Begin Again With A Word

My last post was in July of last year. I wrote about anxiety and indecision, which followed me through the rest of the year and into 2025. I would think I had a handle on things; and then something would feed my self-doubt, my stomach would roil, and I'd be stalled again. Things fell apart in December. I have notes in my day planner about my goal to keep moving and look for the positive. 

I had so much to celebrate with my sons and daughters-in-law and grandchildren over the holidays. They love to have us visit, and we have fun together. I had hope for the new year.

I had a physical in January and passed with flying colors. The problem was that I couldn't stop crying. I was bereft and wasn't able to overcome the sadness. I asked for the name of a counselor to help me get out of the valley I was in. I went three times, and by the third time I could get through the hour without crying. 

I had kept moving and it was time to move on.

I chose my word early in the year in the midst of this emotional time, and it repeatedly came to mind: enough. 

I am enough. Enough is enough. Enough, enough, enough. Again and again I could shut down my negative thoughts with that single word. Over time I felt better for longer periods of time. I remind myself that I can only control my own thoughts and actions, and I have no control over what other people say or do.

So this post marks the start to my 18th year of blogging. The more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm still here. Life still surprises me. 

The journey continues....

In A Phrase

I considered a number of words for my "word" for this year. None felt right. The words that came to mind made me feel like I had to work at something, to change or get better or resign myself and give in. After all the thoughts I went through to let go of the past, I wanted to give myself a chance to feel where I am now. I want the feelings to keep flowing, no matter what they are.

So I settled on a phrase for this year: keep moving. Get on the treadmill, play with the grandchildren, get out of bed, make the phone calls, keep going. I remind myself that I don't have to produce something new or accomplish something big. If I move my body and keep my brain working and let my emotions move through me, then I am doing what is best for me right now. 

I didn't know three months ago how much I would need those words. In May I really missed my mom; I was sad and angry that I was still feeling such grief. I reminded myself to keep moving - let the feelings come and move through me as many times as they needed to. 

I often feel stalled and indecisive. Keep moving. Put in a load of laundry, rearrange furniture, make a simple meal, go for a drive.

I talked last month with my osteopath about the anxiety I was feeling. As she worked with my body we talked about how I was getting stuck in my head and that I can move into my body instead, deep belly breathing and grounding through my core. There are exercises I can do to stretch and balance and improve my flexibility.

Keep moving. Do what I want to do and not what I think I have to do. Find enjoyment in the simple things. 

I can't make big decisions right now, about what's next or where I want to be beyond the next few days. There are dates on the calendar to spend time with grandkids, which are times to look forward to. 

I hear from others at this same point in their lives that they are asking similar questions and feeling the same uncertainty. We can listen to each other and know that we are not alone, which helps me immensely. I commented on Jacqueline's blog that the silence and solitude has not helped me. Her most recent blog post beautifully reflects on the questions she has been asking herself.

Today I saw a quote on Instagram that spoke to me: Not every day has to "count." Some days your purpose is to make it to the next one. That counts too.

The journey continues....

Forgiveness

The word forgiveness can evoke a variety of emotions. Fortunately, through the years I have discovered authors, Anne Lamott among them, who write about forgiveness in the vein that it is something a person does quietly for themselves. It's not something you say to someone else ~ it is introspective, personal, and something that has been hard for me to name and define for most of my life. 

I have practiced the intention of forgiveness for many years without calling it forgiveness. I forget that until I run across something written or work through what I'm struggling with until the "aha" moment when I think, "Wait, that's forgiveness," which is what happened this past week when I found a saying on an undated slip of paper in a drawer.

"Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different." It gave me chills. I had to google the saying to see who to credit with the wisdom ~ Oprah's name is attached to it. 

I had been struggling with something for days, tearing up at night when sleep wouldn't come. When I found the slip of paper, so many things fell into place, retroactively and in the present....

So I pulled out a journal I started 25 years ago. It's called a Journal of Gratitude and has a place to write a few lines under each day of the year. I use it to record quotes that have meaning for me, words of wisdom from movies and television shows and books and people I know. Last week I wrote this definition of forgiveness under the date December 6. 

That's the date my father died in 1996 from a sudden, fatal heart attack. My mom found him when she returned to the house to have coffee and talk with him; she had finally moved out that summer when he slapped her for the last time. Ten years earlier I had written my father a three-page letter informing him of my boundaries as far as he was concerned. It boiled down to three things: he could visit my home but he could not argue with my mom or hit her when he visited; he could not raise his voice to me or my children; he was no longer allowed to smoke in my house. With the help of an excellent therapist I had given up the hope that the past could have been any different with my father. I set aside his past behaviors and set forth the parameters for future expectations in my home and in the presence of my family. He chose not to visit for ten years, and when he did come to the state he did not stay at my house. I didn't engage when he talked about the past or justified his behavior. 

In 1986 and 1996 I didn't call my action "forgiveness." That would have sounded uppity to me, like I was somehow superior. That's not how I felt. Instead I felt like I had surrendered. I remember feeling desperate to do something to save my mental health, and this was all that was left. I knew what I had decided would impact my relationship with my mom.

And it did. She could not comprehend what I was doing. She did not understand what I was doing to protect my children. Again, with the help of my excellent therapist, I came to understand that my mom had not protected me and my siblings from my father, which my therapist explained was the job of a parent. I fought that idea tooth and nail for weeks, but I had to connect my anxiety and panic attacks to the kind of mother I was, a mother who was not a mother like my mother was. To get healthy and be there for my children I had to be a different kind of mother, and to me that meant that I had to admit that my mother did not take care of me. I did not say that to my mom; for decades I talked around that by explaining that it was what I had to do to take care of myself and my family.

Through the decades after my father died my mom and I worked through the process of letting go of what we couldn't change from all those years ago. In 2007 she had a stroke and sometime around then was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation. She had remarried in 2003, moved to West Virginia, and stayed busy with him and part-time work. After the stroke it took years to find the best medication and get the correct dosage regulated. With the health issues she had started feeling anxious. She shared with me that she never understood what I was going through all those years ago, and that was an opening for us to talk more honestly about a range of experiences and feelings. She didn't hide her anxiety from me, and I was able to share the strategies I used to cope then and now. Those conversations added a new dimension to our relationship. We continued to talk honestly with each other right up until she died.

Within my sorrow in the last year has been a deep sadness that my mom had not been happier in her adult life. I do miss her - the cards she sent, our phone calls, and the sporadic in-person visits. My sadness was about more than that; as I've looked through photos of her with family and friends in her first 18 years I see a girl who is loved grow into a young woman who laughs with friends and enjoys experiences with family. She graduated from high school, got a good job with the federal government, and shared an apartment with a friend. 

As I have written posts this month and started putting my mom's photos in order, that sorrow has been front and center. What I realized this week is that where my mom is concerned I had given up the hope that many things in our past could have been any different. However, deep within my grief and below my consciousness I have been mourning the life she lost when she started the life with my father. Once that realization rose to the surface I considered what that means, what I could do to relieve the pain I have been feeling. Then I found the slip of paper ~ forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different.  

Can I forgive my mom for staying with my father for 41 years? I am getting there.

The journey continues....

Heavy

Going along and going along...and then wham. Today I was tired and my back was sore. Mid-morning I couldn't be up any longer, so I laid down on my bed just for a moment. I fell asleep for an hour. I can't remember the last time I laid down during the day without being sick. I only do that when there isn't anything else I can do. And today was one of those days.

I've been meaning to look through the books I have of Mary Oliver's poetry because the perfect one always shows itself. Tonight was no exception.

Heavy

by Mary Oliver

That time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying

I went closer,

and I did not die.

Surely God

had His hand in this,

as well as friends.

Still, I was bent,

and my laughter,

as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

"It's not the weight you carry

but how you carry it--

books, bricks, grief--

it's all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,

put it down."

So I went practicing.

Have you noticed?

Have you heard

the laughter

that comes, now and again,

out of my startled mouth?

How I linger

to admire, admire, admire

the things of this world

that are kind, and maybe

also troubled--

roses in the wind,

the sea geese on the steep waves,

a love

to which there is no reply?

Decisions

 I am not a morning person. I never have been. People told me when I had kids that would change. It didn't. They are night owls too, not early birds.

I do wake up early if I need to or if there is a lot going on, and my days in West Virginia fit that description. I was constrained by the hospital's visiting hours as to when I could arrive, but the morning of June 7 I called the nurse's station at 6. I wanted to know how my mom's night was and if they had yet set a time for the meeting with the Support Team. One of Mom's favorite nurses was on duty and said she had  a restless night; the Support Team would be called once we arrived and come to the SICU for the meeting.

We were all on pins and needles. We didn't know what to expect. My brother and I thankfully were able to get through the visitors' line and to the room shortly after 8. We reassured our mom that she was heard and the process was moving forward. On rounds the doctor in charge for the week talked as if meds and treatments would continue as they had been. I know the doctors are busy and have many patients, but was there no communication about all that happened after rounds the day before? My mom had to tell her that we were meeting with the Support Team. Confusion. Lack of communication. And we didn't know the extent of it yet.

The waiting was hard. My brother and I were tired and anxious, yet we remained calm and supportive for Mom. My sister wouldn't arrive until late that night; she was already in transit for her 22-hour trip. She knew what was planned for the day but she wouldn't get an update until she arrived in WV.  

Two hours after we arrived at the hospital the Support Team came to the room to talk with my mom. While my brother and I were waiting in a quiet corner outside the room, his phone rang. It was the orthopedic surgeon calling to discuss the details of the surgery scheduled for the next day to deal with the infection in Mom's hip. He was on speaker phone and in unison my brother and I said, "No. The Support Team is meeting with her now. There will be no more surgeries." I was incredulous. 

There apparently was no communication among the specialists who were taking care of my mom. I thought the hospital doctors were there to keep this confusion to a minimum. What do patients do that have no one there to speak for them? How do patients who are in dire circumstances get the care they need if they can't coordinate the information coming at them? We wouldn't have even known about the Support Team if Cass hadn't mentioned it.

Minutes later Dr. Navia emerged from the room to address my brother and me. I am using his name because he was the answer to my prayers, the doctor who put all the information together and the first doctor to tell my mom, my brother, and me the whole truth. He said, "Ellie is very sick. She is dying." We said we knew that. He said, "No, I mean she is dying now. Her white blood cell count is very high and there is nothing that will change that." We were speechless. Had he just told our mom? Yes, she knew. Did she know her options? Yes, she wants to go forward with comfort measures only.

I have thought of that conversation often over the last year. Was there anything I could have asked to get to the whole truth? What could I have done differently to save my mom from the days of pain and fear? I don't know what my mom would have decided if she had known all the facts the entire time. She wasn't given the chance to make those decisions. She didn't realize she could say, "What are you doing and why and are there alternatives?" She was put on a ventilator with the hope that her lungs would heal; she took heart meds and antibiotics and pain meds; the doctors treated her lungs, her heart, and her broken bone with a focus on their specialty. No one had put all the pieces together to treat the entire person...

until Dr. Navia. Now there would be a time of transition. The timeframe was unclear and how long she would stay in the SICU wasn't certain. We all trusted that Dr. Navia would sort things out because this was his specialty. My brother and I were now armed with all the information and we would be there every step of the way.

I asked at the nurse's station about visiting after hours when my sister arrived. That decision was up the charge nurse, so I would have to call later that night to find out. It worked out that the same wonderful nurse was on duty that night and when I called she spoke directly to the charge nurse. We had permission to visit when my sister arrived.

While I was waiting for my sister at the bus stop, my phone rang just as the bus was pulling in. It was my brother and his partner. They had gotten the messages. He had been working on his car to get it running, and they were coming Wednesday. 

That late-night visit at the hospital was surreal. It was the three of us chatting and grinning because we were together. Mom had had a few sips of water and some applesauce. The SICU was quiet. The nurse brought in cups and a pitcher of water for us, which tasted as good as any wine. 

There were moments of grace in those difficult days. There were people who helped my mom and my family. I think often of those conversations, too. 

We didn't know what the next days would hold. We did know that we would face it together.

June 4

Last year June 4 was a Saturday. It was my seventh day in Morgantown, WV, and my mother's tenth day post-op. She was still in the surgical ICU. My brother left for home the evening of the day I arrived because he had only packed for two nights (he was there four) and he needed to check in at work. I would update him daily.

The morning of the day I arrived the doctors decided my mom needed breathing support because she was exhausted; she was put on a ventilator in CPAC mode. She was breathing "over it," fully conscious, with the expectation that her lungs would benefit from the support and her oxygen level would improve. The respiratory technician regularly checked on her, and we had daily conversations about mom's progress and what needed to happen for the vent to be removed. They gave her a breathing test each morning and that determined the treatment each day. Every morning at doctors' rounds I heard, "She couldn't pass the breathing test; one more day on the vent." 

So my mom perfected communication without talking - hand signals, eye movements, tracing letters on her sheet, and shrugging her shoulders. I asked the staff about a white board, and on Wednesday the respiratory tech found one. Mom and I "chatted" about all kinds of things. I asked her where she wanted to be after the hospital, and she wanted to be near my brother. I was hoping that would be her first choice. He had been a major support for years, a steady presence and trusted advisor. Wednesday was a good day.

Thursday morning I arrived to find her sleeping. She was too tired for the breathing test. Her hip was not healing, and her heart rate and oxygen level could not be regulated. Mom slept off and on all day. I texted my brother and advised him to come on the weekend. Friday was much the same as Thursday, and my brother arrived Friday afternoon.

Considering the way the week had gone, I was stunned when I arrived at the hospital Saturday morning to see my mom sitting up in bed and talking. While it was wonderful to hear her voice, I wondered why the change. The doctors had removed the ventilator and put her on high-flow oxygen. I could not get a straight answer from the doctors as to why the decision had been made. They would not say she passed the breathing test. She could still not have anything by mouth, hooked up to tubes for anything she took in. Her condition seemed to be the same.

My brother and I had a long conversation about what the change could mean. He wanted her to stay on the vent until things improved; I explained that the vent was not a long-term solution. He wondered if they would put her back on if her condition got worse. I said I didn't think so, but he could ask the doctors.

My notes on the day are clinical, facts about her condition and who I talked to. I didn't write anything down about what I was thinking because my thought was that this day was a turning point. My worst fear was that it wasn't in the direction we had all hoped for.

June Has 30 Days

Two weeks ago I wrenched my back. I have strained my back a handful of times in the past 35 years. I have never so seriously twisted it. I have seen my osteopath twice in the last week, which is another first. I am still moving slowly but I think I am on the right track to recovery.

When I saw the DO for the second time on Tuesday she said she hadn't seen me in such bad shape before. We reviewed what had been going on in the last month. The first week of May I drove 1200 miles to Philadelphia and back with my granddaughter and daughter, for her job. I walked and walked  all over University City with Maggie while my daughter worked. Then the two of them had a day at Hershey Park as we headed north, while I had a lovely visit with a dear friend. It was a wonderful week, beginning and ending with stop-overs near Boston to visit with my sons and their families.

When I got home I started taking things out of my bedroom to prepare for fresh paint on the walls and trim. I left just the bed. I took my time so it took a week to prepare the room and several days to paint. Through the whole project I was careful not to twist and lift, careful to secure my footing on the ladder, sure to take regular breaks to rest and eat, and I didn't push myself to finish. All went well until the last evening, when I put non-skid coasters under the bed...and on the lift of the second corner I felt the pop. Uh oh. I thought I had strained my back and it would take a few days of taking it easy to feel better. I already had an appointment scheduled with my osteopath six days out and surely by then I would be in better shape.

No such luck. She worked and worked and everything hurt. She did all she could in one treatment and told me to call for another appointment if I didn't feel better in three days. It was a holiday weekend so I left a message Monday evening and I went in again Tuesday. She could tell right away that things were still twisted. That's when she went back through all that I had done in May. Then she asked if there had been any additional stress.

It took me a moment to gather myself. I answered that last year these were the days when I was with my mom in the hospital in West Virginia. I have been reading through the notes I took during that time in a journal filled with dates, times, phone numbers, conversations, doctors' reports, tests done, mom's condition, questions to ask, and next steps. There is very little about how I was feeling. There was no time to process all that was happening ~ I needed to stay present to be there for mom. That's when my doctor reminded me how busy the rest of the summer was. She asked me if I have taken time to process the feelings. I told her I had been trying to reframe that experience; and as I have gone through decades of photos I have also been trying to reframe how I think about my mom's life. She said she could feel a shift in my body as I talked. Ah ha. There's something else to think about and process.

When I left the doctor's office on Tuesday I did feel a bit better. Today, June 1, I am moving more freely and with less pain. That's true for my feelings as well. The best way I know to work things through is to write.

June has 30 days. That gives me thirty opportunities to write.

Let me end with a poem by Lemn Sissay, shared by Anna on my last post:

"How do you do it?" said night
"How do you wake and shine?"
"I keep it simple." said light

"One day at a time."     

Two Months Later...

 I had plans. As often happens, life had other ideas.

I was looking forward to house/pet-sitting for my daughter the weekend before Thanksgiving. I had some projects to do for her, and I was going to write and catch up on correspondence. By Saturday the annoying, hacking cough and runny nose I'd had since Tuesday morphed into fatigue and shortness of breath. I managed to keep moving, albeit slowly and with frequent resting, and got some things done with the help of my husband. By Sunday I was all-in and home in bed before noon. I saw the doctor Monday and had a chest x-ray Tuesday: the good news was my lungs were clear; the bad news was that it was a virus that had to run its course. The week was cancelled. My daughter brought groceries on Wednesday and courses from the dinner she had made for Thursday. My husband started fighting a cold, so we were quarantined for the duration. By Tuesday this week, two weeks since the start, I felt well enough to go back to work.

Yes, I have a part-time job, started the first week in October. Three afternoons a week I work at my granddaughter's after-school-care program. I love it. I get to be with 25-30 kids from kindergarten to elementary school age, and I get to talk to adults I enjoy working alongside. We are a creative group, thinking of crafts we can do and always ready to change things to improve the program.

In September I started helping my daughter organize rooms at her house. I love that sort of thing, and it has meant that I get to spend time with her. We work and talk and have lunch and work some more. She passed me her fabric for safe keeping and told me to use what I want, setting aside the solids for her future projects. I have had so much fun sorting and organizing and dreaming of all the things I can do! This set me on the path to take a hard look at my sewing room, what works and what doesn't. In August I brought my mom's wooden kitchen table home to replace the computer table I had been using, and I wanted the room to be more functional...which led to completely rearranging the furniture. I didn't even have everything put away yet, and I just had to sit down and start sewing! The biggest change, and the most necessary move to make the room work for me, is that there is no longer room for the twin-bed trundle to become a king-size bed. The room still works for little guests but no longer for adults. There is a double-size futon downstairs and various other sleeping options for individuals. I was holding a space for once-or-twice-a-year visits, which was a surprising realization...

which seems to be the theme for this fall. Ideas and feelings have bubbled to the surface, and I have accepted them all. No anxiety. No fear. No denial.

The river continues to flow. There is a lot going on underneath the surface....

Habits And Routines

It took a bit of work to get into a habit of getting on the treadmill every day. Once I did and started feeling the benefits, it got easier to keep the commitment. The timing was flexible on the days my granddaughter was here, and I kept up the daily routine last summer through the problems with the floor in the family room. 

Last fall I fell into the habit of walking each morning between 9 and 10. With the treadmill in the sitting room I can monitor laundry, and I nibble breakfast while I'm walking. 

I didn't recognize how much I relied on this routine until two weeks ago when I had the house to myself for a couple days. First thing in the morning I got busy, flitting from one thing to another because I had so much I wanted to get done. Early afternoon I was frazzled and frustrated, and I took a moment to think about what was different. I had not taken time to walk. I chuckled and got on the treadmill.

This past month I have moved walking to later in the morning which has thrown me off a bit. Ken and I make use of the space in the house with an appreciation for what the other person is doing, so now it works for me to walk after 10. This isn't a big deal but it coincides with me trying to add other elements to my routine, and I'm struggling. I'm having trouble settling into time to sew, time on the computer, time for projects that I enjoy. I feel scattered and anxious.

My answer has been to turn my attention to the house - cleaning, repairing, painting. It's okay in the short term but it's not a good long-term solution. I have been in this place before and remember that things do not resolve on their own.

I am putting this out there to hold myself accountable. My doctor and massage therapist are helping me work through the havoc this time of transition is playing on my body. I have suggested adding a stretching program to my schedule, and they both think that's a good idea. Now I just need to start.

I find a way to make time for the things I value. I always have time for my kids and grandkids. I have made daily walking a priority. It takes effort to add something new to my day, to decide to add a new commitment. I have the time. It's up to me to decide how to use it. And I know once I commit to something, I will honor that commitment. I am giving myself notice. 

Two and Fifteen

Wednesday marked two years since the coronavirus began to have an impact on my life. March 9, 2020 was the start of a period of time that I could not have anticipated. Life has not completely returned to how it was in the "before time," and my expectation is that there will not be a 100% return to how life was "before covid." I will continue to make the most informed choices I can based on the best scientific information I can find. 

As I thought about the date there was something in the back of my mind which eventually floated to the surface. I got into the box of house papers and warranties under the bed for confirmation: March 9 is the date we closed on this house fifteen years ago. It's funny that I hadn't focused on that before. Every year I remember the snowstorm on March 17 that stranded us in the middle of painting each room before we moved in a week later. I think about how the kids helped us load and unload the U-haul in the rain, followed by dinner at Ruby Tuesday's and breakfast at Friendly's. That spring I was finishing my graduate work with no internet or cable at this house, and there was not reliable cell phone service. If I had known what we were in for I'm not sure I would have continued to press so hard to make things work, as there were multiple issues to resolve before the closing and the parties involved were not always helpful.

Life is often one foot in front of the other, looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The journey continues....  

Day 648

We are expecting measurable snow this weekend. It's not unexpected this time of year, but I was hoping to make a quick trip to Boston to put a few presents under the grandkids' trees. I will stay home because it's one thing to get caught in the snow but something entirely different to knowingly drive into the storm. I will put things in the mail instead, and we will catch up in person after the 25th.

It was encouraging to think about taking a drive because I have been totally homebound since December 6, when I tested positive for covid. We got word a few days earlier that there was an outbreak at my grandson's daycare and were advised when to test. My grandson and his parents tested positive too; Ken was negative. My biggest concern was for my grandson as he is not old enough for the vaccine. Fortunately he came through it okay, as did the rest of us. I felt like I had a sinus infection for ten days. I got back on the treadmill this week and no longer feel "fuzzy" headed.

I am grateful that we are all okay. I am glad we had the Thanksgiving weekend together. I wouldn't trade a minute of the time we had.

The news this week about the latest variant is concerning. We will continue to be as careful as we can and do our best to keep ourselves and others safe. 

I thoughtfully share my experience because it is the case that we can do everything right and still get caught. I will go forward one day at a time acting on the best information I have.

Be safe out there~

Restructuring

I saw my osteopath today. On the drive there I took inventory of how my body is doing, to consider what to say when she asked how I'm doing. The word reorganizing came to mind; tonight the word restructuring surfaced. The words are synonyms, as are rearrangement and shift and upheaval (all of which I'm feeling). I like the word restructuring because I can picture building anew the elements that support the whole system.

It feels like my physical body is finding a different way to be. From my ankle turning to my knee locking up to my wrist feeling sore to my back cramping ~ body parts are transitioning as is my thinking. Is one in response to another, or is there a coordinated effort?  

My feelings about situations and relationships are changing, too. I am gentler with myself and others. I wonder about capacity for empathy and willingness to change. I question how two people can manage perceptions and priorities when they don't share the same. 

I still have more questions than answers. Part of what is changing is being okay with that and learning to be patient while I wait. 

I am encouraged when I look around the house and see the reorganizing I have done over the last eighteen months. There is less stuff and more room, a vivid example of how restructuring can be a good thing. I remind myself to look around, take a deep breath, and believe that I am making progress in many ways.

Boosted

I got my booster yesterday. I feel okay, which is a relief after the reaction I had after the 2nd shot of Moderna in April. The booster was Pfizer but whether or not that made a difference I don't know. I was planning to write this post last night but was so tired I went to bed earlier than usual. I took it fairly easy today and think tomorrow will be back to normal.

The last year and a half has been all about health, wellness, and prevention. There was no question we would get the COVID vaccine in the spring. We've kept up with dental cleanings. I have always been lukewarm about mammograms and was going to put it off yet again last winter, until my daughter-in-law shared that her mother's breast cancer was found early in a mammogram. I scheduled mine and was given the all clear. I know two quilters who are dealing with issues found on mammograms and send them both healing thoughts. They caught it early, and the outlook is positive.

We never know, do we? Last Saturday marked the 16th anniversary of the death of a dear friend. There are days I still miss her and wish I could call to catch up. Once in a while she shows up in my dreams, which I always welcome because she was always up for an adventure. 

I hope this finds all of you well and boosted, or planning to be ~

Day 605

I no longer track how many days my household has been dealing with the pandemic, but someone I follow on instagram does a daily post. I admire her commitment and enjoy her interesting, well-written thoughts about her life during this extraordinary time. If I tack a week onto her timeline I know how many days we have not been out and about. Today is #605.

I never would have guessed we'd have to deal with COVID for 600 days. Maine's numbers were in good shape this summer but not now ~ too many still hospitalized, in the ICU, and on ventilators. Where my sons live outside of Boston the numbers are good; their county has about the same population as the state of Maine, but their numbers are less than half of Maine's. I see no end to wearing a mask in public because there are still too many unvaccinated among us.

We are doing all we can to be safe. My husband has had his booster and mine is scheduled for Monday. The best news is that three of my grandchildren are eligible and will soon get their shots. I look forward to when we can all be together again. I cancelled a family photo session we had planned for early October and hope we can reschedule early next year. 

Working Parts

 In recent years I have had opportunities to appreciate how my body continues to work and move. I am aware that it could have gone another way.

Almost four years ago my left knee started giving me trouble. It would periodically lock up, was sometimes sore, and developed a lump in the back. The osteopath and massage therapist I see worked on it for months. It wasn't fixed but didn't get worse so we took a wait and see attitude. Then just before I was scheduled to fly to Scotland the summer of 2019 my osteopath ordered an ultrasound to make sure it hadn't transitioned into something that could give me trouble; the good news was that it was a cyst and there wasn't much to do beyond what I was already doing. That fall I hit the treadmill regularly, and sometime during my daily walking in 2020 I realized my knee wasn't a bother any longer. No one could have predicted how or when that might happen; I was grateful it took care of itself.

There is particular body part that has given me trouble since I was a child: my ankles. While I am walking they occasionally collapse without reason or warning. Sometimes I can catch myself, and sometimes I go down. One morning on the walk to high school my right ankle turned and I went down hard on my knee. I was wearing the only pantsuit I've ever owned and tore a hole where I landed; I still remember how sorry I was that I chose that outfit that morning. My ankles have been a nuisance over the years, but there has never been a lasting injury.

I wasn't sure that was the case when I went down almost three weeks ago. I got up from the couch and the next thing I knew I was face down on the carpet. I not only turned my right ankle but landed hard on the top of my foot. It was the worst fall I've had due to an ankle turn and hurt so bad I thought I might pass out. I could move my toes and ankle, albeit with care and caution. The swelling and bruising came fast. Ibuprofen and elevation got me through the next few days, and luckily there was no lasting damage. Once it is totally better I intend to "write the alphabet" with my toes to strengthen my ankles. It can't hurt and it might help.

The ability to get back on the treadmill this week was all the sweeter after that fall. I put on my walking shoes and recognize how lucky I am to put one foot in front of another. 

Walking Again

Most of my life I have depended on my legs to get me where I want to go. We lived in Southeast D.C. until I was eight years old and then moved five minutes outside the city, where we could still walk to stores, bakeries, the library, movie theater, and school. I relied on my ability to get where I needed to be; my first job with a paycheck was at the local library in part because I could make the mile walk if I had to.

My first home in Maine afforded me the same luxury. I walked everywhere, and my kids did too. They all walked to middle school and high school because they didn't like to ride the bus. We often hit the pavement as a family to rent a movie or get an ice cream. If I timed it right I could do all my errands on foot within a mile of my house. I liked being on the move while being productive and self-reliant.

When we moved to our current home in the woods on a dirt road I was determined to find a way to continue walking. I measured out a mile in each direction and bought good walking shoes. Rain made the road muddy and winter was impossible due to ice. Potholes were ever present. Some days Ken and I would drive into town, park the car, and walk neighborhood streets. It was an occasional activity but not a working solution.

So after several months we invested in a treadmill. I thought Ken might use it too, but it isn't his cup of tea. I took to it immediately. We set it up in the family room because while I walk I like to be distracted, if not by the goings on along the road then by a movie or television show. [The early years in this house we had only the tv for entertainment because internet was slow and useless for streaming. That situation has vastly improved, and I am spoiled with the internet access we currently have.] The most recent treadmill placement was ideal because it was out of the way and easily accessible, so there was no excuse not to use it. I was walking daily....

until our issue with the water this summer. We had to empty the two rooms downstairs and most things, including the treadmill, found a place in the garage. The treadmill was still set up but it wasn't as inviting surrounded by furniture, boxes, tools, and recyclables. A couple days a week I would climb on and clock a couple miles, but the experience lacked the appeal it once had...

until this week. When we started putting the downstairs back together I suggested we keep the treadmill in the garage. While it isn't my favorite setting, I like the space we allowed ourselves as we intentionally moved furniture back into the family and sitting rooms. I purged all the things under and behind furniture, and we rearranged to maximize room to move. I just needed to find a way to feel the same intention with the treadmill, and with Ken's help we made that happen too. It took awhile but we cleared out the clutter and this week I climbed aboard, grateful to feel the movement under my feet. I am determined to keep moving. Some recent mishaps have reminded me that I am lucky to get up and go as I wish. 

More on that next time~ 

Spring Ahead

A year ago last Sunday we had our last carefree day of being out in the world. We spent the weekend in Boston with kids and grandkids, a regular visit enjoying each others' company. I wish I had taken more photos. We heard the beginning rumblings about a virus, but we were not unduly concerned. 

Then we talked to our son who had traveled to a convention in Atlanta that was cut short amidst all kinds of restrictions on what you could touch and how you could move about. 

Upon our return to Maine Sunday evening we heard from our daughter that warnings about the virus had reached our state and advisories were being issued about how to stay safe.

And staying home was at the top of the list. So that Monday we hunkered down. I wrote on the calendar, "How long?" with not a clue of what was ahead.

That was March 9, 2020. 

Almost a year to the day on March 10, 2021, I got my first shot of the Moderna vaccine. I was a bit nervous. My stomach flip-flopped all morning, and I was glad I had the good sense to sip ginger ale on my hour-long drive to Portland for the appointment. It took persistence over three days to get a slot, one location for me and another for Ken the next day, so I was sure to get there on time and fully prepared. Start to finish it took 20 minutes. It couldn't have gone more smoothly, and I couldn't have been more grateful or relieved.

My sons and daughters-in-law have pre-registered for vaccinations in Massachusetts and await calls to set up appointments. My grandson will finish first grade remotely. My hope is that we will all have a chance to get together in June.

Not much has changed day to day over the past year, yet little is the same. Life feels different, and I wonder if I have a clue about what comes next.  

With one shot in the arm and a second scheduled for early April, I feel optimistic for the first time in a long time. Like the time change this weekend, I am ready to spring ahead.

Day 343

Last year on Valentine's Day I went to the Portland Museum of Art. There was a special exhibit of flower arrangements paired with paintings and sculptures, and live chamber music was playing. People of all ages were slowly moving from gallery to gallery, talking quietly and taking photos. The atmosphere was relaxed, and encounters were pleasant. There was not a mask in sight and social distancing was the last thing on anyone's mind.

Just three weeks later my world shut down. I am fortunate in that I have been able to stay safely at home, and I have the privilege of taking care of my granddaughter two days a week. I have plenty to keep me busy and will never run out of projects to do or things to organize and clean. 

And yet I am tired of this, of masking up and staying apart, of not feeling safe. 

I am not alone. Everyone I talk to is tired, though everyone I know is doing all they can to stay safe for themselves and their families. We think it's important to do this right.

So I keep track of the days, anxious for the notice that I can get the vaccine. My daughter the doctor has been vaccinated and still practices all the safety measures. Once vaccinated I will continue to wear a mask and socially distance in public. Once my sons and daughters-in-law receive the vaccine we hope to see each other in person, hopefully sometime this summer. I have grandchildren to play with and a grandson born in November that I have yet to hold. There is a lot of time to make up, forty-nine weeks and counting.

The journey continues.... 

Autumn Arrives

Today is number 199 of my pandemic experience. I was laying in bed a couple weeks back, unable to fall asleep, and started adding to when I last counted days I've been mostly at home. I landed on 178 and pondered that number for a bit ~ that's half the number of days in a leap year. It had been half a year since this whole mess started for me. And tomorrow it will be 200 days....

It seems that autumn has decided to give us a break this week. Last week the nights started getting colder and early this week we had scattered frost on the fields in the morning. When the seasons changed yesterday the temperatures warmed and a lovely warm breeze blew that demanded open windows. The rest of this week promises to be as beautiful. I have no excuse not to paint the exterior door jamb that Ken has repaired, and it actually looks pretty good with just the first coat.

I decided that this is the week to make all the phone calls and appointments that I have been putting off. I have a dentist visit tomorrow that was rescheduled months ago, and there is a list of protocols to follow to insure safety. Next door to that office is my optician, so I called today to see if they will take my glasses in for repair; I will call from the parking lot and they will retrieve my glasses from my car and give me an estimate on how long it will take. 

I called my doctor's office to see what I can work out to get flu shots and TDAP boosters for me and my husband. It took two days and four phone calls but it turns out we can schedule "drive in" vaccinations where a nurse meets us at our car for our shots. The scheduling will require another phone call but it's worth it.

We need the TDAP booster because we are expecting grandchild number four in early December. My younger son and his wife are having their first child, and we are all very excited. I am already plotting how I can quarantine for two weeks here before I go to Massachusetts to help out, probably around the first of next year. They have taken the "stay safely at home" as seriously as we have so they have been part of our "bubble," and they were back to visit over Labor Day weekend. Those days were relaxed and easy and made life seem normal, if only for a few days.

But really, there is very little that is normal about this time of a pandemic, continual racial injustice and violence against people of color, and corruption of the party in power like we have never seen in our country ~ all amidst wildfires and weather events ripping through parts of the country with increasing severity. When it seemed like it couldn't possibly get worse, last Friday we learned that Ruth Bader Ginsburg had died. I woke up Saturday in tears. I have moments of complete despair. Tonight I asked myself what might help, even a little bit, something I could do right now.

Writing would help. Reaching out. Connecting. Even my introverted self reaches a point where I can't do it all by myself any more. So here I am. 

I hope you are well. I will return....

Day 141

Twenty weeks...the number of weeks we have been mostly at home. The news for my town and county is excellent; according to the Maine CDC website there are currently 1-5 cases of COVID-19 in my town. My county has had a total of 43 cases, no deaths. Maine's positive rate for testing is currently under 1%.

We wear masks and social distance everywhere we go, even at the beach.

We are in a good place. Yet for some reason my anxiety has risen in the last ten days, probably over concern for family in the Boston area, schools everywhere making plans to reopen in some fashion, and my daughter's medical students return to campus in southern Maine. I will have grandchildren in school and a daughter-in-law who works in a public school. I have had trouble sleeping, also a result of hot, sticky weather in the last week. I wake early with thoughts gone wild if I don't consciously reign them in, breathe deeply, and talk my body into relaxing so I can at least rest if I can't get back to sleep.

Tonight the anxiety broke and I am grateful beyond words. It started with a video chat with my daughter about how things went today with my granddaughter. Then we started talking about how the situation with the virus looks statewide and by county. She follows the data closely, monitors updates from the Maine CDC, and tracks the latest medical findings about the virus. Her days are busy and we don't often have a chance for a long in-depth conversation about the current situation. She answers questions any family member has, though we don't take her time or position for granted. Maybe she got a sense of my anxiety. Whatever the reason we had a chance to talk, it has made all the difference in my perspective. I feel hopeful.

I appreciate people who read what I write, and every comment keeps me coming back though it has been weeks since I've posted here. I have all the time in the world and don't feel I am doing all that I want to or could do. That feeling has kept my thoughts spinning, second guessing ideas and plans.

I aim to jump that hurdle and move forward in the days to come. Perspective is everything.