I am writing this while in bed on a lazy Sunday morning, music wafting through the air, as always my favorite show on WXPN called Sleepy Hollow. Early morning ease into my day melody and harmony, notes and chords. I just finished a weird combo breakfast of leftover vegan mac and cheese with a veggie burger mixed in. The sun-dappled curtains serve as a backdrop for the tree branches that are gently swaying.
Here in Pennsylvania, the temp is 60 degrees and will go up to the mid 80s. No scorchingly hot weather. No torrential rains, although we had them last week. No fires. No hurricanes or earthquakes. My heart is with folks who were impacted by all of the climate crisis induced traumas and all who will be affected in the future. I have family and friends in California and Las Vegas and my prayers are for their safety and that of anyone else in the area as Hurricane Hilary heads their way.
I have a wide open day today which is a rarity.
I will go to the gym, have lunch with a long time friend and let the next 12 hours flow as they will. My mind is filled with all of the to-do things that call out to be accomplished this week and I ask them to line up neatly as if they are standing in a customer service line, telling them that I will deal with them one at a time. Clients, writing deadlines, back to mornings of being with my grandchildren (my daughter in law who is a teacher has had the summer off which meant my own mornings were free), packing up books to give away, since I have so many of them, more than any other type of items in my house. I may also clean out the garage a bit at a time.
I notice that as I am getting older, I am mindful that when my time comes, I want to simplify the cleaning out of my home for my family and friends. I remember when my parents and then my dear friend Ondreah died, the cleanup was no easy task. It took days of sorting through belongings and deciding what to keep, donate and toss.
Aging is on my mind big time these days as I approach my 65th birthday in October. I applied for Medicare and got the thumbs up for that. I scheduled my birthday party here, the first gathering in my home since the pandemic. I love when my friends get to know each other and form what I call ‘overlapping soul circles,’ and some have met at my parties. This formerly athletic, flexible woman who swam miles, walked miles, biked miles, finds it challenging to walk through my little town of Doylestown, PA without support from my aluminum hiking pole.
My hips and sacral spine protest vehemently, so I take breaks and stretch. On Friday, I visited my chiropractor who put my back, back in whack. He cautioned me about postural alignment when I am at the gym and on the computer and phone since my neck and spine were reacting to both ‘text neck’ and heavy duty workouts. Yesterday, I worked out for an hour and then took a yoga class that my cousin, a newly minted yoga teacher was offering. Blessedly, it was designed for people of all body shapes, sizes, ages and yoga-bility. Even so, downward facing dog, which I enjoy, held a bit too long, caused my neck and shoulders to cry out for ice and analgesic relief.
I find myself being aware of how I walk, get in and out of the car and bathtub. I am conscientious about picking up boxes, moving and twisting. Things I took for granted, like remembering what I was supposed to do and with whom, have gone out the window. Self coaching that sounds like, “You’ve got this, woman.” Copious amounts of checklists, as well as asking to borrow other people’s brains, asking them to remind me of stuff that might slip out of my own porous brain.
The good news is that I am still sharp when it comes to crafting responses to what I observe going on around me. Like most people I know, I am overwhelmed with world events, the violence and bigotry that spews from the putrid fountain of hatred. Being a wordsmith is therapeutic and without that skill, I would either implode or fall into the pit of despair. As much as I know I need a news fast, it is like an accident from which I can’t look away. It is in front of me on a bank of tv screens at the gym. It is in my living room. It is on NPR that I listen to in my car. It is a regular topic of discussion among my friends, many of whom are activists of some sort who, like me, won’t sit by and allow the world to crumble, if they have anything to do about it. It helps to know that I am not alone, shouting into the wind.
I have noticed that I am more leisurely since the pandemic began. There are some times that if I am not required to do something, I won’t. It would have been unthinkable before. I guess I truly am in recovery from the workaholism that nearly cost me my life in 2014 when a heart attack came to call.
Like many folks in my demographic, I have been having flashes of memory from adolescence and college and shake my head at the mental gymnastics that had this emotional contortionist tied up in knots. I am gently unraveling those beliefs and unpacking the heavy boxes that are repositories for dysfunctional decisions. I don’t always like what emerges and I am tempted to stash them away out of sight. That doesn’t mean they are out of mind. They knock insistently and remind me that they aren’t going anywhere.
As I stare up at the peaked ceiling, I see a dancing cobweb that is being blown by the fan from the air purifier. It would take a tall ladder to reach it so it will stay there until it falls of its own accord. Some things just are.
—
This Post is republished on Medium.
—
Photo credit: Unsplash
—
Join The Good Men Project as a Premium Member today.
All Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS.
A $50 annual membership gives you an all access pass. You can be a part of every call, group, class and community.
A $25 annual membership gives you access to one class, one Social Interest group and our online communities.
A $12 annual membership gives you access to our Friday calls with the publisher, our online community.
Register New Account
