Maya Angelou ~1928-2014
28 May 2014 2 Comments
in Photos, Quotations Tags: be real, beauty, brave, celebrations, inspiration, learning, life, living, memories
Staying in the swim …
27 May 2014 Leave a comment
in Graphics that Grab Me, My Thoughts Tags: be real, beauty, brave, challenges, happy stuff, inspiration, learning, life, living, loving, relationships
We’ve recently changed up our exercise routine because Kim needs to rest his ankle and shoulder, so he’s off the racquetball court and I’m out of Aqua Zumba for now. Instead we’re swimming laps in the early mornings. Our spring/summer schedule filled up when we weren’t paying attention, so the earlier start every day has been a good thing, and Kim’s owies are starting to like the new regimen.
One of my last class sessions was something I’m glad I didn’t miss — you can’t prepare for serendipities, you just have to be lucky enough to notice all the little nudges that take you through your days in style.
Okay, I need to tell you that when John was just out of college and starting his first career, he got involved with an organization that provided a social life for developmentally-challenged young adults. His stories were funny and endearing, and it was clear right away that he had a gift for what he was doing. He eventually went on to exchange his design career for one as an oncology RN, and he’s not only really good at that, his tenderness for his first clients has stayed with me.
So there was a morning a while back when I’d almost skipped Zumba class … again. But hey, I showed up. I was in the water warming up when the door opened and a young guy with killer abs walked in, followed by several men of mostly indeterminate age and clearly working under challenges of various sorts. Nice Ab Guy asked if this was Zumba class and I said yes. He asked the instructor if it would be okay for them to work out with us and she said of course! So he helped the other guys tighten their waistband drawstrings, finessed ear and nose plugs, and coaxed them into the shallow end of the pool. They were none too sure about the whole thing, but their shy smiles were to die for. The eldest had scars over his back and arms that looked like severe burn damage and I prayed that some inferior human creature hadn’t hurt him on purpose.
The music cranked up, loud as always, and the new guys, with encouragement from a dozen or more mamas, got into it. Ab Man was born to dance, and obviously to help people who need him. The sweet guy with the burn scars was so sincere and earnest about trying to keep up with the moves, I had to put my face in the water to camo the tears. One young guy spent his time looking around, blowing bubbles, and making the water splash big. He may have had the best time of anyone. Every glance at one of us asked “Is this okay? Can I do this?” When class ended we all told them to be sure and come back, but that didn’t happen before I dropped out. I hope they remember their time with us as one of the really good days.
I’m lazy and whiny and it’s almost second nature for me to pick the easy way if there is one. Those guys’ lives are hard in ways I’ll never experience, but they keep going and they’re as stoic as anyone I’ve ever seen. I hope the people they encounter will be unfailingly kind to them and that even though they’ve been burned by life they’ll never lose those shy sweet smiles and their willingness to be and do and keep on giving. I have no right to even ask that … but there’s so much they can teach the rest of us and we need them.
This is SO for the birds!
27 May 2014 4 Comments
in My Thoughts, Photos Tags: be real, birds, life, living, spring
It’s an established truth that no good deed goes unpunished. We didn’t know until this spring that there’s a gap across the top of our balcony wall. The birds knew, however, oh, yes they did. They were already well into their nest-building project before we noticed, so of course we chose to be kind. And they were just the sweetest, flying back and forth to the trees across the street, bringing raw materials for their new home.
The babies hatched a while back and it’s been impressive to watch the bird couple delivering round-the-clock take-out. Somebody told us they barely eat while they’re raising their babies. Probably don’t sleep, either. They were having an intense argument on the balcony rail this morning … wonder why?
So yeah, the babies. We were kinda wondering when they might be big enough to leave the nest — and then we saw one standing on a windowsill and pecking at the window. Holy cow, he was HUGE. But they’re still hanging around home, we can hear them. And their parents are still feeding them, worm by worm. The little shirkers! They need to convert all that worm pate’ into lift and get on with their lives.
Because shit! I mean holy shiites, Batman, it’s unreal. It’s everywhere! Trailing down the brick, splattered all over the deck, piled on the railing, splotching up the chair cushions, frosting all the herbs and flowers. I’m out of adverbs, but it’s disgusting, unhealthy, and nasty to the max. And there’s not one thing we can do about it unless we want to be monsters. In light of which I’ve pictured myself getting a ladder, reaching into the nest, grabbing the first little cheeper I see, and teaching him to fly. From four stories up.
So as I was saying, not a thing we can do. Mr. & Mrs. Bird clearly tabbed us as gentle souls on their first pass and it was over before it started. They’ve won this one, but rounds two and beyond are ours. Except that I think I heard more birds on the north end of the gap this morning.
Well, shit.
Come on in, the water’s fine!
28 Feb 2014 8 Comments
in My Thoughts Tags: be real, brave, exercise, friendship, happy stuff, life, living, relationships
They say — and just who the hell ARE they? — that we learn something new every day if we keep our eyes and ears open. This week I learned that it’s possible to sweat underwater.
I’ve fallen in love with the pool. Not the great pee-filled paradise of my youth, but a glittering expanse of cuddly clear blue water, marked off in lanes. I am distinctly not an exercise lover but the pool has captured my heart. I love the muted sounds and the clean saltwater smell; the silky feel of the water as I slip in for laps; the sunlight shining through the ceiling panels making fog hang in the air; the way I feel wrapped in cotton, alone in my head, nothing in front of me except the lane and the goal — to stay afloat. And when class starts, I love the adorable instructors who crank the music and urge us to jump and kick and stretch and wriggle our cellulite, which they do not possess.
I love the women I meet there. Many are likely older than I am, although who knows. Some are far younger — new moms. It’s a delightful bunch because they’re honest and irreverent and hilarious. There’s a crankypants or two in class but I have to assume they’ve cultivated that for a while and aren’t likely to switch attitudes, so I leave them to their grumbling and their mad-faces and hang out with Jo and Barb and Andrea and Roxy and Pat and Sandy and assorted others who are just there to have a good time and keep moving. All of us by now have sustained losses that have shaped us. We don’t talk about it, we just know. And of course we don’t discuss body shape, because we all have parts that are surrendering to gravity, legs that are melting into our ankles, wear and tear that dictates what we can and cannot do.
We’re a motley crew — we roll out of bed and show up at the gym, grab a shower, suit up and start swimming. A lot of these gals have not only never invested in a Brazilian, they haven’t shaved their underarms since the Cold War — a very genuine and healthy practice, in my humble opinion. We wear our baby-bellies like a freakin’ badge of honor, although to be honest mine’s become a too-many-carbs belly, which is what brought me to the pool. We give it our best shot to keep up with the zero-body-fat instructor who’s winning a dance contest poolside or in the water with us every morning, and we grin and laugh and hoot when we finally find our rhythm.
In the water … nothing hurts much. There’s no temperamental low back, no rickety shoulder, and the 7 Purple Minions of Fibromyalgia are in time out. There are enough sore muscles later to let me know I used them, but that’s a good hurt and I welcome it. It’s highly motivating that women in their 70s and 80s show up for personal torture day after day, and do it with a smile. Surely I can manage at least that. I do hope it will be a longterm relationship, the pool and I. And I really hope carbs melt in saltwater.
Love and Risk
08 Feb 2014 2 Comments
Mama said there’d be days like this …
30 Jan 2014 2 Comments
in My Thoughts, Uncategorized Tags: be real, Facebook, family, friendship, life, living, the blues
Fun morning here. For starters, I answered the doorbell in my PJs, only to come face to face with the head of our Homeowners Association. I had my FIRST delightful encounter with her the day we moved in. Something about the rule book and timing and blah-blah-blah. Couldn’t say exactly, as she was standing, uninvited, in my space, whacking me over the head with rules she hadn’t bothered to notify us about, so I tuned her out. No biggie. This morning’s surprise visit was about something equally inconsequential which she could have taken care of by looking with her eyes, so it was a non-moment. But you know how things like that set a tone.
No connection with the homeowner person, but there are days when all you do is cry. It doesn’t change anything, but it gets that stuff out there where you can look at it and try to figure out if it’s as scary as it seems, as hurtful as it feels, as huge as it looks. And no matter what, if it feels like your heart is shattering it’s huge. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried for myself, my own hurt feelings, my disappointments. It’s the people I care desperately about who can break me down into little pieces and bring my day to a halt. Family. Friends. The things that rock their world in a bad way shut mine down. When somebody I love is hurting I want to either hole up and not see another human being, or dig my Superman cape out of the laundry and confront the world. If I couldn’t vent on a daily basis to a lucky group of Facebook friends I’d probably be in jail. They help fill up my “give a damn” bucket when it’s empty, and they can’t possibly know how vital a service that is. Most of them I’ve never (yet) met in person, but just by getting it they heal me. What a gift not to have to explain things.
So my husband, who really IS Superman, took me to lunch and we tried a new place and I ended up crying at the table while I was trying to tell him what was going on in my stupid heart. Our waitress looked concerned, but I smiled at her later — “See? I’m fine!” — and she won’t remember me next time we go there so who cares. And Kim gets it, bless him. I try not to tell him ALL the things — he has his own stuff to wrestle with — but he always knows when I’m getting out of sorts so it’s only fair to let him know he didn’t do anything to make that happen. He makes the GOOD things happen and he saves my life all over again every day.
It’s starting to sound like the world will keep on turning, so I might get some music happening and work on the closet for a while. And maybe tomorrow the sun will shine.
You have to start somewhere …
12 Jan 2014 Leave a comment
You don’t start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it’s good stuff, and then gradually you get better at it.
That’s why I say one of the most valuable traits is persistence.
— Octavia E. Butler
Tell me about epiphany in your life!
06 Jan 2014 10 Comments
Everyone needs an epiphany for the new year and mine showed up this morning when I was making the bed. While I was looking out over the snowy rooftops of the town we love, a thought exploded in my brain. I’m in the process of checking for collateral damage from the explosion, but the idea itself came on like a freight train: “Why are you still holding a grudge against the people who got you to this wonderful place?”
Why indeed. Toward the end of December, WordPress put out a Daily Prompt that said “Share a story where it was very difficult for you to forgive the perpetrator for wronging you, but you did it — you forgave them.” Someone instantly came to mind and I kept thinking about her off and on until this morning’s little gift. I knew she’d wronged me, and I knew I hadn’t forgiven her.
Wikipedia says: “An epiphany is an experience of sudden and striking realization. Generally the term is used to describe scientific breakthrough, religious or philosophical discoveries, but it can apply in any situation in which an enlightening realization allows a problem or situation to be understood from a new and deeper perspective.”
Exactly. It was suddenly clear to me that if it hadn’t been for the wild whims and incomprehensible decisions on the part of Kim’s boss, we’d still be caught in our old life. Instead, we’ve been able in the last four months to exchange:
- seriously reclusive habits … for a busy, fun, crazy social life;
- a smattering of fast-food places and Mexican restaurants … for nearly every possible food category, in abundance;
- a once-in-a-while opportunity to go to a concert … for a nightly offering of live music from around the world;
- limited opportunity to be part of a vital, welcoming theatre community … for nearly unlimited ways to do so;
- a situation where we were two blue marbles in an enormous sea of red … for being part of a big blue sea;
- feeling like a couple of sore thumbs … for feeling accepted; or to channel Sally Fields, for knowing that “these people like us.”
And there’s so very much more. We love it here.
But we’d still be immersed in our same old situation if not for Kim’s boss giving him an ultimatum: NO days off during the run of a show. That would have meant twenty-three straight working days every other month, many of them 12 to 14 hours on his feet, with no break, seven months out from a serious heart attack and bypass surgery. I was livid — this woman was trying to kill my husband! She’d already stacked his schedule to the max — this was the last straw. I put my foot down. The job ended abruptly, and then a really amazing thing happened — circumstances fell into place, one by one, to get us the hell outta Dodge.
This morning I finally got it that I owe that crazy lady a debt of thanks. For one thing, she didn’t truly wrong ME. And for another, she didn’t deliberately try to kill my husband. And all the theatre friends who “abandoned” us were simply living their own lives. Finally, I can stop taking poison and expecting someone else to die. After months of angst, I can unload the whole thing and celebrate the fact that what may have been meant for ill has resulted in boatloads of happiness.
And then I saw on Facebook that today really is the Epiphany. Perfect.
Progress in the new year …
02 Jan 2014 Leave a comment
Today brings a quick overnight trip to get a trailer-load of items from our condo — more of the little things that make a house (loft) a home, plus our washer & dryer and Kim’s music equipment. And then by next week at the latest I’ll be hoping to start turning over a few “new leaves.” A daily post here on my blog, quality time spent at the piano, more walking, less eating … and there will be others. I’m sure you noticed that I’m not calling these things “resolutions” — for me it would be the kiss of death and they would barely see daylight before shriveling up and crumbling in a big mess on the floor.
I hope 2014 has started out fresh and positive for everyone, and I hope above all to be here enough this year to get to know each of you a lot better!
Every word is true …
21 Nov 2013 4 Comments
Is it Christmas yet?
08 Nov 2013 12 Comments
in My Thoughts Tags: be real, brave, learning, life, living, love, memories
Okay, so you remember when you got your first bicycle, right? Probably Christmas or your birthday and everything already felt tingly with excitement and you couldn’t wait to see what happened next and then. There.Was.The.Bike. Shiny and BIG, and instantly freedom stretched out in front of you and you could see yourself flying down the road or the street and all options were open to you. Wow. I remember mine — Santa brought it the Christmas I was five and left it in front of the tree just like he was supposed to. I don’t even remember longing for it, but there it was. Emerald green, with training wheels. And BIG. Christmas afternoon was warm. My dad helped me hop on the bike and ran along beside me, touching the handlebar every once in a while. A few trial runs and without a word he wasn’t there anymore and I was flying free!
That bicycle and I were nearly inseparable for years. I rode it a hundred miles an hour on gravel roads, did wheelies, hauled my little sibs on the handlebars, slid into home with it, and have no memory of road rash. When I went to college and then got married I left the bike in the round-top shed … and the truth is, it had been forgotten long before. When my folks cleaned out the shed for their farm sale years later, there it was. Rusty. Battered and bent. And so small! Oh memory, you are such a lying mistress.
Fast-forward. When Kim and I decided to move to Lawrence we knew we wanted bicycles. His is graphite-colored and sleek. Mine is lime green and cute. I dreamed about it — buying it, choosing accessories for it, riding it around the neighborhood and on the trails. The day we picked them up at the bicycle shop a block away, Kim zipped back to our parking lot on his, maddeningly confident. I rode mine a few feet but felt shaky so got off and walked it the rest of the way. He suggested a few trial runs in the lot, just to refresh our muscle memories, and that was going great until it wasn’t. DISCLAIMER: My sisters and John should probably stop reading right about …. HERE.
Without warning Judy and her cute lime green bicycle were on the pavement and there was definite road rash. I’ll spare you the details.
Fast-forward some more. After babying my normal list of aches and pains, plus the wear and tear of moving, and the humbling effects of falling on my face and other body parts, we decided that this was THE MORNING. Time to get back on that horse and ride. I wore the right clothes and shoes, strapped on my fierce-looking lime-green & black helmet and prepared for battle. I was doing fine right up until the part where I got killed. We rode for a half-hour or so, from one end of the parking garage to the other. No traffic to watch for, just stationary objects like vehicles and cement pillars and such. I was getting smooth on the straightaways … still shaky on the turns … but hopeful. And then I was down. Road rash. Anger. Total humiliation. Instant discouragement.
Kim brought me upstairs and plunked me in the spa tub to soak the hurts out, and we talked. And I remembered something — my equilibrium hasn’t been kosher since a little incident with a ruptured cranial aneurysm, three bleeds, and major repairs. Or is it just in my DNA? My grandma and my dad had some horrendous falls … and so have I. But … only since that head thing, so yeah, maybe so. Damn. I’m still young. This is not fair.
Okay, so first you cry.
And then you pick yourself up, dry yourself off, and get on with it. I’m really not up for any more scrapes and bruises — my knuckles look like I’ve been in a bar fight, or so said the man in the bathtub with me — and I have other health realities to consider, so …
I’ve been online today checking out snarky-looking three-wheel bikes. Oh lord, the lowering of expectations. But never let it be said that I give up easily! I want that freedom. The sun. The air. The exercise. It’s easy to give up riding a hundred miles an hour, or sliding like a little banshee in the driveway gravel, or God forbid, popping wheelies. Not so easy to give up the sense of being a person who does everything, handles everything, lives life unafraid.
I was a caregiver for about sixteen years altogether for older people in my family whom I loved very much. It made my heart ache to watch them give up, one by one, the things that brought sparkle to their days. If I could take today’s wiser self back there now, I’d be oh so much more gentle … patient … so much more careful with their dignity. They could still see themselves doing all the things they ever did, and it was a real thing. Their occasional belligerance in the face of reality was inevitable. I get it.
I’ll still live my life unafraid, no matter what — fear is a killer, it stops you in your tracks, so I’ll still find a way to do the things I really want to do … and I hope you will, too. Right now there’s a slick Candy Red 3-wheeler with a Shimano six-speed that has my name written all over it.
Life is so sweet. As I wrote what I thought would be the final sentence, I looked out my fourth-floor window and saw a little girl and her daddy rounding the corner at the intersection. He’s on a big-guy bicycle, riding beside her unbelievably tiny purple bike, her matching purple helmet shining in the sun. She’s the picture of confidence, standing on the pedals, legs pumping away. Bless you, little blond sweetheart — life is GOOD!!
I’m back, darlings …
07 Nov 2013 14 Comments
in My Thoughts Tags: be real, life, plans
I’ve neglected you but not rejected you. This past summer set records for suckiness on the mood front, so not much writing happened. Then we got the bug to move … and even less writing happened. There was a trip to San Francisco in there, too — inspiring but busy. And now I’m ready to write again. I hope my friends who’ve wandered away in the face of silence will wander back — I’ve missed you!
The bedroom side of our new loft has a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and my desk overlooks a busy street corner that serves up a microcosm of life ’round the clock. There are houses on two corners, a business on one, and our parking lot on the fourth. People in East Lawrence walk everywhere. They walk their dogs. They push their babies in strollers or wear them in slings, and daddies are every bit as prevalent as mamas. They walk to lunch and come back carrying take-out containers. They walk alone, in pairs, in groups. They walk in every kind of weather — without wearing grim expressions on their faces. They ride bicycles by the dozen. I watch them and fall under the illusion that I, too, have been out enjoying the day and moving my limbs. Instead I’m a voyeur, an observer. My boo-boos from the move are nearly all healed, my spirit almost fully recharged. My new bicycle waits patiently in the parking garage, and Mass St. is calling my name.
For now I sit at my desk. Thinking, remembering, snacking, drinking (sometimes). It’s so easy just to sit and watch the leaves fall off the trees and pretend other people are getting my exercise for me! Stay tuned … I have a feeling it gets better.
Metamorphosis …
06 Nov 2013 6 Comments
in My Thoughts, Photos Tags: be real, brave, happy stuff, life, living, memories, Photos
A move to a new city seems like an opportune time for personal reinvention. Case in point, I’m tired of paying big money to have chemicals plastered on my head, so I’ve decided to go gray. Oddly enough, I’m really excited about it! I found a cute sharp-as-a-dart hairdresser here who totally gets it, and we’re having a good time taking me from roots to reality. My hair is uber short, which is liberating in itself, and after my haircut next week I just might be completely white/gray/salt-and-pepper. I take a sort of goofy pride in staying sassy, and my life has been an exercise in “hair today, gone tomorrow.”
Playing for Time 
Join the conversation …