The Thrill of Aging | Playing for Time

Still springing…

06 Apr 2023 Leave a comment

***

As usual, fickle spring can’t make up her mind, and she will have it her way regardless. It looks perfectly lovely outside but when I opened the balcony door after sunrise, I was instantly made aware of the real-feel temp. Doesn’t matter, it’s just weather and we haven’t a particle of power to change it day to day, which would be easier to take if we had even a smidgen of influence on the rest of life. It’s part of my job to warn you that the aging process inevitably brings loss in most every direction, and far sooner than we’re led to believe: loss of influence, loss of credibility, of independence, of energy, strength, and power, among other attributes we formerly took for granted. Sooner than we could possibly anticipate, we start to sense that we’re next-in-line for increased outside input concerning our well-being and security. Lord, I was just there with six older family members! Facts say it’s been more than twenty years since I played the caregiver role, but in my economy it was only yesterday… and although we’re not there yet, I can feel it creeping up to scope us out. Oh, the places we’ll go, the realizations we’ll make along the way. Life is… weird. And a little anticlimactic. Is this all there is? Send in the clowns…

In retrospect, 2022 was a daunting challenge every day, and 2023 isn’t proving to be very inventive on its own because it’s more of the same. A person could worry.

Nevertheless, we press on…

I know this much is true:

We’re all pedaling as fast as we can.
As soon as we know better, we try to do better.

My old-lady gripe is that life moves a pinch too fast from womb to tomb. It never slows for us, and by the time we figure a couple of things out we’re, as my grandma said, “too soon old, too late shmart.” Pisses me off, that sense of powerlessness. But as a Teutonic realist, I see the dilemma for what it is… life’s current and coming challenge is to hang in and get better because the alternative creates even more righteous rage within. And silent rage is treacherous because it’s a gateway drug to depression, which is the opposite of living. We don’t wanna go there.

Image by Judy Smith

Time to ante up…

31 Mar 2023 3 Comments

***

Last day of March, boys and girls, and the Bradford Pear and Red Maple trees in our neighborhood are blooming and leafing and already showing off because they can. When Kim walked Mass Street this morning before sunup it was a balmy 65° and humid, so maybe spring’s sticking around a while this time. Hope so, I’m overdue for the attitude adjustment and everyone will benefit. Ready for the early mornings when you can pull on a minimum of clothing, lace up your Tevas, and get outside. Hmm. Guess this morning would have been one of those, huh. Oh well, my dance card is already punched twice for this 24-hour segment, so we’re good. Nice, though, to feel the friendly air that smells like rain.

WARNING: 90-degree left turn…

Do you have sensory input/overload issues? Have you ever tried to explain what that’s like to someone who cruises through life as if they own it? How’d that go for ya’? It makes me think of the game Ransom Notes, wherein players have to describe a given situation in abbreviated form. Clear as mud? My version would go something like this:

Assignment: DESCRIBE SENSORY OVERLOAD AND ITS ATTENDANT FEELINGS TO A NOVICE

Ransom Note:

ROAR

PIERCES

PORES AND ORIFICES

MAKES BRAIN CELLS WEEP

Anxiety and excess sensory input are ever-present, as you’re well aware if you aren’t immune to such. And nobody outside it can feel it. Most people march entirely to their own drummer so they can’t imagine, for instance, what it’s like to hear and register every sound equally and be unable to instantly sort, assign, and selectively dampen the individual input in order to translate on the fly, keep sweet and quiet, and deal. All day, every day, until the hearing aids can be put to bed and the lights go out, the brain gets to rest (except for dreams, but that’s another day), and the tension drains from the body’s cells overnight. Being able to hear isn’t a bad thing, in fact it’s crucial, but when you add all the other input a day holds, keeping it together can get dicey, a big muddy mess. There’s interaction with other people, weather, the abominable state of human existence in general, the ouchies of age, and being hangry, among an endless list of possible angst generators.

People with raging anxiety are ridiculous and we know it, but the harder we try to stay quiet and peaceful on the inside the worse it gets. Like… any day that contains an appointment outside the house (or ONLINE, for lort’s sake!) guarantees that I won’t forget it for a second until it’s over. Okay, it’s how many hours away? So that means I have time for… well, no, don’t want to start that NOW, I’m too distracted by these never-ending deadlines. If the appointment is for a pedi or massage, that means I have to leave enough time to shave my legs, and shampooing this silver thicket on top of my head takes another three minutes. And SO MUCH PEEING, ALL DAY, OMIGOD!! All of that, hour after hour, within the brain of a lifetime perfectionist who has likely never once actually gotten it right, isn’t that the shits? Ransom notes indeed… somebody should rescue me from myself before time’s up, maybe.

Anxiety feels mostly like fear of loss… loss of security, safety, competence, choice, independence, respect, love, credibility, control, connection, relationship, anything and everything we value. And bless the people who question none of it, live life on their terms, and go on winning. We hope they know how lucky they are, amirite?

I know this much is true…

For the perpetually anxious, peace is all that matters finally.

And because I always like to leave us smiling, if possible…

Image by Judy Smith

Just another manic Monday…

27 Mar 2023 Leave a comment

***

For the past few years, most days have seemed at least 36 hours long, with more blank-feeling time than I knew what to do with. In my new gung-ho “let’s do ALL the things” mode, I signed up for two KU classes and whatever daily system I had left is already shot to hell. That’s okay, it’s not yet obvious to the naked eye so we’ll survive, and I was getting pretty tired of all that perfection anyway. Oh, I laugh.

This afternoon will be the second of my three “Invitation to Poetry” classes, and it’s gratifying to realize how much I’m looking forward to it. Tomorrow morning will be more Kansas history, and maybe one day this week I’ll have the energy to clear a wider path in our big Everything closet. I’ve managed to create enough chaos in that space, I either need to finish it ASAP or just call “College Hunks Hauling Junk” and make a clean break.

Moral support helps everybody, the more the better, and by reaching out you just might save a life.

Not every source of support proves to be this trustworthy… but never stop be-leafing.

… even when bitterly disappointed by the discoveries you make along the way.

However distracted we might be, we can’t afford to lose sight of what matters:

Have an astounding and properly-astounded Monday!

Image by Judy Smith

As the world turns…

21 Mar 2023 4 Comments

***

We have crossed the spring equinox and claimed the far banks of the Rubicon, so there’s no going back now, right? Winter’s finished, right? This morning’s rain is entirely made of springtime, am.I.right? Just say yes, I’m ready for the great outdoors in all its friendliness, aren’t you?

The first day of spring was also first day of school for this girl. I registered for two KU Osher Institute classes for seniors, one of which meets two blocks away, the other on campus, and the first 2-hour session was yesterday. I think there were thirteen of us boomers in the room, including the retired professor teaching the class, and the atmosphere was lovely. This one is called “An Invitation to Poetry” and seems to be everything I’d hoped it would be… comfy room, congenial people, teacher who knows his stuff in all the best ways. Twice he made tears pop into my eyes when he read lines from poems I didn’t know but want to, and he doesn’t even seem the type. I’d have guessed he taught history or the sciences, not the arts… and possibly the best part of all is the genuine love of subject that immediately comes through.

It was a happy start, and this morning I’ll begin a class called “Pioneering Stories from the Settling of Emporia and Lyon County, Kansas.” I chose this one because that’s where my grandma grew up, in a dugout/soddy/clay/stone challenge of a dwelling that included space for the livestock. She was born in 1889 and hard times accompanied most everything in her life, but she survived and thrived to the age of 96, a personal goal of mine. I’d never knock the living conditions, but neither do I want to try that mode at this point… it wasn’t for sissies:

Photo taken during a visit by family in the 1950s or so, the homestead having been abandoned long before.

So for three consecutive Mondays and Tuesdays I get to be a student again, and it feels excellent to be back in that quietly invigorating atmosphere. And yes, I’m scouring the course listings for anything else that might spark new synapses because this morning’s dose of NE Kansas history was intriguing and I’m ready for more. In two hours we covered the years from when Kansas was still a territory, to Quantrill’s reign of terror, including the (at least) thrice burning of the town of Lawrence. We aren’t Bleeding Kansas for nothing… it bought us the privilege of being Free Kansas, a heritage worth fighting for.

I saw the following piece of advice yesterday, have made a similar folder, and will tuck this graphic inside along with any and all encouragement that shows up in my life in coming days. That stuff’s precious and should be kept in a warm dry place at all times.

Now that spring’s officially here, it’s time to get back to making each consecutive day just a little better than the one before, so…

Image by Judy Smith

Hello Friday…

17 Mar 2023 1 Comment

***

Fridays will always hold a special place in my heart because they signal the arrival of Saturday and Sunday, the two days when I do even less than on the other five but suffer zero guilt for it. Over a lifetime I earned my weekends, and once they’re yours, they’re yours, so I squander them freely whenever possible.

This morning dawned bright and sunny, despite the fact that we had a mini-blizzard overnight. Precisely as the KU v Howard bball game tipped off, while it was still daylight and 58° outside, the air became filled with sideways snow. Slightly bizarre, but so very Kansas. Most of it made it to Amarillo by morning, but the grassy areas are still white, melting fast.

A Happy St. Paddy’s Day to one and all, says the girl in the lime(rick) green T-shirt bearing the word “sláinte” and a shamrock, gifted to her by her baby sister. Life is good, right here, right now. Celebrate and enjoy!

St. Patrick’s Day strikes me as an ideal occasion for bravery and self-certainty, because how else have the Irish survived? I’m proud and happy to claim a dose of emerald DNA from my mom’s dad… that heritage and my German stoicism have brought me this far and I trust will not fail me at this late date.

A complete poem in one sentence, and can we not all say the same in total honesty? It’s what’s meant by the solitariness of being human and it seems to be largely unavoidable.

Another precisely-stated bit of poetry:

Speaking from personal experience, never mistake small stature and a quiet demeanor for weakness or ignorance, otherwise, in the wise words of our ancestors, the road will eventually rise up to meet your face. That’s what all the little leprechauns want you to have as your takeaway today, don’t disappoint them. And easy on the green beer.

An appropriate slice of melancholy before I let you go enjoy your day and your weekend:

Image by Judy Smith

OMG, look at the time!

11 Mar 2023 Leave a comment

***

We’re nine days from spring and the rain we need for the greening of NE Kansas has been showing up. So sweet and benign, all the soft water from the sky, and we hope it stays this friendly since Kansas weather is nothing if not unpredictable.

Of course, tonight’s the big night… it’s time to spring forward an entire hour and spend the rest of the year searching for that lost jigger of salt. Don’t forget.

The lost hour symbolizes every trauma, whether infinitesimal or overwhelming, we’ve sustained over the past however-many years now. We’ve lived through scary illnesses that had to be handled on our own because PANDEMIC. We lived through said pandemic… so far. We’ve survived cockamamie politics; over-the-top injustice; incomprehensible cruelty; the abject hatred of our fellow man; and every other thing that’s part of the human experience. Here we stand, damaged, wounded, but ever hopeful for better days. We’re pitiful but we’re all we’ve got, boys and girls, so hold hands and keep taking new territory. Trauma’s most powerful enemy is truth – use it at every opportunity.

Speaking of trauma… my new friend Erica and I worked on rooting out some more of it yesterday in my second hour-long massage. Her amazing hands know where pain lurks and she’s fairly merciless already… hurts so good, can’t wait to go back.

Small psychic traumas are gradually resolving as well, including a sense of rootlessness and lack of purpose. At some point after the lifelong nerve pain disappeared, my brain started working on the problem of “Okay, who am I NOW? I can finally do pretty much what I want… what’s that going to look like?” After a few months’ rumination on that question, it came to me one day not long ago that at 75 I don’t have to go out and reinvent myself in order to pay my dues as a resident of the planet. I already HAVE a life, here in this smallish space, that requires my involvement and TLC, and could take up most of my time if I wanted it to. This is good. I’m home. Having said that, I’ll be branching out a teensy bit in a couple of weeks, so stay tuned.

Everything that happens to us feels like such a big deal at the time because we’re hothouse flowers with intense feelings, so it takes time and perspective for our personal traumas to start turning loose of us. Sometimes we like them too much, which complicates the whole thing. Those hurts and slights and terrifying wounds tend to validate our existence, so they feel like our buddies rather than the thoughts and memories that will eventually paralyze us and shorten our lucid days.

I take Sir Winston to heart…

“This is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.” (whomever/whatever you perceive that enemy to be)

Above all, never lose sight of this befuddled truth, brought to you by the Society for the Proliferation of Crap Platitudes.

Image by Judy Smith

Rain, rain, love you, mean it…

08 Mar 2023 4 Comments

***

It’s a Day in the Doldrums, silent outside, fog hanging in the trees, everything a little drippy and chill. This is the kind of day that lifts me right out of the muck because its expectations are clearly bottom-basement, causing me to feel no pressure to meet anybody’s standards but my own. So, inspiration having been recognized, we’ll see how it all plays out today. As a precautionary measure, a hint to any and all who wander into my space:

Simple perfection, is that too much to ask?

As the planet continues to be a cockamamie place to live, my intention every day, after that first savory taste of coffee, is to de-stress in all the ways open to me. To allot the first hours of the day to positive thoughts and a mental list of “foment progress” bullet points. To let the day’s headlines, good, bad, or ridiculous, stew in their own juices for a few hours before trying to sort truth from fiction. There are a lot of big stories I’ll probably never read or absorb in any detail… the Murdaugh murders, the Iowa campus killer, the Theranos thing, countless others… because it’s a lot of stuff I don’t need to know about. It’s extraneous angst… it isn’t that I don’t care, I care too much about things I have no power over. At some point we have to be afforded the means to bring about change, or else bury the compulsion and stop looking at it. These days I opt for peace in most situations, perhaps more than my share, because the “pick your battles” admonition means nothing to a feeler… they’re ALL ours, unless we turn them over to someone better equipped to win. You can’t win ’em all, and that’s a lesson straight from life.

For old and young alike, the world just IS a crazy place… unpredictable, unfriendly, uncontrollable… and the inherent frustrations are very efficient at producing anger, the monster that destroys us. Anger is self-feeding because it draws from an endless array of sources and is a master of disguises. Sometimes we think the heaviness of anger in our spirit is depression, but no, not yet, it’s still a simmering cauldron and needs to be dealt with STAT. Very destructive, that simmering rage… soothe it with honesty, love, and understanding, ASAP.

A big challenge as the years and experiences accumulate, is that of keeping our hearts soft in the face of an uncaring environment. Feelers rack up every event until we’re full of shards on the inside and sheathed in tungsten on the outside. Fortunately, life marches through on the regular and plows everything up for us, no crustiness allowed, get back in the game, keep that heart tender in spite of the odds, and insist on being your own weird self every damn day, including this one.

I only share these things with you because they’re vitally important and it’s taking me a lifetime to learn them. The simplest facts about being human are the hardest to master, so hints are good, right? I share stream-of-consciousness because I know there are other people out there… and some of you are dear friends… who experience all of life on a personal first-hand feel-everything basis and don’t always know what to do with that… just like me. It’s a colossally lonely feeling, so maybe we should stick together… you know, inasmuch as angsty introverts are capable of doing. I know you’re there… I feel your heart.

Image by Judy Smith

Feeling the love…

06 Mar 2023 8 Comments

***

For humans who feel everything, every tiniest thing, there are days on end too dark for words. And then the sun breaks out again and some of those humans feel a little sheepish about all the inner angst. Oh well. That’s just how it is, and hello sunshine. I’ll play nice if you will, world.

Things you learn along the way:

Staying childlike, that’s the trick…

I rolled up on this during my coffee reflections this morning, and felt it deep. Just one would lend legitimacy to this steady stream-of-consciousness…

Image by Judy Smith

Arguing with the sun…

28 Feb 2023 8 Comments

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It’s morning and the sun’s already climbing the sky, a situation that happens with alarming regularity, so it’s time to coffee up and deal. Some, not knowing better, might consider me the ultimate morning snob, as I strive to speak with no one before their time. Feels best to open my eyes in the semi-dark, consider seriously whether or not to stick a foot out yet, and spend the next couple of hours communing with Kim’s coffee and my own random brain waves, blithely referred to as The Muses. He goes away mid-morning to work out his existence within the parameters of PickleBall and comes home to either visible progress here while he was out, or invisible brain activity yielding no concrete evidence of any sort. No worries… he plays, I play, and we keep the News of the World out of our ears, damped to a slow burn. Some days there are spa soaks, and eventually lunch shows up, Kim having either made or brought it, which is what cooks do… it’s so cool. Afternoons often see a flurry of housework and errands, and evenings are couched in tequila shots, so it’s just all good, and the Life Police haven’t knocked on our door to let us know we’re doing it wrong.

Not really unsociable, not a recluse yet, I simply like having time to savor the best life offers me…

A thing the years have taught me is that every time I stick my neck out, somebody loops a lariat around it and leads me to a watering hole somewhere I hadn’t planned to go. Never look thirsty, is a rule I like. Otherwise you end up doing THIS:

Trying the road less traveled these days…

Because some things are indisputable.

Look at us, getting all healthy and stuff. Wow.

Image by Judy Smith

Oh, the humanity…

23 Feb 2023 2 Comments

***

If you stop by and read me on any regular basis, you’re aware that my thoughts and words often focus on mortality. I would not, however, want there to be any misunderstanding about my trend in that direction, to wit: mortality and endings are the bailiwick of the Golden Age, and this girl simply prefers to know what she’s headed into, which ironically is yet another survival mechanism in operation. I hope to be fortunate enough to have inherited my grandmothers’ longevity, all of them seeing 95 or better, but it is not for me to know, nor do I really want to. Do you want to know the year of your demise? For my part, no thanks, it would color everything in different shades and ruin it all. I’m sorry, but if you read the ending of books before the beginning, we can’t be friends, get what I’m sayin’?

The alternative to morbid musings is to live ’til I die, in which case I intend to keep improving on my methods. Last year was full of heaviness and challenges, which has made it difficult to crawl out from under the pall, but dang, I am so ready to stop feeling whatever this is… and as I typed those words my brain said “It’s endings and beginnings, and you better deal, girlfriend, life is short.” The first step, for me… well, first step is always tears, whatever the situation. Second step is to decode the problem so I can break it down and handle it. Third step, cry some more. You know, the cycle of life. And because I need not only a vent-space but accountability, you get to eavesdrop on the process, and I hope it will prove helpful to you at some future date.

I’m ready for better, aren’t you?

Welp, here’s a welcome bit of news then…

And I’m expecting a huge back-rush of energy any moment now, so we’re good.

It’s called the Human Condition. Good luck getting out of it.

From my friend Phil…

I felt very seen by this, so I stole it. My sense of humor was inherited from crazy Germans and rough-edged Black Irish, and it is decidedly not for everyone. Do the looks I get do anything to stop me? Rarely. Because I had great role models.

Best coffee in town all up in here, made by Kim, so nobody has to suffer. He says the out-and-about coffee drinker looks like Jeff Lynne.

EDITED to say “Who IS this man I live with? He’d never seen any of the mashups, nor had I, but here ya’ go…

Sharing because it might be the most astounding thing I’ll read all day:

And finally, sharing because life and breath and love R us.

Image by Judy Smith

Of weather, moods, and change…

16 Feb 2023 2 Comments

Photo by Kim Smith 02/14/2023

***

Our forecast was for overnight snow, but what we have is frozen fog on the streets and sidewalks, curtailing most outdoor activity until the sun arrives, which may not be anytime soon. Kim canceled his morning walk after skating to the trash building and back, and people are navigating our intersection at Granny speed. No walkers below my windows, which is slightly eery… but the mood all up in here is sanguine and patient, waiting for what will be. Kim’s making oatmeal to get us started, and as long as I fold and store a stack of laundry, and make it to a haircut after lunch, I will have justified my existence for another day. I half hope my hairdresser is staying tucked in today, as there’s hardly a safe surface for man nor beast. A friend posted this about the current situation at our hospital complex:

He added that there are slide-offs and vehicle pileups all over town. Our balcony is now strewn with what look like pellets of dry ice, the streets are slick with black ice, and today’s high temp will remain below freezing, so yeah, good day to hide by the fire if you have one.

If everything shuts down for the day, that leaves lots of time for thinking, likely the riskiest thing I engage in now. How many of us thought we’d either be a completed work by 75, or dead, and here I am still trying to know myself before the ride stops. Things happen for which I realize too late I’m woefully unprepared… but how can this be? I’ve been there done that, but the capacity to ignore reality persists. Observing my grandmothers, who all seemed sort of “old” by the time I was fully aware of them, led me to believe that after a certain age serenity sets in and nothing can ruffle all that accumulated knowledge and experience. Not so much, sorry to say. Here’s the piece that matters: We stay approximately the same age inside for our entire lives, merely adjusting to the times as we go along… or not.

Something I’m newly grateful for… after living here for almost ten years, I finally have my own personal care team in place and it’s making all the difference. Keri owns my hair, Jourdan keeps my piggies looking presentable, and Erica provides TLC for my achy body. Wonderful women who express themselves through giving. It matters.

And now last night’s snow has arrived and is falling thick and heavy. Kim delivered me to my haircut and back, across two city blocks and several feet of treacherous sidewalk, and we lived to tell about it. The fireplace will see us through. You stay safe, and enjoy what winter has to offer!

Image by Judy Smith

Promises kept…

11 Feb 2023 2 Comments

***

In the predawn hours of December 22, 2021, as I checked into KU Med Center for spinal surgery, I promised myself a reward: “Get through this in style and you win a nice therapeutic massage after your one-year assessment.” Yesterday, six weeks late but right on time, was finally that day – an entire uninterrupted hour of TLC for the stuff that made recovery happen – and I’m still thanking me for it as we speak. It’s gratifying when people listen to their inner voice and do what they’re born to do. Erica was born to give the gift of therapeutic massage… her voice and demeanor are calm, she exudes peace, and her hands find all the pockets of pain in the muscles and tissue, encouraging discomfort to leave the body. She asked why I waited a year to come to her and I didn’t really have an answer except that I somehow thought I should let the official healing period expire before I struck out on my own. Pollyannas are like that, sigh. She gently let me know that if I ever have invasive surgery again, as soon as the incision(s) are healed come see her in order for the ACTUAL healing to start. She’s clearly right – I had volumes of stress and pain stored in my cells that needed to be disturbed enough to go away. We’ll wake some more up next time.

Trained or not, there’s no substitute for the human touch, so this massage is a place-marker and an admonition to treat myself well in all the ways available to me. Life is entirely too brief to voluntarily miss out on things like music, sunshine, kittens, and the skilled hands of a healer, and they do walk among us.

So here we are on a crisp winter morning, with that faithful orange glow starting to illuminate the horizon. It’s 16º and Kim’s walking Mass Street, letting his hands get Just.Cold.Enough. to be entertaining. It’s Saturday, so it’ll be all the usual plus Jayhawk B-ball at noon. And then we’re hearing rumors of shenanigans in the works for tomorrow, so… wotta weekend, boys and girls! Hope it’s SUPER!

Image by Judy Smith

Owning what’s inside…

04 Feb 2023 1 Comment

***

Sitting here in a zone of my own after another Saturday breakfast that outdid last week’s, wondering what my muse(s) might have to say on a sunny winter morning. After days of single-digit pre-dawns, the temp was above freezing this morning so Kim was out early making his Mass Street foray, and upon arrival back home gave me the benefit of his well-chilled hands, a cheap thrill for both of us.

Our Jayhawks have a B-ball game at 11am, so Kim’s brewing a second pot of coffee and our brains are on sportsing high-alert. It’s shaping up to be a Saturday worth hanging around for, with things lying in wait that we don’t even know about yet. Meanwhile, my brain is already off on tangents while it has some free time. I’m remembering that someone who knows me pretty well told me recently that I terrify them. Really? Me? Have you seen me in this decade? I don’t have it in me to harm the creatures of the earth, so they must have been referring to whatever comprises my core, a place I’m just now really exploring at this late date. I must make them feel a little like this:

Jeez, lady, wha’d I do??

***

Let me just say that Mary Shelley got it.

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It’s simply that when someone of the female persuasion finally gets to what Stephanie’s talking about, it comes out fierce and a little terrifying. Good.

***

💙💙💙

Image by Judy Smith

Accountability…

28 Jan 2023 Leave a comment

***

It’s been a good week all up in here, with visible progress to show for it. On Monday I organized email folders, dumping over 5,000 messages in the process, taking the time to unsubscribe as I went along. This situation exists because I don’t really USE email anymore, therefore it slides off my cracker on a regular basis and clogs all the pipes and drains in the communication system. These entities are doing their darnedest to impart urgent information to me, the least I can do is give them a decent burial in the far reaches of space. So that was Day One. On Tuesday I made actual phone calls (GASP!!) to schedule overdue medical appointments, three of them, and lived to tell about it. The problem with procrastination is that it’s entirely self-sustaining — once set in motion it’s good to go forever.

So it’s like this…

***

Since Wednesday I’ve been sitting at the piano for about an hour every morning, which is just now possible again thanks to the spinal surgery. My sweet little concert grand needs a careful tuning, and the neighbors might be suffering since all the steel, concrete, and glass in our building conduct sound fairly efficiently, but it’s heaven to be playing again. Yesterday I combed through a book of show tunes, including some stuff from the 40s that my dad used to play, and it was a party of one, with people I remember well listening in.

Whatever hurts you, feel it and let it go. Music helps with that process. Especially if you’re lucky enough to love music.

***

My recently-adopted motto for 2023:

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Having survived it for a while, I tend to yammer on about life, but here’s how it really is and you can take this to whatever bank you trust:

“Life is like arriving late for a movie, having to figure out what was going on without bothering everybody with a lot of questions, and then being unexpectedly called away before you find out how it ends.” ~Joseph Campbell

***

For me, it continues to be about perspective in all things. And this makes me giggle:

***

This week, barring the unforeseen, I shall dispense with a short stack of unsorted mail and empty a couple of in/out baskets, so there’s no lack of inspiration or fodder on the horizon yet and nothing in this house is safe from the urge to purge.

Happy January. It’s almost over.

Image by Judy Smith

The sun also rises…

24 Jan 2023 2 Comments

***

It happens every morning, in my experience, and life continues upon the planet. It all comes to us unbidden, with no effort on our part, each wake/sleep cycle delivering its allotment of STUFF TO BE DEALT WITH. And we do, amazingly sometimes, we do. Imperfectly we stumble in the dark of our own ignorance, giving it what we’ve got, and we deal. Humans astound me in every direction, but most of all in our capacity for resilience and new energy in the face of NO. “No” is no kind of answer, so we press on. This staying-alive stuff isn’t for sissies.

But here we are on a beautiful winter morning, with fog hanging in the trees and people showing up to make the day happen. The girls who own the salon in the next block have pulled up in their SUVs and claimed their spots below my window. All three are young moms who do whatever it takes to juggle careers, commutes, kiddos, schools, daycares, home, family, laundry, food for everybody, every day, and my 4th-floor remove isn’t the only space between us. They’re paying a price I never had to pay, that of running my own business while raising a family, and although I could tell you hair-raising tales of woe from past sacrifices, I sit here knowing I’ve been a spoiled girl all my life and at this point I’m merely trying to absorb the lessons coming my way before I run out of time. This I know:

“A wise woman wishes to be no one’s enemy;

a wise woman refuses to be anyone’s victim.”

-Maya Angelou

The first month of the new year has already shown us that it’s going to be more of the same, so what do we do, boys and girls? Right. We deal. We deal with what comes to us until we get it right. Wish I had an easier answer, but I can’t start lying to you NOW.

Dancing my heart out here, boss, keep the music playing.

I’ve seen other versions of the following, but this was a good laugh yesterday:

Image by Judy Smith

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	murphyvillefarms on And the rains came…
	Judy Smith on And the rains came…
	murphyvillefarms on And the rains came…
	Rita Wagner on Time… free but pric…

Playing for Time

Judy Smith

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