Sunday Stuff | Playing for Time

Taking account…

30 Apr 2023 2 Comments

***

Since you’re all so kind, I can’t get anyone here to hold me accountable to reach my goals; therefore, I’ve had to exercise over-the-top discipline in order to avoid making a liar of myself. Those projects I’ve mentioned? I have good news…

You remember my nemesis, the 12′ x 7′ x 14′ high closet lined with shelves on three sides, which has been the repository for a wide assortment of belongings since about 2015 when I started losing mobility… you recall my brave words, right? I’m thrilled to report that it now looks like springtime in that space – a breath of fresh air – and life in general, just like that, holds more promise and feels absolutely doable. It’s like turning on a floodlight in a dark cavern, except that the surroundings revealed are entirely friendly. As I stood back admiring my work yesterday I said a mental “up yours” to the Senior Surgeon who told me there was nothing that could be done about my back, so… I guess just go home and give up, which my brain did without informing me in advance, thus putting life on hold. That haphazardly-packed closet represents the biggest win I can think of in about that many years and I’m savoring it. There’s also this: over a ten-year period I helped empty six longtime homes of loved ones, and I made a solemn vow not to put John through that. It’s an educational, revelatory, emotional, gut-ripping experience, which he’s already done once singlehandedly, so the less Kim and I leave behind, the better. Best-case scenario would be to close things out like saints, with a fork apiece and some clean underwear, but simple living and a love for open spaces will at least keep us moving in that direction.

The biggest win of all is that now, in 2023, the more I move the better I feel. That’s worth sticking around for.

And now I’m ready to focus on something I love even more than re-homing things, which is to finish editing a friend’s manuscript. I’m fairly certain it’s the calling I missed in life, that of helping to fine-tune good writing while consuming it at the same time. Bossy, nitpicking girl loves books, win/win.

A glance up the page affirms that this year has been more about gains than losses, more about the wins in spite of how dark so many days have felt in their endless passage. That’s a good thing to know because of how it colors the rest of life… sometimes the wins are so hard-won we feel beat up by them instead of validated and encouraged. At this late date, I might be finally starting to understand the process through which we come to know and love ourselves. It’s never too late.

Take your innate kindness and human understanding with you all week and spread that stuff all over everything. The world needs it so much.

Image by Judy Smith

How DID it get so late, anyway?

23 Apr 2023 2 Comments

***

I gave the blog a rest last week, it was time. Full disclosure, my muse is on indefinite vacay in South America and I’m fairly lost on my own. I’ve also been trying to cultivate the shockingly unAmerican habit of declining to speak in the absence of anything to say. Concurrently, I’ve been working my way through seasonal depression and I try to apply extra caution during those times, lest my “mouth” cancel my regular brain activity and add to the load of woe. But hey, it’s spring, it’s time to break out of the trap and feel ALL of life. If you deal with the sadz you know it isn’t so much ABOUT anything, it’s more of a hormonal/chemical shift that imposes a life of its own over how you’d rather feel, and it’s always a relief to emerge into real sunshine again. Sort of like…

In actively working to move the Mood Meter to the plus side, I’ve saved things written by people who know, because somebody else’s experience and affirmation are always encouraging to me. Numero uno…

Having to be phony around other people is what feels genuinely weird to me. Can’t do it anymore.

On the accountability front, I’ve been putting my list of Anxiety Reducers in practice and can report that taken together they’re making a difference. They’re in the post preceding this one if you want to try a few.

Hang on, kids, we’re making a 90-degree turn here because I became aware last night of a pattern in our house, likely one of the biggest tip-offs that we aren’t young anymore. Kim has a sixth sense for picking random movies that we end up totally engaged in, and at some point or several during every film, one of us has to grab an iPad and find out WHO THAT ACTOR IS!! Remember, he was in that movie about, oh you know, and that blonde was in it, too, and… we learn a lot, like who’s still breathing and who isn’t. This morning I learned that this is 84-year-old Lee Majors, remember him? Boy hero, sorta? Wow, is it getting late in here or what.

Or maybe it’s just me since I hold no firm concepts regarding the connections between people and time. It’s all of a piece somehow, and this could just as easily be 1970 as 2023. Absolutely everything has changed, while absolutely everything remains the same.

No worries, I still retain a firm connection to reality… on the good days.

Image by Judy Smith

Truth vs whatever’s in second place…

19 Feb 2023 2 Comments

***

THE DOORS

They stand erect in never-ending rows, each one offering a choice to make.

Some are dark, some bathed in light, all hold secret truths hard to unravel.

Here’s one labeled SILENCE. On which side, one wonders, there or here?

If I stand mute before it, will its stillness reveal wisdom and knowledge to my parched imagination?

So many doors, so many choices, so little time for everything.

The endless labels insinuate themselves upon our consciousness and leave us breathless…

How, how, how to ever investigate the options before time runs out and the buzzer signals an end to the game?

In the face of forever, time constraints are unspeakably cruel in their finality.

On they march, the doors, each firmly closed and locked to those without a set of keys.

Or is it just one key we need… the Master?

Is the secret in the simplicity?

Do we muddy the waters with our psychic flailing, drowning the answers directly under our feet?

Those doors, with their often obscure labels, stand like accusers we didn’t know we had

And the shock and awe outweigh the confusion until we get our bearings.

What do they really want from us, these sentinels of judgment?

Couldn’t we all have a nice chat and figure it out?

Conversation doesn’t seem to be the plan… and think about it

Everything has been said, end of story.

Now run, read the labels, make those choices!

Be fierce and turn a knob or two.

Guess you didn’t notice, that one said OFF THE CLIFF.

Oh well. Climb back up and keep reading

Because somewhere, in some wall, there’s a door that says SANCTUARY

And it does not lie.

JLSmith 02/19/2023

Image by Judy Smith

On we go…

27 Nov 2022 4 Comments

One down in the string of winter holidays if we don’t count Halloween in our race to 2023. Turkey Day was nice. We skipped the turkey and went straight for our personal list of comfort foods… Kimmers and me, Rita and a friend. Easy to make, satisfying to eat. We raised a solemn toast to all those displaced from their homes and traditional lands so that we might enjoy the bounty of life, and thanked whatsoever gods there may be for the gifts.

Our unseen and much-maligned fellow travelers before us paved the way for the societies and civilizations we now take for granted… while they became invisible as a people. We did that. We disappeared them. I’ve been thinking since Thursday about what it means to be invisible, undetected by the world’s radar. My body has almost recovered from my fall in October, but my spirit will never forget the cool detached appraisal from that impeccable young woman as I lay there like a bug on the sidewalk. She made eye contact but never saw me, and went on her way without a second thought. That’s invisibility… when someone or something simply does not exist you’re under no obligation to give weight to it. I’ve tried several times over the past few days to wrestle a feeling into words, but I couldn’t get a handle on it until a story this morning spelled it out: A thing unseen never has to be dealt with.

So true. In a flurry of pre-New Year housekeeping a while back, I sat here and wrote down some honest thoughts, and then before I could change my mind I hit SEND. I did hear back from the person it was sent to, but nothing I said was addressed beyond “hello.” That’s invisibility and it feels like being canceled. I’m getting used to it out there in public… my white hair and wrinkles announce my lack of viability and visibility everywhere I go… but I’m not so familiar with it yet from people I once knew. Such a strange disorienting sensation, and one I apparently need to get used to sooner rather than later because it’s happening with startling regularity at this point. When you say or write something, attempting to keep life honest and real, and not even an echo comes back… do you still exist?

It’s the dilemma of every older person I’ve ever known. Am I still here? Does anybody see me? Does anyone give a flying fvck? Honest answer: No, the world does not care, get over it and fix it yourself. My inner voice, which becomes louder year by year, has been telling me to go where I’m celebrated, rather than stay where I’m merely tolerated, and I’m sure that’s a solution to keep in mind. I only know that if it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive.

The world is so full of anger it keeps us off balance. I talked with someone yesterday who’s running primarily on anger fumes right now, and for good reason. We both know we can’t stay this rage-engaged forever, but sometimes it gets shit done from the inside out, where it matters most.

We are saved by those who tell us the truth… those who come to us bearing gifts of love and grace and an easy transparency that says “I got you.”

Thankful. So thankful.

A special thank you to my husband as we embark on another cold winter, with its lack of sunlight and sometimes unfriendly weather. I’m forever grateful he knew what to do with the grubby old cardboard box full of broken pieces I brought him.

Image by Judy Smith

And the quest goes on…

06 Nov 2022 5 Comments

You know how life catches your eye and you can absolutely SEE yourself doing whatever it is, totally visualize it? So you DO the thing, and the moment you step out onto the high wire without a safety harness you wake up from the dream and there you are, naked as Godiva under the spotlights, balance pole missing, and no clue what to do. Working Without Annette is terrifying.

That, boys and girls, was day one at dance fitness class, and it was so much fun I went back for day two! After Tuesday’s initiation https://playingfortimeblog.com/2022/11/02/the-quest/ I flaked off all day Wednesday, didn’t go for a stroll Thursday morning, and cruised into class ready to get my dance on. Knowing how quickly the first day’s meltdown started, I slow-walked my way through the first half-hour, only to find myself in trouble again. Kim and I are still scoping out the various triggers for focal seizure but they include elevated heart rate and body temperature, both of which, as it turns out, that particular class is specifically designed to do, DUH. With fifteen minutes left on the clock, I decided to grab my things and head for the exit, knowing that once the cold wind hit me I could likely make it to the car. Focal seizures, for me at least, have a specific pattern… a head-to-toe sweat meltdown, shaking, dizziness, and hyperventilation, followed by confusion, disorientation, paranoia and crying. I’m sure it isn’t pretty to watch, so all I wanted was the safety of my car, and I knew Kim’s truck was close by and he couldn’t leave without seeing me there. It’s a huge facility, so I didn’t have time to look for him.

He, however, was hot on my trail, drove us home, and we arrived with a greater understanding of the situation than when we went out there. What we’ve learned so far:

I simply showed up too early to the party, lacking a real clue as to the toll extracted by eight years in my recliner. In terms of spinal healing and energy restoration, I need training wheels, even after all the miles I’ve walked in the past year.
A part of me is still the barefoot farm girl always running, the bicycle rider, the cheerleader, the girl who loved to dance even though she kinda stank at it, and although all of that was in the BEFORE time, when my body was still whole, I can SEE it, dammit, so I should still be able to make it happen… but I can’t necessarily still make it all happen.
Kim nailed the obvious… “You know, you don’t DO mornings! This was never gonna work!” That moment when a light goes on and you get an idea how to proceed from here…

DISCLAIMER: I’m usually up by 6:30 or earlier, but I’m semi-comatose until about lunchtime. Parts of my brain are awake, but they’re occupied with writing words on the screen, and coffee-management. Those brain-parts apparently prefer peace and quiet until fully saturated, and are mos def not in favor of bouncing the molecules around in taxing ways before their time; therefore, I’ve made a large note to self:

YOU DO NOT DO MORNINGS

I’ll find what works as the energy reserves return and not worry about it… my body will tell me.

So what’s it REALLY like getting older, you ask?

ANSWER: It’s weird AF. You’re still the same person you always were, with life lessons blended into the mix, but whatever fires the engine eventually starts quiet-quitting. Grossly unfair, but what isn’t?

Here’s a thing to know, right off the top:

**I’m the only one who does this to me, but that’s all it takes.**

Speaking of magic… this takes me home somewhere and I hope you love it too. Have a beautiful autumn Sunday.

*
ADDENDUM: Just as I was finishing this blog post, my computer shut down without warning and I lost all but the opening line. I steamed for a bit, quietly enjoyed my always-healing Sunday omelet, and sat myself down to retrieve what I could from the still-sleepy brain matter. Not saying everything happens for a reason because I specifically do not believe that to be true, but this turned out to be a far better post, so sometimes good things do come from sucky ones. Never, never, never give up. It’s so cute how life’s always directly at hand to provide an object lesson.

Image by Judy Smith

Theatre of the mind…

17 Oct 2022 Leave a comment

She’s up at 6am, sitting in the quiet dark again, mind running… not an unpleasant experience since she’s never been very afraid of herself. Her DH** has already headed across town for a healthy morning of sportsing, while the sky darkens even more just before the sun starts to show its power. This is what she does… she thinks. The thoughts need no jumpstart, they come unbidden as soon as the dreaded wokeness arrives, and often they’re an extension of dreams rudely interrupted before resolution.

She’s hungry, but too rooted in place to go pour a bowl of cereal. She loves the dark but despises the cold… wants/doesn’t want to go walking. Knows she’ll suffer guilt if she doesn’t. She hates the news, but reads it most days because part of the cost of living is to stay aware of what’s coming at us. She has online friends around the world she can share thoughts with, any hour of the day or night… but she mostly leaves them their solitude, the thing she values most. She needs peace and quiet like breathable air; therefore, she can’t complain about the loneliness inherent in that environment… and doesn’t. She’s well aware that we can’t have it all.

A sobering realization sets in right about now on the personal timeline: The older people who told us things when we were younger people? They were right, 100%. At some point you run out of fulfilling things to do. People who once needed you, don’t. Even if you walk for two hours every day (the girl we’re talking about doesn’t), that leaves lots of hours before bedtime. If you keep every scrap of laundry washed and put away, there’s no dust in your house, the bathrooms sparkle, your computer files are organized… all of which is purely theoretical in my case… whaddaya gonna do with the rest of your sweet life, bubbie?

The answer can’t be the copout “I don’t know,” so if you’re in the neighborhood of my Boomer years I suggest you make a plan, because life doesn’t live itself. Now that I’m physically mobile again my body and brain have to have something to do. I love the lack of responsibility and accountability brought on by retirement, but did I DIE?? Not yet, so the same old thing every day (doing a lot of nothing) isn’t gonna cut it. Our grandparents knew real stuff: life is a lonely proposition, we’re pretty much on our own from womb to tomb, and a late-life plan is a definite priority… I’m just telling you these things so you don’t have to hear it from a stranger. If we’re lucky we get old and we’re still the same people with the same need to know things, do meaningful things, make a dent of some kind just by being here… and that takes planning, because the general world doesn’t know we exist by the time we’re this age.

I’m 75 now, the age some of my family members were when I became their advocate, legal and otherwise. Since I’m not old like, you know, they were, I’ve made a plan and I like it, but don’t tell Life… it has a way of messing with the intentions of mice and men. Wherever you are now, I hope you have some kind of schematic for the medicare years that goes beyond keeping body and soul together. Think about what sparks excitement in you, thereby keeping you out of depression, and do that thing. ALL the things. DO ALL THE THINGS!!!

LIFE, like my bowl of cereal this morning, is too delicious to waste.

**Dear Husband/Darling Husband/Designated Hitter/Dead Heat

Image by Judy Smith

Of rivalries and angst…

09 Oct 2022 Leave a comment

HELD OVER FROM SATURDAY…

As my current fav president likes to say, Lawrence is kind of a BFD this weekend. KU suddenly, incredibly, has a football team again, ranked 19th of the top 25, and College Football GameDay is coming to town for the first time ever. We drove around campus yesterday and the stadium was crawling with techs and set-up crew, semi-trailers parked in all available spaces. When Kim took his predawn walk this morning, six buses were parked at the Marriott to transport game-goers to the Hill, and people were already afoot everywhere. Game time, 11am. Stay tuned…

In light of the following, we are made entirely of contradictions and internal conflict…

Same thesis: If the highest paid person in your entire STATE is the basketball or football coach…

So yeah, I’ll let you know who wins today, boys and girls! Perfect fall day, 55º at kickoff, front-row seats right here close to the refrigerator, should be a good Saturday!

**********

It was. A good Saturday, that is. And now, a very good Sunday to all. The sun’s shining, the leaves are turning, it’s a Chamber of Commerce day here in Lawrence America.

So… the outcome. The Jayhawks did not, alas, extend their undefeated streak to 6, losing by a touchdown and point-after, but it was a glorious All-American day nonetheless, and we’ll remember it. And we’ll get ’em next time.

Image by Judy Smith

Yes, Diary, me again…

14 Aug 2022 3 Comments

Don’t know what’s up with Ms Muse these days but she will not stop with the subtle impulse to “write it down.” And as I verbalize that, I know it’s because I’m on the downhill slide to a finish line of sorts, set on fully owning myself before 75. Almost there, and mulling every year of it, just to be all milestone-y, although it would be fun to match my grandmothers’ records and stick around past 95 with my head still on straight. Seventy-five is no kind ‘a stopping place!

Kim and I celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary last month, and on nearly every Sunday morning of those years he’s made me a ranch bean omelet to die for. I’m still here though, having just consumed yet another exquisite offering that made my taste buds cry for happiness. On Saturdays it’s fried eggs and Kim Smith hashbrowns, on Sundays it’s the omelets… hundreds of each by now and never a chance of getting tired and jaded because it’s new all the time. He’s a trained institutional cook with a gift for making a meal for two taste like heaven, and I’ve really only bragged on breakfast. Everything he makes gets constantly upgraded as he goes along, so yeah, I’m a lucky girl and I have to stop talking about him now or he won’t want this going public. Let me just remind you, though, that he came to me precisely the way I ordered him: “I’m not getting married again, but if I did, he’d have to be younger than me and love to cook.” Be careful, little mouth, what you say, your heart just might know what you want.

When the world starts taking pieces of you from little on up, it becomes the seemingly small things that keep life worth doing. Beautiful walks, music that says what we can’t, people who love us enough to care for us, the grace to wake up and be us again for another day, year, decade, or more…

As an inveterate Pollyanna, I’m glad there are people who keep promises, who do everything in their power not to disappoint or hurt us, who are fully present. I think that’s what my invisible friend had in mind this morning… paying homage to the people who make life good. They don’t have to, it’s just who they are.

***

**No one, including me, sees your name when you click a star rating, but it does make my day, so thx.

Image by Judy Smith

I can work with that…

07 Aug 2022 2 Comments

Oh hey, my Muse, I didn’t see you there when I sat down! I was lost in thought about HABIT… what it is, how it happens, what it means to humans for good or ill. Glad you’re here on a Sunday morning, you can help me with this.

Over a lifetime, I’ve unconsciously built a wide range of habits into my daily existence, some of them a real bitch to get rid of. What I’m after at this point are GOOD habits, BETTER habits, BENEFICIAL habits, since there really isn’t time left for detrimental processes. I’ve been happy to discover that I’m still equipped for growth, that I can add a new module to the operating system and make everything sync.

I’m talkin’ ’bout my new drug… walking, something I took for granted until in my 20s but never after. Farm Girl ran for acres on sturdy little legs, mostly barefoot. Tripped her way through grade school, danced through high school, went to college in the almost-70s so remembers only pieces/parts. All of that was very real and vital and life-shaping, and it’s mine. I own the ensuing years, after my life-altering accident, and all they held. This morning it feels like I owe tribute to the NOW and the gift of walking out the door and going ’til I feel like heading home. Unless the weather is dire, I can’t sit here much past sunrise without my butt twitching to go outside. I have to latch the Tevas to my feet, get out there, and offer up my daily measure of thanks. By the time I get home there are aches going on… but nothing hurts. It’s an excellent morning when I’ve been out and about, back home and iced by 8am, and this was one of them, go me. Now I have the entire rest of the day to fart around.

A sweet secret muse is Mr. Kurt Vonnegut, and I love this story:

Kurt Vonnegut tells his wife he’s going out to buy an envelope:

“Oh, she says, well, you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope.

I meet a lot of people. And see some great looking babies. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And I’ll ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is – we’re here on Earth to fart around.

And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And it’s like we’re not supposed to dance at all anymore.“

Let’s all get up and move around a bit right now… or at least dance.

***

**What’s my motivation? To keep dancing.**

***

It was a sweet week, highlighted by having this guy hang out with us for a few hours, play our piano, jam on guitars with Kim, sing, harmonize, fill the house with joy. If you haunt the music-underground in Lawrence in any of its iterations, the swell of talent that’s always just behind the curtain here, you likely know this gifted young man… lucky you.

***

Image by Judy Smith

Stormy Sunday…

15 May 2022 Leave a comment

When I got up this morning, a huge mothership of a storm was hovering overhead, rapidly snuffing all hint of light from the sky. Then came the lightning, rain, and wind, and full dark returned. Perfect! The Sunday omelet never tasted better, and Kim’s fresh coffee will get me through the day, big grateful sigh. Inside I weep for the world and its brokenness, so all the beauty and sweetness has to be gathered up and held close.

I told a Twitter friend a bit ago, “I’m sick at heart. This nation should be a safe place for lovers and babies and other vital parts of society… for ALL of us.” We’re statistically a pro-life culture in our ideology, but what does that even MEAN when a white supremacist guns down a dozen or more Black people, broadcasts it live on the internet, and is carefully brought before a judge, physically unscathed. His 18-year-old white hide is sacred, therefore safe, and the only thing I see in America that can beat white pigment for power… is a gun. The right of white American men to be armed matters more than any law, moral or otherwise… it’s more precious than our children in school… its significance outweighs every issue other than money, and the two are inextricably linked. We’re all adults, we can acknowledge a fallacy when we see it, and it isn’t hard to recognize this lie for what it is. The vacuous statement that “All Lives Matter” is tragically laughable, along with its various iterations… Black… Blue… old… animal… veteran… redneck… fat… unborn.

**Thought I made that one up, didn’t you?**

The unborn are the easiest demographic to advocate for… they’re silent, appealing in the way of kittens, and once they pop out of that sacred womb they’re on their own! Win-win!! The sentiment that every human fetus is the loftiest, most precious form of life on earth just doesn’t play to the cheap seats. We watch how reality ends up for the loudest voices and deepest pockets, and there’s no way to miss the various dichotomies. If you’re part of the Citizens United mindset, you absorb the obvious lies and ignore the inequality in every direction, mouthing platitudes on the way to your bank. If you’re a member of the real world you refute the lies and fight the inequality… and that’s how that is.

**A few spears of sunlight briefly reached the intersection.**

**A Shark headed to the next rumble**. **No Jets in sight…**

**Kim brought these home from Farmers Market yesterday. Have a Sunday as happy as these poppies!**

Image by Judy Smith

For the good times…

08 May 2022 Leave a comment

***

Yesterday was amazing. The sun popped over the hill at 6:30am and tracked its way to sunset, never once getting lost in the gray matter. Stayed a little breezy, so never truly short-sleeve weather for this delicate prairie flower, but it was a superb Saturday. We met Rita out at the winery in the late afternoon for Easy G and the Blue Notes, a Cajun & Creole food truck, and smooth local Farmer’s Turnpike White. The food truck, Duke’s Place, is the baby of Papa and Mama Duke, and the aroma of jambalaya, seasoned fries, fried okra, and other wonders was irresistible. Since nobody resists around food, wine, and music, we had the fries. Rita knew Mama from another winery night and the three of us had a fun conversation while things were heating up in the truck, wherein we learned that Papa teaches music at three area universities and earned his doctorate in that subject at KU this spring. I’m guessing he’s late 40s, early 50s, and I’m all respect. And Vanessa (Mama) never stops smiling while she works, so the vibes are cool.

We set our lawn chairs under the trees in the green green grass, commandeered the one little wooden table on the place (it’s becoming a running joke), settled in, and breathed. The day, despite the tiny chill in the air when bigger gusts sailed through, was lovely, and the dozen or so small children in attendance looked to be in kid heaven. Just past the main yard and narrow driveway there’s a little meadow where one girl, maybe 8 years old, held her own against three likely-9-year-old boys and a football – girl’s got an arm. There were four tiny girls and one just past toddler age who flitted around like butterflies, all whispers and bravado. Every once in a while the herd instinct would take hold and all the kids from big to small would run down a path into the woods, only to wander right back in short order. The smallest followed after everyone until her eyes glazed over and she looked like she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, right in her little tracks, and this mama’s guessing that happened before they left the driveway. One reason I know is that I slept nonstop until 8:30 this morning and felt positively renewed. NOTE TO SELF: Wine and Cajun fries, fresh air and music at every opportunity.

The evening was like a delicious shot of novocaine after the weekly load of fresh pain, which not only rhymes but is part of a greater rhythm. When you combine benign nature, great food and drink, heart-grabbing music, and the knowledge that likely everyone there would have your back if necessary… you can’t go wrong. The winery is partially the creation of friends of Rita’s… a chemical engineer and his physician wife… and their two little boys made up part of the football/pirate/explorer entourage down in the meadow. Can you say wholesome, boys and girls? Chip and Joanna Gaines have nothing on this place. 😊

People will always determine whether life is good or not, and as much as I try to live without them, it feels better to be around kindred spirits. I think tomorrow I might get to see a couple more and I can’t wait. ❤️ If what we’ve all just been through hasn’t helped us sort out our priorities, we’re not gonna get there, kids. Make it a great week… we’re due for a heat wave here tomorrow!

Image by Judy Smith

What matters…

01 May 2022 Leave a comment

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, full of sunshine and hardly a drop of wind yet. SoCal Man’s already been out cleaning the balcony glass and will probably plant the rest of his current nursery purchases today. Music cranked, hands in the soil, he’s a happy guy. Then he’ll count the pots in the storage room and set off to find fillage for them, which makes me as glad as it does him. Nurturers gotta nurtch, and since I need less intensive TLC these days, blooming surrogates help fill the blank spots. His eye for color and personality makes it an upper every time I step outside, with my sole contribution being to dead-head and maaaybe water once in a while.

I have to think that if it weren’t for lack of wisdom and maturity, relationships could be this simple from the get-go. Kim loves to cook, grow things, play his guitars, play PickleBall and ride his bike, and be The Guy for people who need one. I like to read… write… savor long silences… organize stuff… and now that I can sit there again, play my piano. We know these things about each other and if we just “let it be,” everything else works out, all that trivia we’d otherwise bicker about. I’m glad we caught this train in our 50s, with gas in the tank, plenty of earned wisdom, and a certain form of maturity, the key to which is to never actually grow up… otherwise, we’re both such intense people we’d likely have maimed each other by now.

**Easter Sunday, with Rita Jo as my loving and forgiving audience. Little rusty…**

Kim received a gift last fall, the opportunity to be The Guy in a situation where everybody wins. Three gals in their 70s and 80s asked if he’d be willing to help them improve their PickleBall skills so they wouldn’t be intimidated in open play, and nearly every weekday morning since, the four of them, and often others, have played at 7am, with the result that everybody’s game is getting better, including Kim’s, of course. Last week he drove Nancy, Susan, and Mary to North Kansas City for lunch at Chicken n Pickle, followed by two hours of play on a reserved court… and rumor has it that everyone had a fabulous time. They’re so good for him, and vice versa I just know it. Life is often too sucky to talk about, so the good things really stand out. The bonus is that they’re all cooks and they bring treats to share with each other, which I sometimes benefit from if I get to Kim’s backpack quick enough. The relationship reminds us of his seven aunties in Minnesota and their mutual admiration society. Good stuff.

**Life stays good if you don’t give in to it.**

Life has never felt this angst-filled, but on the flipside, it’s never felt this exquisitely precious, either. Remember two things in the name of peace and sanity:

Life is all about change. Accept that fact, and live it as it comes.
We have zero control over what happens on the planet, and indeed in our individual lives. Don’t try.

******

**For all the empaths I know and love…**

Image by Judy Smith

Taste and see…

25 Apr 2022 2 Comments

[Missed posting this yesterday… ]

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning here in #lfk, with sunshine and light breezes, as opposed to the urban guerrilla winds of the past couple of days. Northeast Kansas is far less windy than the southwest corner where I grew up, but I haven’t forgotten, and my heart is with the prairie pioneer women who eventually slit their wrists rather than deal with the endless gritty howl. My, that turned dark fast, didn’t it.

Okay, we were discussing sunshine and gentle breezes… this afternoon’s plan is to enjoy an outdoor wine festival and live music with sister Señorita Margarita Rita, who makes life better just by being there. Wine, lawn chairs, music, nice weather, people we know… what’s not to like? It’ll start the week on a high note.

Heads up, new subject:

Change, a fact of life under any circumstance, is always on my mind. I tell myself I don’t mind change, in fact welcome it, but as with all things, it depends. What KIND of change? Whose idea was it? Do I get to think about this? Do I have a choice in what happens? Bottom line, will it eventually be good for ME? A few months ago we were under the delusion that life was heading back to “normal,” only to discover that nothing has changed except the names. And in that light, the question I keep coming back to is how much of what we’ve lost was real to start with?

And this:

I see scattered comments to the effect that most social media, specifically Facebook and Twitter, should be shut down in the name of information management, sanity, control, pick your cause… but I do hope people keep a thought for society’s mice, who are pretty quiet but always here. When it’s physically, psychically, logistically difficult to maintain relationships with other humans, we mice somehow find each other and make the kinds of connections that get us through life. We aren’t subversives or even rebels, as such, we simply function better on a less frenetic, less peopled basis. Phenomena like Facebook and Twitter, when we manage them right, fit the bill perfectly, so we (I) need them to not go away.

On the days when the big dark hound sits on my chest and refuses to break eye contact while assailing me with an endless litany of my failures as a human, I need my social media friends saying “I know. I’ve been there. It gets better.” I was never part of a group, and too solitary to really be a best friend to anyone, so the internet is perfect… it allows for space while providing community and I’d be lost without it. When even one person thinks you can survive, you can. Leonard Cohen put it perfectly…

******

The weather stayed beautiful into the evening, a good time was had by all, and I was too lazy to post this before bed…

Image by Judy Smith

Unsolved mysteries…

18 Apr 2022 4 Comments

Another holiday weekend has passed for three senior heathens sharing a gray chilly Ishtar, complete with Spanish mimosas and good food. Seems entirely apropos and it was indeed perfect. Rita did all the cooking… a small spiral-cut ham, au gratin potatoes, asparagus that she roasted just before we sat down, and jalapeño deviled eggs. Kimmers poured Cava & Pomegranate mimosas until the well ran dry, and a mellow time was enjoyed by all. For dessert, I whipped up a lemon cream meringue pie just like Mama used to make, the complete scratch version, a feat I couldn’t have attempted a short three months ago, and it came out right, go me. Sometime late afternoon Rita went home to nap with Jade, my chair tripped me and held me fast for the next couple of hours, and Kim watched the National Canine Agility Show. When you’re not sure what to celebrate, you can’t go wrong with dogs.

Easter strikes me as one of the weirder Christian holidays, what with its origins in ancient pagan rituals, rites of spring, fertility goddesses, bunny-rabbits and all. Hard to gather up all the pieces and make them fit somewhere… so dogs it is, then!

**So many pieces/parts left over every time.**

******

In my third trimester of living, I have no answers and know only a handful of things for sure:

Life is a gift and we’re here to live it
If not for the catalysts of profit, greed, and control, humans could find ways to get along
If we don’t make life about truth and love we’ve wasted our time here
Human communication is a difficult climb, and that’s entirely because of humans
99.9% of us end up being too soon old, too late smart
Karma is a bitch only if we are

******

I believe Finneas gets it right, so I’m sharing his exquisite gift of music with you again…

Image by Judy Smith

… and one to go!

03 Apr 2022 1 Comment

There is joy in Mudville this morning, and we’re collectively gearing up for the final round, happening tomorrow night. The bluest of the blue-bloods are duking it out, you see what I did there, and the excitement only builds.

Massachusetts Street yesterday immediately after the game ended… all photos courtesy of the Lawrence Journal World.

******

Party tomorrow night starts at 8:30, win, lose, or draw! Be there!!

Image by Judy Smith

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