get on the very warm and humid side before I went to bed, and this morning it's still quite warm here in the apartment. Usually it cools down overnight, but I suspect that the thunderstorm didn't help much; it was around ten degrees warmer inside than usual when I woke this morning. Unsettled weather indeed, but I am not really complaining when I look at temperatures around the country. We are fortunate to be so close to open seas, with the normal nighttime temperatures being very conducive to good sleep. Very few homes in my neighborhood have, or need, air conditioning, other than fans.

Today is supposed to be cooler than yesterday, but not by much. It's the unusual humidity that I think makes it seem so much warmer. It reminds me of that Yogi Berra gem, "It ain't the heat, it's the humility." He had a very curious way of thinking, and his Yogi-ism are definitely worth reading again, just for fun. 

A lot of guys go, ‘Hey, Yog, say a Yogi-ism.’ I tell ’em, ‘I don’t know any.’ They want me to make one up. I don’t make ’em up. I don’t even know when I say it. They’re the truth. And it is the truth. I don’t know. – Yogi Berra

These days, I am always looking for something to smile about, rather than sitting around feeling glum about the state of the world. I wish I could sit down with a good book and read like I once did, but now it's listening to audible books, which I find tend to keep me separated from my surroundings. I don't listen to them when I'm outdoors walking for that reason, but I suppose I will eventually get used to it and will get better at finding times and places to "read." Getting older means change for all of us, and I am grateful for every day I have to learn how to go with the flow. 

Sitting here in the dark, I hear rain falling on the roof, which helps to explain a little why it's still feeling so humid this morning. My sweet partner still sleeps next to me, and I can hear his gentle breathing, a soothing sound. My tea is gone, and John will be coming to pick me up in his truck and take me out to breakfast, being Sunday and all. I am hoping that you, my dear friends, will have a wonderful week ahead and look forward to greeting you again next week. Until then, I wish you all good things.

 

Dahlias already

Peering into the dahlia depths

Every year, long before I feel ready, the beautiful dahlias come into bloom. August brings such lovely blossoms at the end of the season, while beautiful tulips and wild trillium spring from the ground early, to get us primed for the incredible bounty of flowers, vegetables, and lush gardens to come.

The days have grown noticeably shorter, and the sunlight seems a little muted, especially in comparison to a month or two ago. The change seems quite sudden and the summer days bring a feeling in the air of fall not too far away. I smiled at the Pickles cartoon yesterday morning, where the old couple talks about how, when you are young, a year seems like an eternity, but as we grow older, it speeds up. How by the time you are old, a year goes by in a flash, lamenting about how a blink is all it takes for a year to pass by. Oh yes, I can definitely relate. I am feeling my mortality and notice that I no longer spring out of bed, but tentatively feel for the ground, taking my time, before standing up and taking stock of the state of the day's vehicle. Knees working? Yep. Ankles holding up? Yes. A grateful yawn as I make my way to the kitchen to start a cup of tea. Everything still seems to be working well enough, for yet another Sunday, for another week ahead.

I have been watching the Paris Summer Olympics and enjoying very much seeing the athletes compete with one another in their various categories. And noticing how very different these athletes look from one another, depending on their sport. For instance, the long-distance runners are scarecrows, lean and stringy, while the shot putters, for example, are sturdy and muscular, looking almost like a different species. I saw a picture of gymnast Simone Biles (4'8", 105 lbs) next to basketball great Shaquille O'Neal (7'1", 325 lbs) and realized that both are perfect specimens of the human body for their individual sports. And what a difference!

Shaq and Simone

The two of them are at different spectrums of individual variations, with a few more probably between them and what might be possible to determine in our amazing species. The one thing we all have in common is that we are born and come into fruition and then begin to decline as we age. The oldest Olympian in these Olympics is 65:

Juan Antonio Jimenez, a distinguished Spanish equestrian and Olympic medalist, continues to defy age barriers as he competes in the Paris 2024 Olympics, making him the oldest participant. He clinched a silver medal in dressage at the Athens Olympics in 2024.

I guess he's the best at horse whispering, too. But there are no actual athletes in their seventies, those who must compete with all ages. We wear out, and that makes people like me happy to be able to sit and watch, dream of days gone by, and enjoy the feats of the young people of today. And yes, I am thrilled that I can still see well enough to write on my laptop, watch movies and more, and enjoy the fruits of medical advances that allow me to endure those awful eye jabs in hopes of slowing down the progression of geographic atrophy. Amazing time to be alive, I'd say.

April flowers

I took this picture of the tulips in Skagit Valley in April, and now they have all been dug up and the ground is resting, getting ready for another year's blooming after we go through fall and winter and move into next year. It all seems to be happening so fast, but I intend to enjoy every last moment, every dahlia and chrysanthemum, and every day that I am blessed to be present in. What a wonderful life!

And, dear friends, I am so incredibly fortunate to have been born in a time when I can make infinite numbers of acquaintances virtually through the internet. I can write these blog posts and send out an electronic missive to anywhere in the world, and you can open your own device and read it, comment if you want, and here we are, friends embracing our connection. Isn't that great?

Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does. —William James

And now I come to the next part of my Sunday morning routine: finishing up the last touches on this post and sending it out into the universe. Reading the Sunday comics and checking the news before rising up out of bed and checking out the ambulatory vehicle I have to work with on this beautiful midsummer day. I am sending to you, my dear friends, my hopes and dreams for you to have a pain-free delightful day ahead. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

August heat and more

Iceberg Lake and Mt Baker on way to Bagley Lakes

I took this picture last Thursday while on the hike with the Senior Trailblazers. I thought a few years ago that I would never see this sight again, that I was finally unable to take such hard hikes. And now that it's over, I realize I was right: it was almost too much for me. I've learned a valuable lesson and won't be going up into the High Country again on hot sunny days. I just don't have the stamina and ability to cool off like I once did. But I still had a great time, once I was back to the cars and ready to cool off and enjoy the nice ride back to the Senior Center. I needed to be out of the direct sun, especially at altitude. We spent the entire day above 5,000 feet elevation, and with that sunshine, it was (for me) rather brutal. I did make it, but I felt bad for my fellow hikers who had to listen to me whine. It's a bad habit of mine, but it always makes me feel a little better when I get to complain.

On Friday, I finally got myself properly rehydrated, and truly enjoyed my monthly massage. It was scheduled weeks ago, but sure made me feel like a million bucks when I walked out of there with what felt like a brand-new body. I also slept incredibly well for a couple of nights, as I felt myself begin to come back to my new normal.

I keep forgetting how old I am, and how much of a difference it makes when you exercise in heat, humidity, and thin mountain air. I took my ability for granted for so long, that I could do whatever I put my mind to, But! I am an octogenarian now, for heaven's sake! That said, I remember someone once telling me that whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. So I figure I must be much stronger today.

And I realize how incredibly blessed I am to have the ability to hike, and walk, and generally move through my days with little discomfort. I intend to enjoy every moment of every day, to the fullest. I just have to scale it back a notch. Or two.

Sitting here in the early morning with my laptop, I can see how much the days have shortened since the summer began. We have reached Lammas (from Wikipedia):

In Anglo-Saxon England, Lammas was the name for the first day of August and was described in Old English literature as "the feast of first fruits," being mentioned often in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. It was probably the day when loaves baked from the first of the wheat harvest were blessed at church.

It is also halfway from the summer solstice to the fall equinox, and that means the journey back through time's arrow towards the dark days of winter. Since I was born in December, I guess that might be one reason why I feel more comfortable with shorter days and longer nights. Up here in the Pacific Northwest, the difference in day and night length is pretty pronounced. I love most of the weather and whatnot up here, except for the longest and hottest days.  And compared to the rest of the country, we are enjoying mild temperatures, in the low eighties (27°C) rather than triple digits.

Me in front of Mt Shuksan last week

I have seen this wonderful mountain when it was winter and covered with snow, when it's been so cloudy that I could barely make it out, and even like this, in the summer heat. I will cherish these days forever. But I'm already looking forward to my favorite season, fall. I forget sometimes to be grateful for the wonderful life I have been given, but not right now. Today, Sunday August 4th, I am filled with gratitude.

Tomorrow I get my next eye jab, which of course I am not looking forward to exactly, but I am also grateful that there is actually something that might allow me to keep my central vision in my left eye for a while longer. I am sitting here in the dark, with the bright screen in front of me, which allows me to see the dark letters a little better. I might be sad if I didn't remember how lucky I am that there is finally some treatment, and that I can receive it, and hopefully will be able to continue doing everything I've grown accustomed to for a little while longer. I no longer can sit down with a book in my lap and read for hours, like I once did, but it's a small thing when I remember that I still can see so much, and that there are now audio books and large print, just for people like me.

Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude. —Denis Waitley

Yesterday morning, I walked from the coffee shop to the harbor with my friend Steve, who willingly gives me his arm to cross streets and looks for traffic, both in the street and on the sidewalk, gently guiding me to safety, and often telling me that someone is coming long before I become aware of them. I truly appreciate our walks and will miss him when he heads to Hawaii at the end of the month to visit his mother. She celebrated reaching ninety last year, and she is still doing very well. He does visit a couple times every year, a good son. When my son Chris was alive, he would call me twice a year, on his birthday and on mine. For some reason, he has been on my mind lately and I realize that even after all these years (more than two decades), I still miss him. Maybe as you get older you begin to reminisce about all the loved ones that you will perhaps join on the other side. Who knows what comes after this life? I am not one to ponder the mystery very often, but if there is another dimension of reality, we will all find out one day. I realize that I am a believer in something after this, but I don't worry about it much. 

This morning, I am content. Although I had some waking moments last night, I got enough sleep to feel rested and ready for another beautiful sunny (and hot) day ahead. My sweetheart still sleeps next to me, and I have time this morning to read the blog posts you have posted since I last looked. I love my virtual family, and I am glad to have this time with you every week. I do hope the coming week will bring you happiness, and that we will be able to get together once again soon. Until then, I wish you all good things and that you will be well.

A week like no other

Purple heather behind me

I just reread my post from last Sunday and looked carefully at the picture at the beginning, of me a decade ago in front of Coleman Glacier. Although I don't look all that different today, I can feel the last decade in many ways, like the increase in aches and pains and my inability to do hard hikes any more. But I can still hike. My friend Steve took this picture while on our usual Saturday walk, and I notice that I'm wearing the same shirt and vest that I wore in last week's picture. Nobody can say I don't get plenty of wear out of my clothing.

Last Thursday I decided to join the Trailblazers for a favorite hike in the High Country, Church Mountain. It's not long, but it's grueling, in that it climbs almost 3,000 feet of elevation to the meadows, which was where we were headed. It was cool and rainy when the ten of us started out, and I was very happy to realize that I was going to make it without any difficulty. We were traveling pretty slowly, but one of our number was having real problems trying to catch his breath. He kept asking us to slow down or stop to allow him to rest. We got about halfway to the meadows when our leader, Owen, decided it was best for us to turn around and return to the cars. It does happen, not often, and although I was disappointed in not going any farther, I was also happy that once we started downhill, the person's breathing returned to normal. I was secretly glad that it wasn't me who couldn't handle the elevation and steepness of the trail. 

We will, I suspect, make another attempt later in the season, but for now I feel quite pleased that I didn't have to take any medications and didn't feel any residual soreness. Usually (when we make it to the meadows) I am stiff and sore for a day or two afterwards, but it was different this time, although we went up more than a thousand feet and almost two miles up the trail.

After I wrote a post last Sunday morning, we watched our President, Joe Biden, in the afternoon tell the world that he decided to step down from running for another term, partly because of his advanced age, which was catching up with him, but also because he saw the handwriting on the wall that if he didn't leave the race, the Democrats would lose. He passed the baton to his Vice President, Kamala Harris, and in what seemed like record time, the entire Democratic Party has rallied around her. I have already contributed as much as I can afford to the election effort.

When I woke up Monday morning, the day after, I felt such relief and joy that maybe the election was not already lost. Of course, it's really late to be launching an effort like this, and there is no guarantee that we can come from behind and actually win this thing, but now we do have a chance. You know I don't often bring up politics on my blog, but it's really all that has been on my mind since last week, so I figure I can make an exception and bring it up here. If you are offended, I hope you will not make any angry or derogatory comments, but if you do, I will remove them.

Our country, and indeed the entire world, is at an inflection point. Democracy is in peril in many places, and climate change is altering the environment in ways that have been predicted for decades. But now it's here: we just experienced the two hottest days on the planet since humans have been recording such things. People around the world are dying from heat-related causes, and it's only going to get worse. I feel very fortunate to live in the Pacific Northwest, where our summers are still comfortable and manageable. I don't think I will be alive by the time that the climate situation will reach this area, but there are many other climate events that I might have to endure, like earthquakes or floods.

The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance. —Alan Watts

And here I am on a summer Sunday morning, thinking of the future of the world, of our country, and of the circumstances in my own little neighborhood. My own little corner of the world, with a task at hand: write this post and publish it. The amazing difference in my internal attitude between this time last week and today is that I have hope that the world will now have a chance to be more loving, that we can end the war in Gaza, and that we will turn a corner with climate change and begin to take it seriously. That was all there last week, but I didn't believe it, and now I do.

When you are old, your way of looking at the world becomes more expansive. My days may be numbered (they always were), but what I might be able to accomplish in my own little world is not diminished. There is so much happening around me today that I feel a sense of optimism and possibility. I will join my friend John for our usual Sunday morning breakfast and give thanks for our ability to continue this small but important activity for at least the coming season. When I write here next week, we will be more than halfway through summer and soon we might begin to feel the first inklings of my favorite season, fall. We have had a few days this summer when it got hot, but nothing like the sizzling temperatures in a place like, say, Phoenix. Or Tehran.

When I stop to count my blessings, several items rise to the top, like my ability to continue to see well enough to write in here, and maybe keeping enough sight that I will not ever have to find another activity to begin my week. Like Alan Watts says, it's time to enjoy the dance and plunge into change. I've got my virtual bathing suit ready for the plunge!

My dear partner still sleeps next to me, breathing gently in and out as I listen, and the birds have just begun their morning stretches, and the sun rise will come in just a few minutes from now. My Sunday looks to be a good one, and I'll walk outdoors in the sunshine before the day is over, happy to be alive, grateful for all my many blessings. You, my friend, are one of them, and never forget that you can choose to have a good day, no matter what. I am talking to myself here, of course, and you will be bathed in light and happiness along with me. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Breathe and listen

Me in front of Coleman Glacier on Heliotrope Ridge

This hike, Heliotrope Ridge, was one of my favorite hikes back a few years ago: we climbed up to the glaciers on Mt Baker, eight years ago next month, when this picture was taken. I've done this hike many times, but we didn't always manage to get to this spot because of the treacherous stream crossings. The last one to cross was especially hard, so sometimes we just trekked up the climbers' route and skipped getting this close to the glacier.

Last Thursday, on the hike I skipped, nineteen Senior Trailblazers made it up the Park Butte trail to the lookout, more than a 2,000-foot elevation gain and loss over eight miles. I just didn't know if I could do it and the last thing I want is to hold up my friends. I smiled when I found this picture because I am still wearing that shirt (just yesterday) and use that vest still today. But the old bod just doesn't want to make those hard hikes in the sun any more. I am thrilled to have all these great pictures to go through and reminisce over. Some of my dear friends have died, and some have stopped going on the hikes, and yet, some still continue all these years later.

What interests me most these days is learning how to make the transition from an active and fit senior to one who can still do plenty, but not the really hard stuff any more. I find it fascinating to notice how much of my daily life is still filled with adventure, happiness, and things to learn.

Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance. —Confucius

As I am aging, the things to learn are becoming more important to pay attention to, like how to get around my failing vision. And how to deal with the inevitable aches and pains that accompany me as I move through my days. But I cannot find any of them that keep me from my usual routine, thank goodness. Of course, knees, hips, ankles and rotator cuff injuries from the past still hang around, but they don't keep me from moving forward. There are many people my age who have traded in their old joints for some fancy metal ones, but I decided long ago that it would be a last resort for me. And now that I've reached my octogenarian years with my original joints, I suspect I won't be needing to replace them, given the short number of years I have ahead. Yes, I know I might live to be a hundred, but I really don't think so, and instead I look forward to each day, each month, each season with optimism.

Wildflowers on Skyline Divide

On a recent solo walk, I began to get some serious lower back pain and rummaged around in my pack for some Tylenol and found nothing. That meant walking back the rest of the way, about two miles, with some discomfort. It continued to increase and, if I had been using a cane or trekking poles, it would have been easier, but I did make it back to my starting point and relaxed in a comfy chair at the coffee shop for awhile, before going home. I still hadn't taken anything for the pain, but it receded once I rested.

The next day, when I woke, there was only a bit of residual pain and I pondered whether or not to take proactive medication before heading out for my usual three-mile walk. I decided to go ahead and take it, but I'm not sure I needed it. The back pain didn't recur as I walked. What caused it? It's a mystery indeed. Yesterday, Saturday, I made my usual six-mile walk with my friend Steve, and there was no sign of any pain. I was glad I didn't take anything, except to make sure I had some with me just in case, and my back was pain free. Even innocuous drugs like Tylenol or Advil are habit forming, and I don't want to be one of those people who needs them just to exercise. I remind myself that pain is something to pay attention to, like a friend who tells us to listen, please.

I think much of how we experience our days is within our power to change, to make our days happier and more serene. I have now been meditating for a couple of years, every morning after I do my Five Tibetan Rites, which I have now performed every morning for more than a decade. There have been times when I've been injured one way or another so that I need to modify them, but mostly I can perform them 21 times as my wakeup exercise in full. Although they are supposed to rejuvenate, I think they just work out the kinks from sleep. They are part of my daily practice, though, and indispensable to the start of every day.

My daily meditation is focused on the breath. I sit down on my kneeling bench (I can no longer sit cross-legged for any length of time) and take a deep cleansing breath. Then I begin to count my breaths, one to ten, and then starting over at one. At first I would lose track of what I was doing and needed to begin again at one, but I now only occasionally feel so distracted that I lose my focus. It's something I look forward to and would love to expand into a second session in the evening, but so far I haven't done so. After I finish, before getting back up, I spend a few minutes in prayer, asking for my beloved friends and family to be free of disease, pain and suffering. Then I ask the same for the entire world, before I begin the rest of my day.

On Sundays, I get up a little earlier than usual and write this post. These days, I begin it the day before by finding the pictures I want to use in it, and then pondering the theme of the day. Then I put it aside until the early morning hours of Sunday, which is right now, and sit down with my laptop in bed, while the sun rises and the birds begin to sing, and I just let it come out. Sometimes it's pretty good, and sometimes it's not, but isn't that the way our days come and go? The river of time has its crests and valleys, and they are reflected in my posts. I look forward to the Sunday ahead, and to the time spent with my friend John, my beloved partner, and whoever else comes into my day. It's a pretty good life, I have to say.

At some point during the day, I will read the posts written by those bloggers I follow, and it feels a little like spending a virtual cup of tea with good friends, one by one, as I learn what is on your mind and how you and your loved ones are doing. While I only imagine you virtually, it's just as nourishing as if we actually sat across from one another and raised our cups in celebration of our day, our connection, our daily life. As I look at my life, I am feeling incredibly blessed to have you, dear friend, to share it with. I hope the coming week will bring you joy and satisfaction. Until we meet again, be well.

Being mortal

Peering into its purple depths

I love walking around the neighborhood and taking pictures of things like this beautiful poppy. It's also good to have the picture to enjoy since the flowers only last for a few days. Summertime is filled with so much beauty and I appreciate the ability I have with my camera phone to snap pictures and have them for as long as I might want to enjoy them. With my eyesight going wonky, I can still see these guys and will continue to act as though I will be able to continue on like this for a good long time to come.

But who knows, really, how long it might be? My right eye can still see everything except the central portion, and I think I might be able to learn to read a little with my peripheral vision. And I still have my left eye's central vision, but there is a section of missing vision just to the left of it, and I hope it doesn't slide over any further. I get my next eye jab in just over three weeks. I have not noticed any change in my perception since I received the first ones. Since they are only supposed to slow the progression, not fix the problem, I am grateful for any possible visual stabilization.

I didn't go on last Thursday's hike to Sauk Mountain with the Trailblazers, since I've been there many times before and realize that the steep switchbacks, slippery with soft dirt, are hard to get down without falling, even using trekking poles. So I reluctantly skipped it. Ten people went and had a great time, but I'm realizing that I am no longer able to be safe in all those circumstances, with my failing eyesight. 

This is my new reality. Hopefully I'll be able to continue on most hikes, but I'm no longer physically able to do what was easy a decade ago. I'm mortal, as we all are, and I must take into consideration that I might put not only myself, but my friends as well, into compromising situations if I don't pay attention and take care.

It's also hard to ignore the fact that our President is weighing whether or not he should run for a second term, being that he is already oldest person to have been in the office. I saw that awful debate, but he's shown that with enough ability to rest and recuperate, he can continue to hold up. I am worried; Joe and I are in the same boat, a week apart in age. I cannot fathom how he might fare for the next four years, but his adversary is only a few years younger and in the same situation, really. How did this ever come about? With all the young talent in both political parties, I am flummoxed and hope that something good might come out of this fraught situation.

The only person I can actually take care of is myself, along with my dear partner, who is also mortal and prone to physical infirmities. Not one of us is guaranteed even one more day of life, and we need to learn to roll with the punches, so to speak. And last night there was an assassination attempt on Trump at a rally. The bullet just grazed his ear (or maybe it was glass from a shattered teleprompter) but he was defiant and pumped his fist as they carried him away. This should invigorate his campaign and give him lots of sympathy. 

The shooter and a rally attendee are both dead. I saw a picture of a bullet whizzing by Trump's head, taken by a journalist who was just feet away from Trump. It brought back years ago when I saw the killings of so many of our leaders, from JFK, to his brother Bobby, to Martin Luther King. I was around during them all, and I was just as shocked and grieved by those assassinations as was the entire world. Sixty years have brought only more guns, more divisions, and more fear and hatred into my once beautiful country. It is the same everywhere across the world.

Mt Baker from Skyline Divide

Whenever I get really down about it all, I remember that there is still respite in the beauty of nature. It has its seasons, just like the rest of life, but during the summer months I am able to hike into such places and remember that I am just a small part of the enormity that makes up our world. Although I will probably not join the Thursday hikers next week, since they are going on one of the harder hikes in the wilderness, I will find some way to enjoy our incredible mountains, even if it's not the ones that were once so easy for me. Nope, this mortal being will find a way to stay within the boundaries that surface for the octogenarian that I have become.

I don't want to sound like a Hallmark card, but to be able to wake up each day with food and shelter, that alone is good. Forget aging and the fact that my butt is becoming a little more familiar with my knees than my tailbone. If you are six feet above ground it's a good day. So, give me more! —Faith Hill

It's a good quote, even if Faith is only in her fifties. She has the right attitude, and that is worth a great deal. It would be nice to see how she might fare as an octogenarian, but I won't be around to find out. Some time in the next decade or so I will be happy to lie down on my comfortable bed, surrounded by loved ones, and breathe my last. It's what happens to all of us eventually, and it shouldn't be resisted, in my mind at least. Just go with the flow, right?

Cultivating an "attitude of gratitude" is what I am focusing on right now, today, tomorrow, and in the coming days, weeks, and years. This past week I received an acupuncture treatment and a wonderful massage. I am doing incredibly well but realize that it's all temporary, and finding myself grateful for that realization, too. It makes every moment a precious one, worth paying attention to and giving thanks from the bottom of my heart.

My dear sweet partner still sleeps next to me and John will arrive shortly to take me out for our Sunday breakfast. I'll come home and go out for a lovely walk in the cool of the morning and then retreat into the comfort of my home and spend some time holding the hand of my beloved. Until we meet again, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.