Quitting is not an option…

18 Oct 2023 Leave a comment

Photo Credit: Kim Smith 10/18/2023

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Granny-pants here with a morsel of advice which I hope will prove timely for someone:

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER QUIT

[CAVEAT: If you’re in an untenable situation portending life and death choices, quitting while you’re ahead might be the way to go, provided that’s an option.]

Life in its forever-imperfect reality is hard for perfectionists. Some refuse to give in, and we see it on their faces year by year. My own surrender to the facts began when I started caregiving for six older family members. That went on for twelve imperfect years while my careful systems, meticulous housekeeping, and formerly boundless energy took a long break by default. Ever notice how the little things consume an inordinate amount of space when left to their own devices? They breed in darkness while the details gradually become lost to posterity.

After all my baby chicks took their leave, one by one, along with my husband’s shocking death, a paralyzing ennui kept me from resuming my house-afire persona and whipping things into shape, so I left more to deal with than I knew, mostly because it was all semi-neatly organized and stowed somewhere out of sight. Then I moved after 35 years in one place and took the bulk of those worldly goods with me because I was too tired to deal with it. Soon after that, Kim showed up to help (with everything, as it turned out) and we filtered things massively. Ten years later the two of us moved again and discovered that the filter had sprung a leak, so we sold stuff online, gave it away, and brought some with us. Again.

At that juncture my damaged back declared war and I became its humble appeaser for the NEXT ten years. Those boxes we were going to sort as soon as we got here… suffice it to say, we didn’t. Neither did they grow legs and walk away. A lot of time can get away from us while we’re busy staying alive. But 2023 is the year the stalemate is getting broken because Mama has a list and is now armed with the energy and stamina to rid our psyches of the remaining detritus. It’s time to notice all the details again and to sweep away the cobwebs. Excess baggage is exhausting, and it’s counterproductive to achieving goals. I mean, nothing ever reached hoarder proportions, or even the dreaded “clutter” stage, but the lack of focus on my part drained vital resources, so the time has finally come.

Seventy-six is hitting different than 75 did in key ways. The number carries an extra edge of unhurried urgency, a sense of “if not now, when?” I mentioned goals up there and I do still have a few, so I need a clear head and heart for the years remaining, and I feel a little lighter with each long-suffering task I check off my list. If you don’t live inside your head like I do… well, first of all, lucky you… maybe it’s easier to take it all as it comes, one thing at a time. I’ll likely never know.

Making a list, checking it repeatedly, boldly going in, forging a path, and now I remember what this felt like. Most things other than pain happen in the mind, so if life is eating your lunch you can decide to rob it of its power by what you focus on. And once that’s a done deal in your head you become the beneficiary of that power, which feels amazing. It feels like MORE. I prefer not stopping until a job is done, so it’s a nice surprise to be all productive again. Who knew?

In theory, it would be darling to go out the way Mother Teresa did, leaving only a spoon, one extra all-purpose housedress, and in her case a Bible, in mine an incomprehensible journal. Disclaimer to my son: The eventual purge will not likely resemble that scenario, just know I tried.

So today Granny sez: Don’t give up. As long as there’s life there’s hope. As long as there’s hope there’s purpose. Keep living ’til you die. Amen and rock on.

Image by Judy Smith

The power of memory…

09 Oct 2023 2 Comments

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Random thoughts while absorbing the morning…

Fall and winter are big-deal sports seasons, mostly, I surmise, to save us from ourselves during The Time of Cold and Dark. My first go-to is always reading, but healthy competition runs a close second… entirely as a voyeur unless I’m playing Scrabble with Kim, or WordsWithFriends with my sisters. My justice-based mindset likes the fact that there are actual rules in sports, agreed upon by all parties and swiftly enforced when violated, with due penalties attached. Life out there in the rough isn’t like that, which troubles the anxious mind. Teamwork is a cool concept, and I play favorites, don’t you? My teams tend to be the good guys, rather than the bad boys of the sport. Competition shouldn’t equate to meanness. But I think that beyond the personalities and skills involved, the key aspect is the time frame. A contest is initiated, fought, won, and declared. Over. Next game, move on! In real life, nothing is ever really over. Highly frustrating to a neurotic, let me just say.

Which somehow brings to mind a social media trend that’s become increasingly obvious this year… memories, clips, photo montages, and tributes to my generation’s musicians. It goes without saying why this is happening, but we may as well acknowledge that they’re leaving us and the progression will continue. I’m loving the retrospectives on The Beatles, The Stones, Freddie Mercury, and the others who helped shape my youth, even knowing why I’m seeing them again on a daily basis. It’s both stunning and deeply comforting to understand that inside this 76-year-old shell beats the heart of the girl who first heard those voices, harmonies, impossible notes, unforgettable beats, and identifies with every part of it. Those memories don’t leave us, because they stay current. They grow with us. In some ways they define us. And so, when the last of the Fab Four have taken their leave, and Mick and the boys are no longer rocking (as far as we know), none of it will change for us. It’s all interwoven, part of our DNA. Thanks to technology, I’ll be over here with Roy Orbison, Tom Petty, Leon Russell, David Crosby, Tina Turner, and a long list of other friends, grateful to still have access. I remember the girl-slash-young mom who “grew up” with most of them, and it’s painful to lose their presence in the world.

It’s all simply part of feeling anything at all. The tragedy would be if we couldn’t feel what matters, so it isn’t really a choice, it’s just life. I choose that.

Image by Judy Smith

Life is real…

04 Oct 2023 2 Comments

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There’s been a strange phenomenon at work for the past week… I get up and all’s well. Then Kim leaves for PickleBall, the house gets totally quiet, and a monster creeps up behind me and crushes the life out of me for about fifteen minutes. Wha… ?? It shocks me that after a lifetime I still have this many tears in reserve. Where are they coming from? And why? I mean, the world is awful, that’s a given now. And we can’t see the future. And there seem to be few viable answers. I have none at all… thus the dilemma. Powerlessness creates frustration, denial, a tug-of-war on the inside, and finally self-criticism. “Why haven’t you fixed this?”

Feeling powerless in any situation makes me angry. I’m not very good at expressing anger in ways that are non-threatening to me or others. Suppressed anger becomes depression. Bingo. Getting somewhere.

National events pertaining directly to the world we live in continue on a perilous track that portends throwing out the baby with the bath water. It’s a massive challenge to stay positive, keep a good thought, hope for the best, in fact that approach feels disingenuous and like quiet quitting. So I stay educated and current, like a good citizen, the major challenge being to keep my psyche out of the fray. This, as far as we know, is the life we get… it makes sense to care what it looks like. Just not too much, apparently.

I’m thinking I can’t be the only one to feel all of the above and more, so if you’re part of my tribe and have found healthy ways of coping with the world as it now stands, please come talk to me in COMMENTS, I’ll wait right here.

Didn’t have to wait long. Visited my friends over on Twitter aka X, and saw this from Barlow Adams, who kicks my butt every day in a good way:

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Come tell me more, friends.

Image by Judy Smith

A day in the life…

27 Sep 2023 Leave a comment

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It’s a typical HumpDay, a stream-of-consciousness stretch of time. There are days simply made for it, when that spaced-out mindset rolls in like a marine layer, the horizon is smoke-hazed for the nth week in a row, it’s neither hot nor cold outside, you’ve managed to rearrange appointments and commitments in such a way as to free up several days in a row of NO OUTSIDE RESPONSIBILITIES, meaning you can do ANYTHING YOU WANT TO DO, and now you have no clear idea what that is. Or rather, you know exactly what it is but you don’t know where to start. Or let’s be real, you’ve begun, you’re ready to move ahead, but you’re stuck. See, progress already: we’ve exposed the “smoke haze” for the smokescreen it is. You, meaning of course, I, am existentially asleep at the wheel. There, that’s one thing.

So what else might be available for providing clarity and focus since we don’t really function without those things, at least not longterm. Well, first of all this morning, the fog was clearly the fault of our coffee grinder, which growled its dying breath without doing ONE LAST TIME the only task ever asked of it. The ignominy after we’ve provided a comfy home for at least fifteen years, is what I’m thinking! Little ingrate made me add a bra to my morning wardrobe and schlep over to Grounded Coffee, where the incredibly cool young guy behind the counter greeted me with smiles and complimented my sweatshirt. My years-old pink “mom” sweatshirt with the fuzzy white heart, matching my fuzzy white head which I’d tried with only partial success to plaster down a little before showing up in public. Wow, great cold-brew though, and as it turned out a cheery way to say hello to a Wednesday. Whatever gets the molecules moving.

**

You’ll want to carefully consider the source, but I do recommend a few ABCs for getting ducks to line up. You’ll have to name your own ducks, but basic principles apply:

  • Sit with yourself, in silence or music or nature or all of the above, until you can hear yourself tick.
  • Name the thing uppermost in your conscious mind. Take your time, that thing sometimes tries to hide, for reasons all its own.
  • Ask yourself how you feel about the primary concern that’s occupying your thoughts and requiring your energy. Don’t lie to yourself, it’s supremely counterproductive.
  • If writing is your thing, or if it isn’t but you’ve always thought you might be darling at it, now would be the time to try it out. There’s nothing like seeing your own words in black & white for figuring out what you think.
  • This one’s hard, but try not to take things personally, nor yourself too seriously. That challenge speaks to every insecurity of every breathing human, so it clearly requires the most work, but I’m pretty sure getting there would be worth the cost.

If you’re this far and still envisioning an orderly Duck Line in your near future, follow me for more tips. I promise to keep you posted.

Image by Judy Smith

Oh thou melancholy well-meaning fall…

02 Sep 2023 2 Comments

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On a pristine September morn like this, anything begins to seem possible. It’s a sweet 66°, the sky is blue and cloudless, and Farmers Market is in full swing down the block. Our parking lot is full of #lfk peeps of every age and description, and the sourdough donut kiosk is doin’ tha biz again. They’re excellent, but our loyalties are with the local Muncher’s cheesecake vanilla-frosted rolls. I’ve added one to my birthday wish-list.

Our predicted high temp is 98° with over 70% humidity, so the benign morning will slide us into a grand funk of sweat and steam, but that’s latah today and all week… high 90s. Not a problem, just a challenge, and on we go.

First headline to cross my feed this morning was the news that Jimmy Buffett has left us for that spot where “If there’s a heaven for me, I’m sure it has a beach attached.” He was my precise age and isn’t the first of our boomer rockers to go… I think immediately of Tom Petty, a true “baby” and real heartbreak… as the inevitable future absence of each icon fully registers. They changed an entire era, those people: Queen, The Who, The Stones, The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Carlos Santana, Simon and Garfunkel, Carly Simon, Stevie Nicks, a long illustrious list of influencers and sheer joy-bringers too massive to comprehend, including and especially every Black musician who birthed the genre. In a world where we can’t be sure it won’t all crumble to dust tomorrow, the goodbyes are hard. How do we let go of the people who defined our formative years when we don’t know what’s really left to us at this point? We just do. It’s how each generation survives and moves on. We do it as the ground grows spongy under our feet and the markers fade like old newsprint, we do it brokenhearted and afraid, reluctant, dragging our feet, knowing full well that this is OUR generation hanging it up and taking its leave. In a time when life in general has been nearly a bridge too far, the losses extract a toll. However, they also gird us for the road ahead, so buck up lil’ buckaroos and buckarettes, we’re not in this alone and there are miles to go before we sleep.

My somewhat saccharine but genuine ask for all of us…

Image by Judy Smith

Well, would ya’ look at that…

01 Sep 2023 2 Comments

Darleen, contemplating another sojourn on the Smith balcony.

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O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! Dave and Dar are back and have refurbished their safe nest for Round Four, so summer truly isn’t over ’til the hefty girl tunes up. Wednesday night we paid proper attention to the Super Blue Moon while celebrating continuity and prolific breeders. What a joy knowing these peaceable doves have tolerated us enough to hang around all summer, and with their patient response to the cycles of life they remind us every day that we’ve 100% survived everything to this point so we should press on. This morning there’s one egg in the nest and Darleen is apparently out carb-loading for the second, all’s temporarily right with the world, and despite news to the contrary, I’m encouraged. I hope you’re feeling that way, too.

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After a lifetime of Pollyanna-like hopefulness I’m still at it, still looking for the pony in the manure pile and believing against all odds that life is a GOOD thing.

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Now we greet September and the season of letting go. Fall is inherently melancholy for its endings, in fact positively maudlin on my part for endless years until I finally grasped that without endings, beginnings become moot… the world, never mind the human heart, can’t contain it all. So we learn and we let go. We forever honor the past but accept its immutable status and embrace the beginnings… all of the incredible do-overs we’re privileged to encounter.

Forgetting. It’s one small grace we’re afforded… a vital ingredient of being human. If we’re lucky we don’t remember every single detail with its accompanying emotions, thus enabling us to go on human-ing until we’re done. There’s a clear way to help our friends and family with the process and that’s to provide them with less to plow through on days when the sun doesn’t shine…

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Summer officially ends in three weeks, so our supply of sunlight will gradually decrease until spring comes ’round again… and it will. Meanwhile, brighten the corner where you are, your friends and neighbors will benefit.

Image by Judy Smith

Tales of day-to-day breathing…

27 Aug 2023 2 Comments

Photo Credit: Kim Smith, August 2023

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Cheers to us, we survived the Great Mid-America Smoke-Out 2023 without becoming cinders! Ten days of ridiculous temps and even sillier heat indexes, such as 127° one day and 130° another. Inconceivable. Now we’re promised a gaggle of days, maybe an entire week, of temps below 100. I remain a skeptic…

But oh, my sweet summer child, yesterday dawned cool and cloudy before delivering an all-too-brief but thoroughly welcome fall of rain, temporarily vanquishing the heat. Today as soon as Kim left for Pickleball I abandoned my lovely mug of coffee, put on my Tevas, and took myself out into the 66° morning for a sweet stroll on Mass Street. It was just past 7am on a Sunday, so the businesses weren’t open yet, allowing me to gawk and stare at my leisure. In the three-block stretch I walked, I discovered several new enterprises, a restaurant that has moved from another location, and merchandise that would have tempted me had the doors been open. So early-morning walking is an excellent idea for many reasons.

After the rain showers yesterday we spent time on the balcony in the company of our little dove family. David and Darleen came back to us to raise yet a third pair of fledglings and they’ve done well without our solicitous attention this time around. It’s like baby books… by the third child, possibly the only things that get recorded are name, birthdate, weight, and length. We’re the world’s worst grandparents, as we haven’t even gotten around to naming the two that will fly on their own any day now. It’s for the best, really, since according to Buddha, “Attachment is the source of all suffering.” Do with that as you will.

While we were enjoying the cool breezes, Kim pointed out a ruptured bag of odds & ends down on the greenway and said he was going to go gather it up in a bit. A “bit” went by and we noticed a couple walking along the sidewalk, she with two dogs on leashes, he pulling a wagon holding a 5-gallon bucket, trash bags, and other things we couldn’t make out. He wore gloves, and as they walked he used a grabber to pick up bits of trash and stow them in the wagon. We waited to see what would transpire when they reached the mess lying next to one of the access-ways, and they did not disappoint. Working together, the two of them sorted and bagged every smidgen of the scattered eyesore and continued down the sidewalk, still tidying as they went. Incredible. We clapped and cheered, but they couldn’t hear us up here. It was such a typical #lfk experience it made us reflect on other reasons we feel at home in this town… so summer balcony convos have been redeemed. Reclaiming my time!

Mass Street by Kim Smith, August 2023

Makes for very Zen strolling from north to south and back, about a 40-minute trip for Kim. By now, at 9am, it will be looking very people-y over there and the coffee and breakfast aromas are taking over. Good to know there’s a ranch omelet in my near future, and the coffee’s pure comfort.

Please stay cool every chance you get, and keep passing the open windows.

Image by Judy Smith

Out On a Limb

15 Aug 2023 4 Comments

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When I am very old I shall live in a tiny house

nestled in the arms of a generous tree.

I’ll sleep late some mornings, past ten even,

and wake to birdsong, filtered sunlight,

and coffee made by tree fairies.

My address will be known mostly to squirrels, birds,

and the occasional drone, with a path just witchy enough

to make a poser think twice before approaching.

The views will be so spectacular I’ll seldom be tempted

to reorient to ground level, and anyway there will be stairs.

Or maybe I’ll install a giant slide, because although I’ll be very old

I’ll never not be a kid.

My books will live with me, and there will be two kittens

who will snuggle me as my bones grow tenuous.

They’ll absorb the words I cannot speak

and absolve me of every shortcoming

because they will have no stake in any of it.

I will at last be thin again unless the birds have mercy on me with sustenance,

but it won’t be as I imagined so I shall henceforth, from today, honor my squishiness while it lasts.

Those who want to gaze upon my astounding wrinklyness,

under cover of having “coffee, or tea, or drinkies,”

will be turned away in lieu of those who know me.

The ones – you know who you are – used to my stubborn opinions mixed with naiveté,

the never-ending search for validation, explanation, justification, restitution,

the neediness that dares not name itself.

When I am very very old, I shall be wise.

I will comprehend mysteries.

I will know The Meaning of Life.

Or not. Time, as “they” say, will tell.

But won’t you be lonely? you ask.

Of course, isn’t everyone?

JSmith 08/15/2023

**

Image by Judy Smith

For or against…

30 Jul 2023 5 Comments

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It’s a summer Sunday morning, only 76° and nothing to whine about. Haha, as if. The humidity is 81%, so welcome to the Eastern Kansas sauna.

My morning routine usually involves getting up by 6:30, waking up by 10:30, and spending the interim cruising through news and the most recent shenanigans. This morning while reading comments on the app formerly known as Twitter, I was struck in a fresh way by how straight and deep the dividing lines are becoming. There’s always been this side and that side, always will be, but the convo about that has become a model for AI chat, with interchangeable words and terms, and the same immutable lines firmly drawn each time. It’s a useless conversation because it changes nothing, but we keep reiterating our personal take on it as the ground under our feet crumbles and drops away.

I look for the good news every day, and it’s out there. I read the stories of people doing good things for other people, cry more often than not, and go into my day knowing there are still people trying to make life better for as many as possible. I’ve stayed in the conversation, with occasional time-outs while everybody starts to forget how annoying I am, but it might be time to simply drop out. My words don’t change anyone’s mind, and fortunately for my ego that isn’t the intention. I write to provide encouragement to people who think “I’m the only one. Nobody else feels this way.” But anyone who’s trying to tell the truth inevitably draws lines in the sand and the accompanying emotion is not one of peacefulness on either side.

I’m sensing that the default choice is to fight amongst ourselves until the lights go out and we all turn into blobs of molten clay, and then to icicles. We’re definitely a cautionary tale, and I sometimes envision the rest of the sentient universe peering at us in brokenhearted wonderment.

On another note, but likely related in some psychic sense, I amaze myself with what I can accomplish while actively avoiding some project that would contribute to the greater good, by which I mean my own peace of mind. Humans are self-sabotaging… look it up.

Once again I’ve sat here and written words and I only hope some of them meant something to somebody out there. As human life continues to decline in value, the connections we make mean everything. After about so much death and disaster, cockamamie crazy, and day after day of the incomprehensible, the planet starts to seem like a fictional place, so all we wanna know is, “Is there anybody out there who gets it? Anybody we can hang with to help make the medicine go down? Anybody still there?”

There is much we have to let go of, starting with this…

**

In a world where existential loneliness is the name of the game, I wish you at least one friend you can count on, one other heart that bonds with yours. Life is both too short and too long to be otherwise.

Image by Judy Smith

Hot enough for ya’?

26 Jul 2023 Leave a comment

Photo Credit: Kim Smith 07/25/2023

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Took a little summer hiatus. Didn’t go anywhere except in my mind, but that’s always a bargain because the choices are unlimited. The weather continues to be ridiculous, and today we’ll put our heads down and brace for about ten days of 100+ temps. With that in mind, along with the general global madness…

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It’s hot, damn hot, and life is tricky. Therefore…

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Confession: The current flavor of human existence, the atmosphere in which we live and breathe, is a butt-whipping for the Pollyannas of the world. “Can’t we all just get along?” was never more expressive of an era, but as “caring ants” we’re powerless to change the universal bent of humanity. Powerlessness leads to depression, so we have to fight that every day simply out of spite if for no other reason. Why should selfishness, a superiority complex, and a total lack of empathy be allowed to run unchecked in the world if we can stick a foot out every once in a while and upend the process? I’m on it, you can thank me later.

A challenge in this era is that of rejecting cynicism. It would be so much simpler to let our hearts harden and to stop caring about much of anything, but it wouldn’t be any easier. You live with hurt and pain or you don’t live at all.

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Experience is teaching me to Keep It Simple. (“Stupid” is implied, but redundant by now.)

Stay cool.

Image by Judy Smith

Waking… rising…

30 Jun 2023 2 Comments

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Every day the clock resets, offering a fresh chance to get it right. We sleep the “little death” and wake to sunlight that says it’s time to live again, everything new, all for the taking. Each day brings something good/interesting/enlightening if we’re awake for it and can work through yesterday’s detritus in short order.

Speaking of change, sometime in the past hour our renters seem to have flown the coop. Both offspring were in the nest when I got up, stretching their wings and testing them in the wind under the ferns. Went out a bit ago and nobody home. So the Dove family, David and Darleen and their two sets of twins, are likely off somewhere in the East Lawrence forest, doing whatever birds do with their summers. We barely got to know this latest set of chicks, Durwood and Donna, before they ditched the down and ducked out. Derek and Diane, the first set, provided our learning curve, and the whole family sweetened springtime for us so we hope they’ll check us out again next year.

Now summer is here and July arrives tomorrow. I scheduled my next five-week haircut the other day and it puts me into August, a fact which made me catch my breath. Life is a headlong rush from cradle to grave… unless it drags endlessly, each day and its dark night seeming both terminal and a life-sentence… pick your poison, although we rarely get to choose.

So yeah, summertime in Kansas. Totally unpredictable. Tie everything down for which you have a big enough bungie cord and enjoy.

**

A postscript: I went out just now and there were Durwood and Donna, snug in the nest, smug about knowing how to fly, and contemplating their next foray. So that cozy little bower is still home, or at least a way station, for a bit yet and we aren’t sad about that.

Image by Judy Smith

Good thing wrinkles don’t hurt…

20 Jun 2023 1 Comment

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Good morning. Remember my childlike boasts about how much I love getting older? Of course you do. You said at the time, “Who does she think she’s kidding?” There are days when I do sort of hate it, but not as much as I despise the idea of being dead, so when I meet a compadre on the road from here to there, it means everything. I’m letting that fellow pilgrim speak for me this morning:

The other day, a young person asked me: – “What does it feel like to be old?”

I was very surprised by the question, since I did not consider myself old. When he saw my reaction, he was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question. And after reflection, I concluded that getting old is a gift.

Sometimes I am surprised at the person who lives in my mirror. But I don’t worry about those things for long. I wouldn’t trade everything I have for a few less gray hairs and a flat stomach. I don’t scold myself for not making the bed, or for eating a few extra “little things.” I am within my rights to be a little messy, to be extravagant, and to spend hours staring at my flowers.

I have seen some dear friends leave this world before they had enjoyed the freedom that comes with growing old.

Who cares if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 in the morning and then sleep until who knows what time?

I will dance with me to the rhythm of the 50’s and 60’s. And if later I want to cry for some lost love… I will!

I’ll walk down the beach in a swimsuit that stretches over my plump body and dive into the waves, letting myself go, despite the pitying looks of the bikini-wearers. They’ll get old too, if they’re lucky…

It is true that through the years my heart has ached for the loss of a loved one, for the pain of a child, or for seeing a pet die. But it is suffering that gives us strength and makes us grow. An unbroken heart is sterile and will never know the happiness of being imperfect.

I am proud to have lived long enough for my hair to turn gray and to retain the smile of my youth before the deep furrows appeared on my face.

Now, to answer the question honestly, I can say: -I like being old, because old age makes me wiser, freer!

I know I’m not going to live forever, but while I’m here I’m going to live by my own laws, those of my heart.

I’m not going to regret what wasn’t, nor worry about what will be.

In the time that remains, I will simply love life as I did until today, the rest I leave to God.

Dame Judy Dench

***

Image by Judy Smith

Resume, and I don’t mean resumé…

19 Jun 2023 Leave a comment

***

Good morning, constituents. I’m not running for anything today or ever, so the planet is safe. And if you’ve been here a while, you know I write selfishly – entirely at the behest of my own psyche. Some of us understand that we’re cautionary tales rather than shining examples, but “what not to do” can prove helpful too, so I lay it all out here for those following behind. Which brings me to a question… WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?? Get a life, for the love of god!

So last Thursday I took a No-Brainer Day in the name of health and sanity. https://playingfortimeblog.com/2023/06/16/hitting-the-pause-button/

That was so beneficial I sent said brain on an extended vacation, whereupon it theoretically burrowed underground until this morning. I must tell you that it’s a heady Zen rush to sit here in my allotted space and gently remind myself that if it’s outside these walls it’s what’s called “not my responsibility” for now. I’m well aware that it’s a trick to find any space for yourself, anywhere, without simply claiming it and walking off with it. And for years on end, all most of us can claim is the will to live on behalf of everyone around us. Also, that dazzling realization of our own personal worth and therefore rights… that’s hard-earned for some of us even after most of the heavy responsibilities fall away. It sucks to get this long in the tooth before claiming yourself, so don’t. Do it now, you’re you, nobody else is ever going to be that gift in the world so don’t waste time.

It triggers empathetic guilt to tell you this, but for three days, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, I did the absolute bare minimum for survival while everything settled back into its rightful order. This vital mini-vacay was entirely made possible, by which I mean enabled, by Kim. You knew that.

Yesterday evening we walked down to Cider Gallery for some of the most incredible musicianship I’ve witnessed in this town and that’s saying a LOT. Lawrence has been a launching pad for bands and solo artists over the years who play gigs here while in transit from Kansas City to Denver. Last night’s two groups were local but may not stay that way, so if you see the name Sky Smeed and/or Signal Ridge, remember where you heard it first. And run, don’t walk, to soak up the pure delight.

All said, this crone is awake on a Monday morning, coffee’d up and ready to roll. Priorities will rule the day:

  1. Those clothes you put in the washer before Cider Gallery yesterday? Run ’em through a rinse and get them into the dryer, STAT.
  2. Be a fully-fledged human, insofar as is reasonable for Monday.
  3. Keep your word, do the things, and stay true north.

***

Image by Judy Smith

Hitting the pause button…

16 Jun 2023 Leave a comment

***

All week I had the dumb and couldn’t brain, so I took a No-Brainer Day yesterday to reset. Went for a walk around the neighborhood, slept for four hours, then spent the remainder of the day doing mindless things on my computer, by which I mean I cleaned out both of my Messenger apps click by click because I couldn’t force “select all” to function. I was horrified to find in iMessenger that everything sent or received since 2012 was still there! How do these things happen?? Welp, somebody goes mentally AWOL for five or ten years while pain runs the show and it all stacks up, the evidence doesn’t lie. I was born with a Siamese twin named Anxiety so she’s never not been attached to me. An ordered existence goes far in keeping her quiet, but she could tear up an anvil in a heartbeat if I didn’t watch her, so she has to be considered in every equation. She was feeling much better by bedtime last night.

So an intentional Get Yourself Better Day turned out to be exactly what the doctor ordered: the brain fog lifted, the thinking processes lined up straighter, and a probable answer broke through. Pretty sure my anti-seizure Rx was working overtime, rendering me near-comatose since sleepiness is a side effect if the drug doesn’t have enough to do. BINGO. I cut yesterday’s doses in half and felt the difference within hours. So. ONWARD. The good news is that the focal seizures have been very much under control lately, so no worries.

**

My secret plan is to go underground for the weekend and show up Monday morning ready to function as a human. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, a few topical memes on our way to doing Friday right, starting with today’s PRIDE MONTH post:

**

Topic of the week (read century). Leaving this here for posterity’s sake.

**

And this last one is for all the feelers who water the earth with our tears and drive the macho-macho-race mad with frustration. I encounter something to cry about at every turn in the day so sometimes I try to get that over with first thing in the morning. Just have a good cry about EVERYTHING and EVERYBODY and proceed, Guv’nah. Then later, when touching or infuriating things pop up, I can say “Nope, gave at the office, already cried my quota for the day, c’mon inner peace.” Believe it or not, I am kicking the snot out of it… it actually works. Sometimes.

Why we cry.

It seems happy little Pollyanna’s work here is done for now, so it’s time to toddle off and scrounge up something more nourishing than coffee before I get on with doing as little as possible. You know what feels good and right on a Friday or any other day ending in “y”? Self-care without guilt. Don’t wait ’til you’re past 75 to try it.

Live your story. Right now.

Image by Judy Smith

Watch yourself, it’s HumpDay…

14 Jun 2023 2 Comments

***

A glorious June morning is underway, full of promise if you’re here for it. My self-assigned mission today is two-fold: reading and writing. Reading for fun and profit, interspersed with terrifying moments of writing for angst and amnesty. BOWLING FOR AMNESTY! She has a working title, boys and girls… and, we’re ROLLING!

At more than three-quarters of a century into this preposterous human experiment, I should be able to state one thing with certainty, and it turns out I can: This whole thing is insane. We emerge as the most helpless of creatures on earth, claw our way toward adulthood, gain awareness of our frightening awareness, and scream our way to the grave, because… insanity. I ask you, is there more fun to be had anywhere? We’ll never know.

There are things we CAN know, however, and do. For instance, I know the following to be true:

I read the entire poem knowing I recognized that voice, and when I saw Mary Oliver’s name at the bottom I burst into tears of joy over unexpectedly meeting up with an old friend out here in the wilderness. We crazies find each other, in this life or the next.

The world has never felt more tenuous… more divided… less inclusive. So we must each do our part to counteract that state:

**

Wherever you are as you read this, STOP. Sit very still and let yourself relax from your toenails up. If you’re blessed with quiet right now, relax every cell all the way to the top of your head. Breathe. It feels really good, so do it some more. While you’re letting it all go, have a soft little conversation with yourself: You didn’t make the world the way it is. This brokenness is not your fault. Breathe in. Accept the good and the right and the real. You know how to be kind. Do that. Breathe out. Reject the existential pain that permeates everything now. Let it go. One individual human heart can’t contain what’s out there, so we have to simply lay it down and accept that being here for it is enough. And when we feel somewhat healed and therefore brave… we bear witness.

**

Image by Judy Smith

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