It’s time for me to take a little time off for some much-needed rest and relaxation, so I won’t be participating in the blogging community for a little while. Thanks for understanding, and I’ll be back soon!
It’s time for me to take a little time off for some much-needed rest and relaxation, so I won’t be participating in the blogging community for a little while. Thanks for understanding, and I’ll be back soon!
I’ve never been a patient person. Waiting is not my strong point, no matter what I happen to be waiting for. If I’m looking forward to something good, then I want it to happen right now, this very second. Even if I’m dreading something, I’d much rather just hurry up and get it over with, sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, there are times in my life where I don’t really have a choice, and I find myself having to wait with as much patience as I possibly can.
A few weeks ago, my husband had a scheduled surgery that was supposed to result in a three to five-day hospital stay. The surgery went well, but his recovery didn’t, and he ended up spending over ten days in the hospital due to minor complications. I wish I could say that I always handled the situation with patience and grace, but that would be a lie. What I actually did was worry a lot, feel sorry for myself and even sorrier for my husband, and in general wake up each morning thinking, “PLEASE let today be the day that he finally gets to come home.”
It was a long ten days, but I did learn a few things about myself in the process, not the least of which is that I would make a truly awful nurse. I’ve always been a bit of a klutz, but repeatedly tripping over various tubes that are actually connected to a patient is never a good thing, and neither is forgetting to unhook the IV pole before helping him go for a walk in the hallway. Also, it’s a good idea to wind the chord of the nurse call button around the bed railings, because otherwise it falls off the bed every time you adjust the blankets…and then you have to keep telling the nurse station that you didn’t really mean to call them.
Luckily, I also learned some more useful lessons during my husband’s recovery, and the main one was that when I have no choice, I really can manage to wait patiently for things to get better. Although I’ve always been nervous in hospitals (I never even like visiting a patient), I actually became accustomed to the routine and stopped having to look away from any procedure that involved blood or other body fluids. I spent hours sitting quietly in the corner, reading a book while my husband slept, and actually became quite friendly with some of the nurses. It’s amazing what we can endure when we have to, and I do think it helps to be reminded of that from time to time.
Of course I would have much rather my husband’s hospital stay hadn’t lasted quite so long, and to have spared him that trauma and both of us that worry. But I like to think that the next time I’m waiting for something I desperately want right now, that I’ll remember there’s a reserve of strength and patience in each of us, just waiting for us to tap into it. And that when we do, we’ll have everything we we need to tide us over until the hard times are over….
I first learned to ride a bike when I was about six years old, and it wasn’t easy. My father had bought me a blue Schwinn from the neighborhood bike store, and told me to ride it home while he jogged along beside me, keeping a firm grip on the back of the seat. “Lean!” he kept telling me, “just lean!” And I did….first to the left and then to the right, and I would have toppled right over he’d let go. It never occurred to me that he meant I was supposed to lean forward, and apparently, it never occurred to him to clarify. Eventually we made it the six blocks back to our house, both of us tired and frustrated. But I finally did get the hang of riding a two-wheeler without training wheels, and all these years later, I still enjoy the occasional bike ride. It’s true what they say about riding a bike: once you learn how, you never really forget it.
I suppose that’s true about most of what we learn in life, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. I love volunteering at my local animal shelter, and have been going down there at least twice a week for years. But when I go on vacation for a week or two, I’m often hesitant to go back, as if I doubt my ability to handle the shelter dogs. Once I actually do it, I’m just fine. But still, that hesitation is always there.
It’s the same with writing my blog posts. When I keep to my schedule, I have very little problem writing my weekly posts. But if I take a break from blogging, writing that first post afterwards is always difficult. Sometimes it seems that the longer I stay away from something, the harder it is to go back to it. Even when it’s something that I really love to do.
I’m guessing this is why I’m feeling a little bit cranky and lost these days, because the past year has meant giving up a lot of the things I normally do and enjoy. Of course Covid has played a big part in that, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to have finally received my second vaccine. But it’s been a rough year for our family in many ways that have nothing to do with Covid. The worst is finally behind us, but I find myself struggling to believe that could possibly be true. It’s as if I’ve been trained to expect the worst and believe that feeling anything other than fear and dread is somehow not being realistic. But living in fear and dread is not who I am, and it’s certainly not who I want to be.
So I believe that it’s way past time for me to “get back in the saddle” and get back to the business of living my life, as fully and as normally as I possibly can. It took me a while to learn to ride that bike, all those years ago, and I fell off of it more than once. But I always picked myself up, wiped off my bloody knees, and got right back on. And it wasn’t long before I was leaning forward, pedaling hard, and loving the ride…..
I think almost everyone spends far too much time waiting. We wait in line, we sit in special waiting rooms before our medical appointments, we endure easy-listening music on our phones while waiting our turn to speak to a live customer service rep, we wait for test results, and this year, we’re all waiting for the end of a global pandemic that has really outworn its welcome. Most of that waiting is beyond our control and so we accept it and learn to adapt. We tell ourselves that what we’re waiting for will eventually arrive, and until then, we bide our time as best we can. I’ve managed to read entire magazines while waiting in the checkout line at the grocery store, which not only keeps my mind occupied but saves me the cost of having to actually buy the magazine.
But the problem with waiting is that it can become a habit, and not in a good way. It’s easy to slip into the habit of thinking that somehow our lives will be good and whole just as soon as whatever issue we happen to be dealing with is finally resolved, or whatever we’re waiting for finally arrives. We can become so focused on waiting for what we believe will be a better future that we tend to overlook the present. Or at least that’s what I find myself doing a lot these days.
If I can just make it through these next few months, then the worst of the pandemic will be over and I’ll be able to enjoy myself again. Once my husband gets past this next medical procedure, then I can relax and focus on the things I love to do. Once we get that new dormer put in our upstairs bedroom, then my house will finally look and function exactly the way I want it to. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. It’s as if I believe that I’m existing in some sort of limbo, just waiting for something to happen so that I can finally begin to live my life the way I want to.
Sometimes I need reminding that when whatever I happen to be waiting for finally arrives, I’m surely going to start waiting for something else. Which means that the best way to deal with it all is to simply live the best life I can, right here and right now. It’s amazing how much can be accomplished, and how much joy can be found, when we simply allow ourselves to live in the present, even with all its imperfections and uncertainties.
Hoping and planning for a better future is a good thing. But when we focus too much on waiting for that future to actually arrive, I believe we’re also cheating ourselves out of the good that can be found in the present. One of my favorite sayings has always been, “Life is for living.” I’m beginning to think that it’s time for me to edit that a little, and change it to “Life is for living now!” Because that’s the God’s honest truth……
Mom’s outside doing some yard work, so I’m taking the opportunity to write another blog post for her. I’ve written a few already, and they’ve been very well received, if I do say so myself. Still, it’s been a long time since she’s invited me to write a guest post. I’d like to think that’s just because Mom is a bit forgetful, and not because she’s getting a little jealous that maybe my blog posts are a tiny bit better than hers. But for whatever the reason, I got tired of waiting for an invitation and since Mom’s not exactly a fast worker, so I’ve got plenty of time to do it now.
Unless, of course, she happens to discover some of the “treasure” I’ve buried in the back yard, in which case I can think of one or two items that will probably bring her storming back into the house, looking for yours truly. I’m not quite sure why she gets so upset why I sneak off with some of her granddaughter’s baby toys, because face it: dog chew toys and baby chew toys look exactly the same and I can’t resist any of them. That’s why I like to hide a few in the back yard, to play with when I’m outside. But last week she was searching everywhere for the baby’s favorite teething toy, and then she began throwing suspicious glances my way. Suffice it to say, if she unearths a certain rubber giraffe, I’m got some explaining to do.
Which brings me to the point of this post. As much as I like living with my human family, (and I really do love them), I can’t help but notice that there’s a certain unfairness in the way the different members of the family are treated. Just because I happen to have fur and walk around on four legs, I often have to abide by a totally different set of rules. Take the aforementioned toys, for instance. I’m perfectly willing to share my toys with babies and children, and believe me, when the adults aren’t looking, they play with my toys. But if I dare to pick up one of their toys, I’m immediately told to “drop it,” as if I’ve done something horrible. And they insist on washing the toys before they return them to the child or baby in question, which is just plain insulting.
Also, the humans in my family never have to “relieve themselves” outside. But I’m expected to do my business outside all the time, in all kinds of weather. Once when it had been storming all day, I really had to go. But I knew if I let my parents know that, they’d put me out in the yard. So I went downstairs and took care of my problem there. Just so you know: no matter how badly you have to go, never, ever, pee on the leg of your dad’s pool table. You wouldn’t believe how upset he’ll get, even though a pool table leg does look an awful lot like a tree trunk.
You see what I mean about unfairness? It can be a tough pill to swallow sometimes, but luckily, we dogs are nothing if not forgiving. And steady meals, a warm bed, and plentiful dog treats make up for a lot. But mostly, I know they love me and I love them, and that’s all that really counts anyway.
It would be nice if we could turn back the hands of time now and then, just for a little while. I’d love the chance to sit at the table in my grandmother’s kitchen again, enjoying a meal she made especially for us, or gallop across a field just one more time on my beloved horse, Prince. And I’d give just about anything for even a few more moments with any of the people I’ve loved and lost, with the chance to hear their voices and give them even one more hug. By the time you’ve reached my age, the chances are you’ve got a ton of happy memories that you’d happily relive if you were only given the chance.
But life is not just a journey. It’s a journey on a one-way street, often in a speeding car, without a u-turn ramp in sight. The past is just a memory, the present is our reality, and our future is whatever lies just around the next bend. And that can be a scary thing, because unlike the past or the present, the future is mostly unknown.
I don’t know about you, but there’s a whole lot going on in my life right now that I never saw coming. Some of it is good and some of it is bad, but most of it was totally unexpected. I still remember how I used to look at our calendar early last year and worry about how we were possibly going to keep up with such a busy schedule of travel and events. Who knew the answer would be a virus that would force us to cancel them all? And I remember the cold stab of fear I felt when I heard that my daughter-in-law was being prepped for an emergency delivery six weeks before her due date. I had no way of knowing that the result would be a beautiful and perfectly healthy granddaughter who spent only two weeks in the hospital.
I’ve always been the sort of person who likes to plan ahead, so I’ll admit that sometimes I find the uncertainty of the future to be a little bit scary. But I’ve learned through the years that the unknown is simply a part of life, and my only real choice is to accept that. More importantly, I’ve learned that the unknown isn’t always a bad thing, and that some of the surprises the future has in store for us will most certainly be good. I’m also realizing that worrying about what might happen is a waste of time and energy, because when bad things do happen, they are usually completely different from whatever I had anticipated.
So I’m thinking that maybe it’s time that I stop looking so much to the past when I’m less than thrilled with the present, and start looking a little more to the future and the changes that it will most certainly bring. Sometimes all you can do in this life is buckle up and enjoy the ride, looking firmly forward as you wait to see just what’s around the next bend in the road ahead…..
Roughly one year ago, Covid 19 managed to turn the world as I knew it upside down. I remember picking up my grandson at his daycare, which like almost everything else in my area, was temporarily closing. “See you in two weeks,” his teacher told us as she waved goodbye. And I’m embarrassed to say that I mostly believed her. I had no idea just how badly this virus and its restrictions would impact us, or for how long.
It’s been a long twelve months, and in many ways I’m not the same person I was a year ago. Never again will I just assume that I can buy what I need, when I need it, or take being able to spend time with my friends and family for granted. I think I’ll always be a little uncomfortable in a crowded room, wondering just what sort of germs I’m being exposed to, and I will probably keep my trusty little bottle of hand sanitizer stashed in my purse from now on. As for toilet paper, my new mantra is “you can’t have too much of a good thing.”
But I think the changes go deeper than that. Living through such a traumatic year (my family also faced some difficulties that had nothing to do with Covid) has taught me a lot about myself, and I think growing in self-awareness is always a good thing. I learned that I had the ability to be patient, even when I yearned for quick answers and even quicker action. And while I’ve never been what could be called the “outdoorsy type,” I learned that the more time I spend outside, the calmer and happier I become. Nature truly is a great healer, for both the body and the soul. I also figured out that one way to cope with uncertain times is to get busy working on the things I do have control over, even something as mundane as painting the guest bedroom.
I may be a natural introvert who craves some alone time each and every day, but now I also know how desperately I need to stay connected to other people. Talking with friends and family reminds me that I don’t have to face problems alone, and there is both strength and comfort in that. That old saying, “a problem shared is a problem halved” is absolutely correct, and a reminder of just how important it is to support each other in our times of need. And in the face of so much negativity, conflicting “facts” and general fear-mongering, I’ve learned the importance of thinking for myself, doing research when necessary, and trusting in good old-fashioned common sense as much as possible.
So no, I’m not exactly the same person I was twelve months ago, but that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay, because the lessons I’ve learned from the past year have left me better equipped to face the future with hope and confidence. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
I’ve loved writing for as long as I can remember. It was my favorite class in elementary school, and by the time I reached college I just had to major in English, never mind the fact that jobs for English majors were few and far between. I remember sitting at my father’s desk as a child, happily typing my stories even though I knew no one but me was ever going to read them. The joy was in creating the story, and readers were just the icing on the cake.
To this day, I find it much easier to express myself in the written word than by actually speaking. In fact, when I do have to talk, I often find myself a bit tongue-tied and nervous, searching desperately for the right words. The result is not pretty, and I rarely manage to get my point across in any meaningful way. Hours later, when I replay the scene in my head, I think, “I should have said this. Or I wish I had said that.” But in the heat of the moment, the words I wanted so desperately just didn’t appear.
So on those rare occasions when I find it difficult to write, I don’t quite know how to handle it. When it’s time for another blog post, I sit at the computer and try to concentrate on just exactly what I want to say. Usually, it takes no more than five minutes for me to come up with a topic, and get started. Admittedly, these days it takes an additional ten minutes or so to remember how to work Word Press’ new Block Editor so that I can actually type my post, but that’s a minor inconvenience that I’ve managed to solve……so far. Still, once I get going, the writing flows and I usually feel satisfied with the result by the time I hit the “publish” button.
But then there are the days when that doesn’t happen. The days when I know it’s time for another blog post, but no topic comes to mind that I think anyone could possibly find interesting. There are times when I honestly feel that I have nothing of value to share, no new insights to offer, and no spiffy phrases that will entertain. Those are the times when I type a first sentence, read it, and delete it over and over again, and when I begin to think that maybe six years is a long enough run for my blog, and maybe it’s time to call it a day and do something more useful with my time….you know, like learning Latin or reorganizing my junk drawer.
But the thing is, once I give myself permission to step back a bit, and maybe not write if I really don’t feel like it, my attitude begins to change. Just subtly at first, as I type out a few rough drafts whose quality makes me eternally grateful for the “delete” button. Yet I persevere, because I know that if I just go through the motions enough times, I’ll find my groove again. And I’ll rediscover the joy of writing, of communicating my thoughts and feelings in a way that I hope others will relate to and find helpful, and that I’ll once again find the courage to not only string together a whole bunch of words in a way that finally feels right, but that I’ll manage to hit that “publish” button when I’m done. Because when all is said and done, what writers do is write. And half the battle is just doing it.
Generally speaking, I like living in a climate with four distinct seasons. I like the beautiful flowers of Spring, the fact that it’s warm enough in Summer to go swimming and walk out of my house without bothering to put on shoes, and I always enjoy the brilliant foliage of Fall. Winter begins just before Christmas, which is my absolute favorite holiday, and also provides snowfalls that are both beautiful and peaceful. The changing seasons give each year a pattern that is both predictable and comforting.
Of course, each season also has a downside. Spring’s pollen makes me miserable for weeks, Summer always has a stretch of unbearably high humidity, and Fall means shorter days and ragweed. And while Winter certainly has its own beauty, it also brings dangerously cold temperatures, icy roads and sidewalks, and air so dry it seems to suck the moisture out of every living thing. But as far as I’m concerned, the absolute worst part of Winter is that it never knows when to leave.
If seasons were people, Winter is the distant aunt who shows up on your doorstep bearing cookies and a great big suitcase, and who is still installed in your guest room long after you’re ready for her to go. It’s the friend who sticks around for hours after the party is ended and doesn’t seem to notice your yawns and pointed glances at the front door. It’s the time-share salesman who lures you into his office with tons of freebies before launching into a never-ending sales pitch. Winter looks good when it first arrives, what with its sparkling landscapes and blankets of snow, but no other season manages to overstay its welcome quite like Winter.
Which is probably why I am now writing my annual, “I’m sick of Winter” blog post. I’ve managed to cover most of the details over the years: the static electricity, the frozen nose hair, the aching muscles from shoveling snow, constantly cleaning the floors because the salt on the outside steps keeps getting tracked in, and the need to put on several layers of clothes simply to take the trash out. And I’ve mentioned a certain dog who persists in believing the frozen treats he finds (and tries to eat) in the back yard are chocolate popsicles, and often refuses to go outside altogether if he thinks it’s too cold. But this year brought yet another annoying revelation: if you drop your white face mask in the snow, chances are that you aren’t going to find it until the Spring thaw.
So even though I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: it’s time for Winter to be over. It’s time for the arctic blast that has gripped our country to go away, and let us begin to thaw out in peace. We want to retire our snow shovels, put away the rock salt, and pack away our heavy coats until next year. We’re not asking for any miracles, we just want it to warm up enough that we can once again get together with friends and family in our backyards, and even cook the occasional burger on our grills. Not to mention quit worrying about frozen pipes and electricity outages.
In other words, “Winter, winter go away! Come again another day!” (And please make that day far, far, into the future……)
It’s been really cold this week, and it’s supposed to get even colder by this weekend. I’ve been preparing by stocking up on essentials, breaking out a jigsaw puzzle and this morning, I decided to fill up my gas tank before the truly frigid weather set in. I pulled into a station I don’t normally use, and was amazed to see that there was a little screen on the gas pump, right next to the slot for my credit card. Not the usual screen that provides instructions on operating the pump, but an actual little television screen, airing real commercials. I was dumbfounded, to say the least.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t generally make decisions regarding my bedding when I’m filling my car with gasoline, so why anyone thought I’d want to see a mattress commercial just then is beyond me. By the time I was done and replacing the pump, it had progressed to an ad for insurance, which made a bit more sense. But I still found the whole thing terribly annoying. The sound was turned up loud, and I actually had to wait for the commercial to end before I could print my receipt.
I’ve been feeling a little out of touch with the world for a long-time now, but this might well be the “straw that broke the camel’s back.” Because I think I’m done. I’ve tried my best to keep up with our ever-changing world: adapting to the endless new technologies, trying to keep up with the latest trends, and accepting things that I don’t even begin to understand. Isn’t that what we’re told we’re supposed to do, if we want to stay young? Be willing to learn new things, embrace change, pay attention to the latest fashions, and invest a small fortune in skin care products? Because otherwise we’re nothing but a bunch of useless old fogies with one foot in the grave, right?
But I no longer care. I’m done pretending that I don’t sometimes struggle with technologies that weren’t invented until decades after I was born. I’m willing to admit that I think a whole lot of our current trends are just plain silly, and that they’ll go the way of the naval contemplation of the Sixties and the green shag carpeting of the Seventies. I believe that it’s okay for houses to have walls and that body hair isn’t always something to be afraid of. I admit to preferring printed receipts, real books, and brick and mortar stores. Most of all, I believe that time spent by myself, off-line and unplugged, is both valuable and necessary for my basic sanity.
When you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ve seen too many things come and go to be terribly impressed with whatever the “latest and best” happens to be. And you realize that although the world is always changing, basic human nature mostly remains the same. You’ve figured out what’s important and what’s not, and you try very hard to embrace only the changes that are actually for the good.
So I’m okay with admitting that I have no use for gas pumps that try to sell me a mattress, or anything else other than gasoline. From now on, I’m not only accepting my inner old fogy, I’m embracing her……