Category: Life

Outside

There’s been somebody at our house almost every minute, every day, for the past seven months. This is quite different from one year ago.

We do leave for various reasons; we’re not completely housebound. But, we respect the advice of doctors and scientists, so we are at home much more than we are out. The places we go are specific and few. It’s rare for our house to be completely empty these days, and our hours follow generally predictable routines.

This is a summary of Mollie’s take on it:

Month 1 – YAY!

Month 2 – YAY!

Month 3 – YAY!

Month 4 – YAY!

Month 5 – Yay!

Month 6 – Yay

Month 7 – yay

She still appears to be glad we’re around all the time to keep her company. She seems to enjoy hanging out with us in the backyard, or on the couch, or on the bed, wherever we might be during the day and through the night.

However – it’s been a long time since she had to wait patiently for the sound of the key in the lock, the front door opening, after being alone. She used to wiggle with energy, bounce and bark, when we came home. She was so excited by our new presence and the affection and attention that came with it. Now, with the house so rarely empty, with somebody always available for a loving ear scratch or tummy rub, she doesn’t always notice when one of us walks in the door.

The kitchen used to be a magical place where meals were typically based on our comings and goings to and from the outside world. She knew that food followed the morning alarm clock or the evening return to home. Sometimes, we’d bring her something from a restaurant, and the crackling paper bag was her signal that she was about to enjoy an extra special treat. Now, the kitchen is still the place of food, but it’s also the place of phone calls and video meetings. The alarm clock and the restaurant meals don’t happen very often anymore. Seeing us in the kitchen no longer automatically means that it’s dinner time.

Even the backyard, that wonderful playground full of leaves and sticks, birds and squirrels, has become routine. It used to be inaccessible for most of the day. Now, it’s simply a bark away. With the weather cooling off, a bark sometimes isn’t even necessary. We often prop the back door open, allowing the breezes in and Mollie out, freely, according to her mood and interest.

It’s possible that some of the changes we’ve noticed in her behavior are due to her age. She’s four years old, not a puppy anymore. I remember what it was like as our sons grew up, the gradual shift from little boys who eagerly ran to greet us when school was over to teenagers who gave a casual wave and a Hey, ‘sup as they came through the door. Perhaps Mollie’s just moving into her teenage years.

I suspect, however, that the past seven months, our constant presence and the quiet and mostly unvaried routine of our days, play a part. The joy she displays at the word walk, at her realization that she’s getting out, she’s going somewhere, she’ll see and do new things, gives me that impression.

In many ways, Mollie’s just like us. Home is a special place. We love each other, we enjoy being together. These are the people we want around us through it all, and we appreciate what we have. We are grateful and happy.

Still, it’s fun to change things up. The world is appealing, enticing; the variety it offers, the potential adventures and interesting options call to us. We haven’t lost the desire to go, to do, to see and experience and then to share those bits and pieces of life beyond our front door.

Life People

Profanity

A friend has a cuppa with a really funny statement on it that includes a swear word. I was tempted to use it in my post today, but I decided not to because this blog is PG-rated. I don’t know who might read it; best not to risk offending.

But, as I told my friend, that doesn’t mean I don’t swear. There are moments when profanity flies out of me, vocal evidence of extreme frustration or anger, shock or amusement. In my experience, a curse word (or two or three) can make it easier to get through the feelings and move on.

I do have boundaries – I was raised to believe that there are some places, some situations where profanity is simply not acceptable. And, as with my written blog, I strive not to offend in my verbal speech. I try to communicate in a way that isn’t objectionable, which sometimes requires me to be creative with my word choices. That can actually be a beneficial challenge as it forces me to polish my language skills. It would be inauthentic of me, however, to pretend that I don’t know and never use “naughty” words.

I read somewhere that swearing can be a sign of intelligence. There appears to be a correlation between verbal skills and profanity use, as people who have extensive “regular” vocabularies often also have extensive swearing vocabularies. These vocabularies can play an important role in higher-level emotional processing and expression. So, perhaps profanity doesn’t always deserve its negative reputation.

Nevertheless, communication is a two-way street, so I’ll continue to keep my posts profanity-free. I have sarcastic cuppas and cuppas with pictures and colors, shapes and sizes that can serve to illustrate my feelings and points without swear words. That doesn’t mean, however, that you won’t find a few fiery words contained in the cupboard where my cuppa collection is stored.

Family Life

Humanity

I dreamt of my father last night.

In my dream, he was in the hospital, sick and in pain. He held out his hand, and I took it. He told me that holding my hand made him feel better. I told him I would hold his hand as long as he wanted me to.

And then I either woke up or moved on to another dream; I don’t remember. I do know that when I opened my eyes this morning, the dream was on my mind. I could still see his face and hear his words. I could still see his arm, swollen and bruised, reaching out to me, and I could still feel his hand, warm but weak, holding mine. The dream both saddened and comforted me.

My father died before the pandemic, before the necessary rules of separation and isolation. If one can be grateful about a death, I suppose I’m grateful for the timing of his.

I knew that his life was ending and was with him each day, along with my sister and stepmother and friends who came to see him, caring for him, talking with him as slowly, bit by bit, he grew weaker and then was ultimately unable to speak. In those last days, just as in my dream, I held his hand. I stroked his arm, his forehead. I sat quietly beside his bed, looking at his face, his closed eyes, his hollow cheekbones and thinning hair.

Regrettably, I wasn’t there at the final moment. That fact haunts me sometimes. I do find peace in knowing that other people were there on that day and that in the time leading up to that moment, he and I were able to say our goodbyes. I find comfort in knowing that we were together through most of it, that he knew I was there and that he was soothed by my presence.

There are so many stories of death right now, of lonely deaths in hospital rooms sealed off by protective measures, FaceTime goodbyes and remote grieving. There’ve been more than 200,000 of them as of today, and there are likely hundreds of thousands more still to come. They are in addition to all the other stories of death, of passings due to cancer or heart disease or car crashes, all the same fatal circumstances that existed before everything changed, circumstances that didn’t go away, that will continue to exist as long as humans do. Even those may be governed by the same strict measures and protective rules, necessary steps that limit in order to safeguard.

It’s tempting to avoid these painful stories, but I make myself pay attention to them. I do so as a means of honoring the people within them, but I’m careful not to take in too many at once. The sadness becomes too great. That sadness then leads to anger, which is justified and important, but which can also be incredibly destructive if not channeled in productive ways.

So instead, I focus on small bits of humanity. I look at the pictures the families have chosen to illustrate the existence of their loved ones. I learn about the special moments in these strangers’ lives. I vow to respect them by doing what I can to prevent more death, to acknowledge and heed the wisdom of those who speak in terms of science and history, empathy and common sense.

Very often, the stories mention the kindness of a nurse or a doctor or a hospital worker who was with someone at the end, who spent a few special moments to comfort and care when nobody else could. I think of these people as guardian angels, present in the absence of those who wanted to be there but who were unable to, were not allowed because of the reality of today. When we talk of heroes, these are the people we must include.

Death is inevitable, but we don’t have to be numbed by it. Feelings and connections are needed now more than ever. It’s such a simple gesture, holding somebody’s hand. It’s an easy choice, honoring the last moments of somebody’s life, acknowledging their existence, assuring them that they matter and will be remembered, even if we are strangers.

Life People

Power

According to the National Today calendar (nationalday.com), today is National Love People Day. It’s described as a day “dedicated to inspiring and supporting others with the power of unconditional love.”

I’m not going to pretend that I love everybody, unconditionally, all the time. I’m human; I feel anger, frustration, fear, confusion, all the emotions that make it hard to love.

When I do have the courage to choose love, however, I find that I’m able to see opportunities and potential, instead of barriers. Love clarifies, simplifies, inspires.

Today’s cuppa reminds me that it’s not always easy, but it’s also not complicated. Here’s to the simple power of love.

Life Pets

Water

We have a slab leak. We discovered this unfortunate reality by noticing water all over the floors across our house.

Fortunately, there are plumbers and water damage repair people who can assist us with the situation. I am grateful to have these options.

Currently, however, there are a variety of large, loud fans and de-humidifiers running 24/7 throughout my house. It’s a bit like living on an airport tarmac. Additionally, our furniture and personal belongings have been displaced, shifted into corners and hallways and countertops, wherever they will fit while the work is being done.

My cats are, understandably, freaked out by it all. One of them has taken to hiding under the bed. The others beg to go outside, then beg to come back in, staring at me through the window with big eyes as if silently asking, “It’s over now, right?” They’re afraid to go into the kitchen where their food bowls are kept. At times, they are exceptionally clingy, meowing pitifully and pawing at my ankles.

I’m doing my best to keep them calm, minimize the stress they’re feeling. But I totally get their perspective. If I could fit under the bed, I might take my cuppa with me and spend a few hours hiding there, as well.

Life

Pumpkins

The other day, I came across a “Pumpkins for Sale” display, the first I’ve seen in 2020.

Each year, this moment, the first arrival of the pumpkins, feels like New Year’s Eve to me. It feels like the start of something, a beginning.

That might seem strange, considering that pumpkins traditionally mark the final hours of warm weather and endless sunshine, of abundant, growing crops. Autumn is known as a time of endings, falling leaves and dormant flowers.

But heat makes me wither. It feels like I’m holding my breath, stuck in time as I endure the hot and sweaty Summer days, grateful for man-made cooling options and icy beverages. When the first chilly morning breezes begin, and the pumpkins appear, I feel like I can exhale, and then take a new breath and step forward.

I don’t see Autumn as the end. I see it as a fresh start, heralded by orange and brown and gold and green, piled in a display with a hopeful sign overhead.

Pumpkins for Sale.

Life Neato

Ice

I read an article yesterday that explained that sucking on a piece of ice can be a good means of quelling anxiety.

There are two reasons why this works. First, the cooling sensation in your mouth can be a distraction from whatever is making you anxious. Second, the melting ice activates the parasympathetic nervous system in your brain, increasing saliva production and eliminating dry mouth, thereby switching your body from a “fight or flight” mode to a “rest and digest” mode.

Here’s the article if you are interested in more details:

https://www.mindbodygreen.com/articles/ice-cube-trick-calm-anxious-thoughts

I have two last thoughts to go with my cuppa today. I didn’t realize that there’s such a thing as a Nutritional Psychiatrist; you learn something new every day, I suppose. And, I can’t think of the information in this article without hearing Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby in my head. It’s kind of fun, makes me wanna dance, but earworms can get old very quickly. My apologies if you are now in the same boat.

Adventures Life

Penny

There’s something magical about finding a penny on the ground.

When I take Mollie for a walk, part of the fun is the possibility of finding a penny. I almost always do.

Some of them are in bad shape, their edges rough, their faces scratched. I think about what might have brought them to that place, there on the concrete, in that condition. Where they’ve traveled, the people who’ve carried them in their pockets or purses or backpacks.

Some of them are pristine, newly-minted. They are easy to spot, shining in the sun. They haven’t yet had the opportunity to experience the world but are still an exciting prize.

Occasionally, I’ll find a dime, a nickel, or even a quarter. Once, I found several of each, lying on the road like an unplanned path, and I paused to scoop each one up as I made my way along the distance.

Those types of finds make me happy, but finding a penny brings a slightly greater thrill. I suppose it’s because pennies are associated with good luck.

Little magical lucky stars, just waiting to be discovered.

Life

Writing

I took some time off from writing.

Sometimes, writing is smooth and easy, even when it’s about something complicated. The words come quickly. They pop into my head and become my friends, eagerly sharing the space and carrying the message.

Other times, the world becomes so large and the emotions so full that writing hurts my heart. I find myself wallowing, searching for words that make sense. Feelings are unformed, floating, unprocessed. It seems impossible to put them into something understandable.

In simple terms, I suppose that’s how writer’s block works. Fortunately, I have no writing deadlines to manage; nobody’s holding me accountable for delivering a certain number of words by a specific time.

Starting up again, I’m giving myself permission not to write every day. I’m still choosing my cuppa based on the meaning I find in the moment. I’m just going to remove the pressure of posting each day’s choice.

If I do choose to post my words, perhaps they’ll resonate with somebody besides just me. Perhaps somebody else will laugh, feel a bit of hope, or learn something interesting. Maybe they’ll experience a recognition of sameness, the thought of yes, I get it, that’s familiar, I’m not alone.

That’s the purpose of this little blog. It’s thoughts, words, and a cuppa; a simple means of marking the moments of one person’s journey along the path of being human – a path we travel individually and also share together.

Life

Normal

I woke up thinking about the words “new normal.”

I’ve been using those words a lot lately, when I describe…well, almost everything.

Like many other people these days, I find myself looking back over time and then comparing that time to now. As I’m remembering, I might shake my head, or laugh, or cry. I sometimes say things like wow and ugggghhh and never saw that coming. I also say things like yay and how amazing, because goodness always exists amidst the challenges.

And then, after I’ve thought about the past Things or Events or Outcomes or Changes (all capitalized, because that is just something that my brain does, how it classifies these moments), I shift back into the Now. Today.

And I ask myself, how do I define normal? I ask myself, why is this Thing normal but this other Thing not? I ask myself, what makes this new normal?

In simple terms, today is the same as yesterday, as the day prior, as so many days that came before. I wake up, I do the Things, the Things happen, and then the day is done.

It is in that space of doing the Things and that space of the Things happen that new appears. Normal, it seems, is always there.

Perhaps, then, the words “new normal,” are a distraction. It’s possible that the effort I put into wrapping my head around the implications of these words, trying to lasso the meaning, understand it, anticipate and predict, isn’t as necessary or even as complicated as it appears to be.

Perhaps “new normal” is just another way to describe the experience of living. Of being alive, having a life.

Perhaps it’s really that simple.