Talking over the Fence 

 

I sometimes think about going to visit friends I haven’t seen for a long time but I stop.  The thought they are probably busy with other friends and family keeps me from calling.  I don’t want to take up their time.  I was wrong.

After connecting with friends, we had a date.  A lovely drive on a Sunday morning to reach their home in the county.  We were greeted by them and two dogs. We strolled in the yard where the summer splendor had been spent leaving a few buds and blooms about. It was a lovely fall day. We talked and stood enjoying the sun on our backs.  There was no reason to do more.

We had been told to bring our coffee cups for coffee. One of our friends said he thought we would be bringing larger mugs.  We had bought small cups.  No matter, he said and off he went with cups in hand to make lattes. When he returned, we sat beneath a large umbrella to keep what morning sun there was from our eyes so we could gaze at the faces of friends not seen since the beginning of shut down from the virus.  As I told them how much the visit meant to me, tears formed in my eyes.  I was surprised to the depth of my emotions.  I thought I had been handling the isolation quite well but then I had been working locked in an office occasionally seeing co-workers masked while passing in the hallways.  I had only been partially secluded.

I missed seeing, touching, and listening to others.  I am fortunate. I have the man, my husband to keep me company.  He is a wonderful companion and friend but I realized the glory of other bare faces looking at me, and different voices in the air on this Sunday morning. It was as if discovering the beauty of dew or rain drops upon the upturned heads of flowers.  Beautiful, sacred, and a miracle.  It was no wonder there were tears of emotions gathering in my eyes.  Contentment filled me.

As our conversations grew with the help of lattes and then the introduction of a lavender sponge cake, it occurred to me.  This type of moment needed no encouragement, no planning.  I hung on every word, every gesture, and the very whisper of a breeze. I was present.

We were treated to a lunch outside in the air.  It was delicious.  I licked my fingers clean.  As I look back on the day in the country, I have hopes for another such day.  It will happen but the apples on the trees will be gone.  Made into pies, applesauce.  I am still enjoying mine picked on a sunny Sunday day with friends who I hope are not waiting for my call. I will no longer think I am intruding on their peace, time with other friends and family.  They have all the time in the world and part of it is for me.

 

When is enough, enough?

 

I drive myself sometimes with the most trivial things.  I go for months with doing a new ritual of drinking a tonic of lemon in hot water with turmeric, ginger and cayenne pepper, sometimes with a bit of local honey.  It is a way of taking care of myself.  I make a practice of walking throughout the day until it is a habit. I stretch and touch my toes as a balancing act.  I admit somedays, I am wobbly. It is because I get distracted. My mind wanders into what I imagine I want to do for the day.  Being retired is hard.  Planning nap time, tea time, reading time and writing time.  I have been falling down on the writing time.  Distractions.

I will be at my computer working on a story when I become aware of my breathing.  I stop.  Typing is at halt. I pray. I breathe.  I envision.  It is a moment of peace.  Distraction? No, an awareness for me.  I am in the moment.

You know I start out this piece with an idea of a different sort.  I have mentioned my hauling out bathwater to our parched little tree who is now in the process of changing colors.  She will be magnificent. I am glad she is doing it.  Our son and his wife just flew out for a visit.  Little tree will do us proud.  He has never seen her in all of her glory. But I am rambling.

Saturday was a day of doing things.  We needed to go to the airport in the evening to pick up the kids.  I was on a mission and the man my husband was being steered right and left with things to be done. First, he needed to walk the wife. He ran the same route after safely delivering me home.  I mentioned to him to take his bath early as I needed him to come to the farmer’s market to carry the bounty to the car.  He asked me if I want the bath for myself after he was done.  Yes, we share the bathwater.  Get over it.  We have been sharing for over forty years. 

Tine got away from me with making a cup of matcha green tea with the powder, the time devoted to get the water temperature just right, whisking with my bamboo whisk, the pouring of additional water.  I needed to make breakfast, toast with avocado and tomatoes.  Busy, busy, busy. So, the bathwater was left unattended as we drove to the local farmer’s market.

We were successful with a bounty of lovely fruits, vegetables and some fresh mushrooms and our standard cup of Saturday coffee.  We figured the coffee would be greatly needed for our late trip to the airport.  After the fun and success at market we headed home.  Places in the garage, the fridge and the kitchen were found for nearly everything and I headed to my bath, dreaming of settling into its comfort and warm.

Did I mention we were gone for hours? I shrieked, memories of dunks into mountain ponds, creeks and rivers of my childhood returned.  I yelled to my husband. “Its cold.”

“Well, yeah.” He replied. 

I was quick.  I submersed myself, soaped quickly, rinsed even faster and was out in a flash.  Well, as rapid as a sixty-seven-year, old woman could be.

I thought to myself when is enough, enough.  I was conserving water. I was helping in some small way the planet.  But damn, the water was cold.

 

Retiring in tomorrow

 

This is week two of my retirement.  So far, I think I am on track to enjoy myself.  I have a daily nap if I feel like it otherwise I just rest, meditate, pray and compose idle things in my mind.   Today, I am hauling out water from the bathtub.  My man and I shared the water.  I love taking his tub as he is far more generous in the depth of his tub.  I take a teacup bath whereas his tub covers my shoulders when I am sprawled out on my back.  It is hotter than what I have because what use is a hot bath in an inch or two of water. 

Back to the hauling of the water.  We are in a drought like the rest of the western part of the country.  With the luxury of what few baths we allow ourselves, it hurts me to watch the water drain down the pipes before heading to the ocean.  Now I am home, I can haul the water out in the morning in an old mouthwash bottle.  It holds 5 cups of water.  I know it is a small amount but I don’t want to hurt myself.  The real reason is increasing my daily steps.  Just taking out the water in small amounts really keeps me moving.  I had indulged myself in a mocha and berry muffin this morning as my husband forgot his wallet and I had to run it to his office.  I have tossed half of the muffin into the compost (my apologies to the baker, it is delicious but the calories, honey, it is all about the calories).  I kept what I am eating in the kitchen and get up now and then to grab a bit.  Remember, I am trying to increase my steps in walking.  Currently, I am at over eighty-eight hundred steps.  I did tell my doctor yesterday I was working on losing weight. Probably didn’t need the mocha this morning or the muffin but I did do a delivery to the man so he could have his wallet.  Sacrifices.

It is busy in the neighborhood.  Across the street, a local landscaping company is mowing, trimming and what not.  I gave up hauling my bottle of water to Little Tree because of the noise.  Yes, we named a tree in the yard.  She is over fifteen feet high, gorgeous and in the fall, the tree is a cacophony of color with the sweet odor of spun sugar throughout the year.  She suffered as everything did in September of 2020 when our state was experiencing fires on the coast, the valleys and the mountains.  We are still having fires. But that year, little tree dropped her leaves early as she was hit with extreme hot winds, unbreathable air leaving her and other plants, shrubs, and trees suffocating. Nearly overnight, her leaves dropped until her branches were barren.  We can hope for a better fall this year and the wind not changing.

I find myself stopping whatever I may be doing, reading a book, walking across the room, or folding my clothes.  I get caught up in the moment.  I find myself only in the now.  I like it. The holding of my cup filled with hot tea.  I feel the warmth, I savor the flavor, and my palate is in a state of bliss.  Simply walking across the room, I can stop mid-step without pressure to hurry to end a task as time is stretched and I can hover in the spaces. 

I have been asked what I planned on doing now I am retired.  What trips or vacations I am going on?  I am.  I am present. It is the only trip I need.

 

The Loss of Christmas Socks

 

I was looking in my dresser drawer today for a pair of socks with little grips on the bottom.  Hot, pink, ankle socks. My intention was to give to a friend who my husband, the man reported was slipping and sliding in her pretty, silver toned socks. She shares lots in her conversations with us.  I figured she could wear the pink anklet socks over her silver pair when she needed to pad off somewhere without her shoes.  I located one sock.  In my reaching for the pink socks, I re-discovered my Christmas socks.  I had forgotten all about them.  Really, they had gone out of the dusty realm of my brain.

I guess it is hard to be in the Christmas spirit when you worry each day whether you will be exposed at work to someone with Covid.  Plus, I am alone in an office by myself.  What is the point?  No one to ooh and aw over my socks though mainly I wear them for my benefit.  I like to look at them without my shoes on. About that, I, now have plantar fasciitis.  I am walking about my house in sturdy shoes which does leave much time for sock gazing. 

What else have I lost?  A good general piece of mind.  Gone.  Somedays, I find it though it is hiding much better than it used to.  I have moments of clarity.  Thank goodness for those moments.  Generally, when I am drinking a good cup of tea or listening to classical music as I read or the quiet of the house with birds trilling, chatting outside to break the silence.  There are birds at work on the rooftop.  I hear them rustling about, talking.  It is enough to bring smiles to my face, letting me think, oh, you lovelies. There is my clarity of spirit.  All is well.

I have gained a lot this morning.  It is a day off!  I have enjoyed several different cups of tea. I went on an errand to bank taking only twenty minutes versus the hour it took the last time I went.  They encourage on line banking but if you want real money, you still need to go to the bank.  Teller or ATM, it is a long, long line.  I was lucky and was able to have another cup of tea before my massage appointment.  Just letting the tea percolate through my body.  Another score, my massage is now fifteen minutes later.  My bladder, I am sure will be thankful.

Guess what?  I am writing.  I went to bed at six-thirty pm last night.  I am not working.  I was inspired.  I just might gain lots of moments of clarity today.  Hey, it is a good day.

Thinking about it

 

Thinking about it

 

Often when we are talking to someone, they will reply, “I am thinking about it.”  What exactly is thinking about it? And what is it?  According to MacMillan Dictionary, the phase is “used for adding something that you have just remembered about a subject that you are talking about.”

When I was a child, it meant what I want was probably not going to happen, or thinking about it by my parent was going to take the length of time a small child would take to generally forget about the immediate want. When I am on vacation, I like to visit several little shops, tell them, I am thinking about it and might be back later. The man, my husband’s strategy has always been to kiss me soundly so I forget I wanted to go into a particular shop or boutique while on vacation.  His method is a very good and sound one. It means his patience for standing around has reached its limit. Our child on the other hand had had a very physical response to his mother’s shopping, once he stood in front of a doorway to a boutique, arms out stretched and told me in his small voice, “There is nothing in here for you.”  It worked.  I laughed and we went to a playground. Now he is grown up and has a wife, I wonder . . .

There was no afterthought, when I said “I am thinking about it.”  What does the thinking about it mean now to me?  Choices.  I do the thinking in a different way.  I ask more questions.  Do I think about how the universe is running along just fine without me?  Does it need my input?  In a strange way, the world does need my input, my thoughts, emotions are constantly flying into the energy of the world.  It is invisible, subtle, yet powerful all the same. One of my favorite authors says this.

Anything you do for yourself, you do for the world. Don’t think that you and the world are two separate things. When you breathe in mindfully and gently, when you feel the wonder of being alive, remember that you’re also doing this for the world. Practicing with that kind of insight, you will succeed in helping the world. You don’t even have to wait until tomorrow. You can do it right now, today.

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

I don’t need to say I am thinking about it.  I just need to remember I can do it.  You may have noticed, I said I can do it.  There is no should or need here. I can do it. Simply, because I can.

 

 

 

It is What it is

 

It is What it is

While driving back from a doctor’s visit, I starting thinking I need to start blogging somehow.  A subject is always hard at times to come up with.  I mused over the visit in which my doctor viewed parts of my body for irregular moles and such.  The nurse had asked if I needed a gown and I had told, “No, it wasn't necessary as my husband was there and I was fine.”  A waste of paper as far as I was concerned.  I stripped when necessary, removing my t-shirt, bra, lifting and separating my breasts for an under the breasts check.  I am sixty-six and it is my doctor so who cares.  I was fine, a good check up with nothing to worried about thankfully for this sun burnt babe of the late 50’s, all of the 60’s and some of the 70’s before I stopped cold turkey, wore sunscreen and hats and long-sleeved shirts.  I had seen those who had worship the sun turned to leather in their late 40’s and no way I going the road of tanned leather ready for shoe making.

I was enjoying the trip home with the sun on my face in the comfort of my car while the man drove, gazing at the ocean sparkling in the sunshine, drinking in the beauty of the trees lining the road, just happy to be out of my little office at work, out of our house, out of our neighborhood and see a small part of the world again.  I thought about the doctor visit, the pounds I have piled on and wondered if I was truly worried about the added weight or content with everything I was eating.  I have been hungry. One of the nurses at work tells me when we are stressed, the body craves carbs.  I asked myself are you stressed?  No, not like the nurses working at our office, faces lined with despair, hating their jobs, not wanting to come to work as they faced some of the realities of Covid 19.   

I tell myself daily, I am not feeling the strain of everything happening around my little bubble, or am I?   I don’t want to go to work.  I would like to be home cooking, baking, stress? It seems to be centered around food.  Nope, I have always like to be home cooking and baking.  Eating, I have always loved to eat but unfortunately as I have gotten older, metabolism has changed, slowed down and has practically disappeared. I want to be home.  To spend more than five minutes meditating, to read without tired eyes from staring at tiny print on the computer as I add more tiny print and numbers to the screen, double checking everything.  I want to be home.  To write dribbles and dabbles, to piece, to string together words in tales of somewhere, of some time, and hopefully have characters challenge their selves with external and internal battles.  I want to be home.  To play with light, dark, color mingling, blending into forms on a paper tablet or a primed canvas delighting my eyes and my soul.  I want to be home.

And yet, I go, I go out the door like other poor lost souls, to another day’s comings and ends. I am lingering in what light I can find.  I am glowing with beauty of a world unseen.  I see the anger, the hate, with no remorse.  I grow tired with the wrapping of my heart, my arms around so many.  It is what it is.

I eat more than I use to.  I am trying more interesting pastries.  I have never been a pastry girl but I am working my way into it. Oh, my favorite things to eat still is fruit and the summer is supplying such lovely choices.  I use to walk miles but now my feet grow tender after walking.  Solution, stop eating so much and you won’t have to walk so much.  I wonder how the miracle of cutting back is going to happen.   Still it is what it is and I am still working on the problem.

 

 

Workng on Something

Working on Something

Every time, I even thinking about writing something, I have been stopping myself except for a fictional story in which one of my friends has become a character of sorts.  I am not sure at times what she is up to but she is quite secure in whatever direction she might be going in.

Here is an excerpt:

A rather large basket was being filled with fresh baked cookies, pies, and scones. The little witch who was not a witch asked her cat, “Can you think of anything else?”

“Firestarter?” questioned her cat.  “Don’t be impertinent,” the woman said. “Not on a first meeting.”

Because of the brakes going on in my brain, I have put several small essays in this blog.  Random thoughts but they were what I was thinking at the time.  As for our life style for the man and I are doing pretty much the same things we were doing before Covid 19.  Staying home, doing laundry, cooking, eating, reading, walking, and working on writing when inspired or not inspired.

Yesterday, I felt the magic returning.  We were listening to Loreena McKinnett when the feeling returned to me.  I am feeling it now as I am playing Mummers Dance.  I could attempt to explain my magic, the joy, the beauty of realizing power.  You may believe or maybe not.  The magic may be just the beauty of the music vibrating in my body.  I know it to be more.  All is as it is intended.

Perhaps today, you will find yours.

What you’ve Got

There is a song about “You don’t know what you’ve got until its gone.  I was realizing this more and more as I worked on deleting pictures from my cell phone.  I had gotten a message from my cell phone about your space is dangerously low and could affect your applications.  I have a bit of time on my hands like so many of us do in this unsettled time of Covid 19.  I worked on deleting conversations, pictures, and videos to free up more space.

My main thought was the same one during the process of deletion.  Well, I don’t think that will be happening for a long time.  Road trips back from the valley with great pictures of clouds building up for storm, pictures of breakfasts, lunches, cookies I had bought for friends.  The moments of life, the past of truly wonderful times of being with the man, my husband doing things outside of our home, eating new things, window shopping without really buying. Telling someone you don’t know excuse me as you pass them in the narrow parts of a boutique or small shop. The man making cookies for Christmas with frosting everywhere, pictures of the Challah being braided, finally baked and cooling. 

Why, do I need to delete my life?  

Everything has its time

Each morning, I wake up and try to think, is this the day?  The time of decision of when I say I am staying home, retiring to play.  Particularly now, in this time of uncertainty I am wavering a lot.  Insurance is a good thing.  I will be sixty-six in a month from today.  Do I get a prize?

I would like the feeling of being in a bad story to go away. This morning for the first time, I faced the facts of a world turned upside down.  I have always looked forward to my latest birthday.

This year, my husband, the man is going to make a banana cream pie.  Of course, it will depend on whether or not we can go shopping, with Covid 19 everywhere.  We are becoming more and more careful each day. I had us get lots of things nearly 2 weeks ago with the intent of not shopping for a long time. But there is always something not on the list.

There are advantages.  I don’t have to pluck my eyebrows, or worry about my chin hairs.  If you are social distancing, the recommended 6 ft no one of your age bracket is going to notice.  In fact, I imagine farts are prevalent. Unless, a big cracker is let go, no one will notice.

Still, after the run on toilet paper, the charge to get graham crackers may be the next big thing.  Smores?  Oh, that is right, no outside events.  Can they be done in the oven?  I just want some for my banana cream pie.  It is a favorite.  After the birth of my son, my only wish was a banana cream pie when I got home from the hospital.  It was there.

Clothing in its place

Clothes, I have too many.  It has really hit home just this last week or so.  I have changed my wardrobe to just a few pieces.  Daily, clean socks and underwear.  Weekly, one pair of black pants with pockets to hold my photo ID, a credit card, keys for the car and for the post office box.  Two cotton shirts and a fleeced dark blue jacket courtesy of where I work. I stuff my cell phone, computer reading glasses, and badge for work in the pockets of the jacket. I added a bottle of lotion to help my parched, washed hands.  I felt naked.  The weight on my shoulder is gone. My purse sleeps at home.  I came to the realization it is extremely hard to sanitize leather.

I have a coat for work, gloves for work, a mask for work.  When I come home, I strip, black pants, long sleeved fleeced jacket are placed on bed we aren’t using for the night, I wash my hands and put on my home clothes.  I can’t imagine what others have to do.

 

I saw a shirt in a window at a small boutique. I private messaged the little shop on their Facebook page.  She checked the size on a Monday, called me and I bought a shirt on the phone.  She delivered.  It is in the trunk of my car.  In a week or two, the bag will be bought into my house.  I will take it out of the bag. Hang it up in the closet where it will stay for another two weeks in quarantine. It is pink.  It will be warm. It is beautiful. I haven’t seen it except in a window.