Last night I was at another UU SipNSup: the monthly get-together of strangers, where each couple is assigned a dish, and one of the couples plays host. This was my third. The first is chronicled in an earlier blog (in which we try not to talk of pornography), the second was at T's apartment and I was co-host.
On this occasion, the host home was a lovely adobe with xeriscaping outside, waterfalls inside, tiles, fireplace, glass blown hanging lamps, open kitchen with a bar, and a view of the Sandias. It was a stone's throw from the Embudo Canyon trailhead. The host was of Norwegian descent, from International Falls (my mother's birthplace), so we talked about Minnesota and a Norse heritage for a bit.
One of the other guests sings soproano in the choir, so I knew her by sight. Turns out she's a working musician, as are her four kids, and she is on the verge of her annual trip south, this time to Bogota, to teach violin for 2 weeks. She's been doing this for 15 years, and has lived all around the world.
Two other guests were both doctors in private practise, and we had a rousing discussion of the potential effects of Obamacare. The CPA husband of the gynecologist was fairly quiet for most of the everning, but, as I told T, there were 4 mouthy broads at table (that included me), and it was difficult for anyone to get a word in edgewise.
As per usual, I was impressed by the variety of life experience around the table, and fascinated by the paths people take. And, also as per usual, I felt unaccomplished and unexperienced. I want to tag along on their adventures. I want to join Dr. T's daughter in Tanzania, working at an AIDs clinic for children. It would be hard and depressing, but it would be worthwhile. But I lack the practical skills that would make me an asset, and I lack the youth and strength for the grunt work.
So the wish is eager, rather than lasting. And, I'm pretty sure that I need to avoid big change for the time being. I really need to be satisfied with absorbing the body blows of the last few years, months, and days. I need to enjoy quieter adventures. As Mole discovered, I am a simple creature of the fields and hedgerows, which hold enough adventure, in their quiet way, for a lifetime.
Nothing makes that clearer than the way my body betrays me. Last week it was the patella-bashing (still sore, especially on stairs, but doing nicely thank you.) Last night it was a sudden onset of nausea, profuse sweating and dizziness. I left the table and sat in the living room, but, threatened with increasing nausea, tottered into the bathroom where I lay on the cool tiles and felt simultaneously feeble and ridiculous.
T eventually came to the bathroom door: "K-lou, are you okay?" Umm, no. He made my excuses and drove me home. I crawled into bed and fell asleep, waking at 5:30 am. I started googling my symptoms, even though I know I should use authoritative databases and, in my professional capacity, I speak sternly to peole who used DotCom medical sites. But, it was early in the morning, I was groggy, and google was easy to use.
I found webMD and about.com and other reasonably authoritative sites, but I gravitated to the one wherein people detail their symptoms and other people share similar stories and they all say, "I've had this condition for YEARS and no one can find out what's wrong," and some people say it's gall bladder, and some diabetes, and some heart attack. And you can still produce gallstones, even if you've had your gall bladder removed, and GO SEE A DOCTOR, and good luck.
hmmmm
Then I found Real Diagnosis, where you can list your symptoms and get matches with possible diagnoses. So, I either have a heart condition, diabetes, meningitis, or syncope (which is a fancy word for fainting.) I ruled out wine allergy. The whole thing reminded me of Three Men in a Boat, where J reads a medical diagnostical manual, discovers he is sickening for EVERYTHING (except Housemaid's Knee) and crawls over to his doctor friend who prescribes "beer, steak, and stop reading things you don't understand."
So, I posted the following to Facebook:
Researching symptoms
In the wee hours. Tenebrous.
Not recommended.
And I went back to sleep.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Monday, April 8, 2013
Everything has a price
Yesterday I got back out into the Sandias, this time on the south side. Lots of pine, lots of juniper, lots of rocks. Some switchbacks, but not too bad. I only had to stop to relieve cardio-pulmonary distress a few times! It was nice to have some trees, but it's still New Mexico. The dusty-spicy pine smell had no hint of moisture to it, and where in Oregon there would have been streams, here there were dry, rocky creek beds.
Oh, I lie, there was also this Waterfall!
You don't see the water? well, it's there. sorta.
The pace my companions wanted was just about right for me, too. And all in all, it was a good hike, until we started the downward slope. I was doing fine with the scree and the occasional boulder, I thought, but then my foot slid and I landed, patella first, on a rock. You know how sudden pain makes you queasy? I sat there, holding my knee, breathing in, breathing out, while the others stood around. I felt moisture on my hand and realized I was bleeding. B pulled out a bandaid, and G offered water and ibuprofen. I said thanks to the former, and no to the latter, and pulled up the pant leg to assess the damage: a straight small, deep cut, starting to well up with dark red blood. Fortunately, the pants were not ripped, and there was no obvious dirt. I blotted the blood, applied the bandaid, and got to my feet. We had another 45 minutes to an hour to go.
The hike remained lovely. We stopped at the cave for me to convert my hiking pants to shorts and apply a new bandaid that would not be rubbed off as I walked. S took some pix of the "Travertine Waterfall," and as we walked on, we pondered: just what IS travertine? I dimly recalled seeing travertine tiles when I was doing my remodel, but couldn't remember much but that it's a stone. Duh. (I looked it up later in the car, but suffice it to say, we were all wrong in our guesses.)
We stopped again for a water break, and looked for fossils in the rocks. Mainly they were unremarkable dots and specks, paleolithic bugs. Neat though. Then, towards the end of the hike, we re-passed the spiral and cairn that I had spotted on the way up. The light was much better for photographs at this point; late afternoon is always my favorite time for photographing rocks.
l have a new pedometer, from the StepItUp Albuquerque program at work. So I can say, definitively, that we walked 12,861 steps, or 6.48 miles.
The cut started bleeding on the drive back to G's, and he was unhappy that his pack did not have the requisite first aid supplies. Spring is the time to get the gear back in order, but you usually try to do that before the accidents. He also said, "next time I'm making you take the hiking pole," and he's going to loan me a 3-liter water pack in addition to my little water bottle. So, there will be a next time at least. And even though I'm a liability as a friend and hiking partner, it seems that these three think I'm worth it.
When I got home, finally, I cleaned off the sweat/salt from the hike and put neosporin on the cut. It was still oozing blood, and I freaked out and called L (my medical expert sister.) She was mainly concerned with tetanus, ("You know you should have a current shot, don't you?"), but otherwise was a soothing presence in my ear. I bandaged it up, cancelled on the potluck I had planned to attend, and got out a good book for the rest of the day.
Today the cut has scabbed over, but the patellar area is very sore: I may have bruised the bone. The flesh doesn't seem to be the problem, and there isn't much flesh there anyway. This is frustrating: now that I have hiking partners, I want to HIKE! And we have a nice one planned for next Sunday. Grrrr.
I hate limping around. I hate being pitiful. I wish it were possible to just do things without fallout and pain. Why can't I just enjoy what I have without paying some sort of price? But, right now, that seems to be my life. Losing balance, losing friends, once step forward, 2 steps back, and a big ass pain in the patella.
Harrumph.
Oh, I lie, there was also this Waterfall!
You don't see the water? well, it's there. sorta.
The pace my companions wanted was just about right for me, too. And all in all, it was a good hike, until we started the downward slope. I was doing fine with the scree and the occasional boulder, I thought, but then my foot slid and I landed, patella first, on a rock. You know how sudden pain makes you queasy? I sat there, holding my knee, breathing in, breathing out, while the others stood around. I felt moisture on my hand and realized I was bleeding. B pulled out a bandaid, and G offered water and ibuprofen. I said thanks to the former, and no to the latter, and pulled up the pant leg to assess the damage: a straight small, deep cut, starting to well up with dark red blood. Fortunately, the pants were not ripped, and there was no obvious dirt. I blotted the blood, applied the bandaid, and got to my feet. We had another 45 minutes to an hour to go.
The hike remained lovely. We stopped at the cave for me to convert my hiking pants to shorts and apply a new bandaid that would not be rubbed off as I walked. S took some pix of the "Travertine Waterfall," and as we walked on, we pondered: just what IS travertine? I dimly recalled seeing travertine tiles when I was doing my remodel, but couldn't remember much but that it's a stone. Duh. (I looked it up later in the car, but suffice it to say, we were all wrong in our guesses.)
We stopped again for a water break, and looked for fossils in the rocks. Mainly they were unremarkable dots and specks, paleolithic bugs. Neat though. Then, towards the end of the hike, we re-passed the spiral and cairn that I had spotted on the way up. The light was much better for photographs at this point; late afternoon is always my favorite time for photographing rocks.
l have a new pedometer, from the StepItUp Albuquerque program at work. So I can say, definitively, that we walked 12,861 steps, or 6.48 miles.
The cut started bleeding on the drive back to G's, and he was unhappy that his pack did not have the requisite first aid supplies. Spring is the time to get the gear back in order, but you usually try to do that before the accidents. He also said, "next time I'm making you take the hiking pole," and he's going to loan me a 3-liter water pack in addition to my little water bottle. So, there will be a next time at least. And even though I'm a liability as a friend and hiking partner, it seems that these three think I'm worth it.
When I got home, finally, I cleaned off the sweat/salt from the hike and put neosporin on the cut. It was still oozing blood, and I freaked out and called L (my medical expert sister.) She was mainly concerned with tetanus, ("You know you should have a current shot, don't you?"), but otherwise was a soothing presence in my ear. I bandaged it up, cancelled on the potluck I had planned to attend, and got out a good book for the rest of the day.
 |
| Yes, it doesn't look like much |
I hate limping around. I hate being pitiful. I wish it were possible to just do things without fallout and pain. Why can't I just enjoy what I have without paying some sort of price? But, right now, that seems to be my life. Losing balance, losing friends, once step forward, 2 steps back, and a big ass pain in the patella.
Harrumph.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Endings and Beginnings
A few weeks ago my landlady invited me to an "endings" ritual, to punctuate my divorce, to honor the feelings and the past, and to look to the future.
It was very kind of her to recognize the anti-climax and emptiness I was feeling, and to offer me a way to deal with it. I accepted, not knowing what she had in mind, but trusting in the intent. It was a night after work, so we planned for 7 pm. I got home and decided to bake some chocolate chip cookies as thank you offering. Or rather, a cooky: the toaster oven doesn't really accommodate cookies, so I put the whole batch in a pie plate. It doesn't cook evenly, so the bottom was burned. But you can't really go wrong with butter, chocolate, pine nuts, and brown sugar, right?
M's house is a lovely adobe, with a fireplace and wood floors. We sat in the living room, on a two-person couch, facing the western windows into the garden. She had a tri-fold votive screen, which held 12 votive candles, and it was on a table about 5 feet away from us. We each had a glass of water, and a box of kleenex nearby.
She started with a short meditation: close your eyes, think of a joy, focus on that sensation. I can't remember what joy I thought of: friendship? snorkeling? waking by the ocean? chocolate chip cooky? but it was actually hard to choose and focus on it, which was a nice revelation.
Then we opened our eyes and thought of an ending or a loss that we wanted to honor. We took turns, speaking of the event or the thought or the person, and then going to light a candle. Speak, rise, strike the match, light the candle, sit back down. In my case, grab a kleenex. When the candles were all lit, we blew them out, and those endings were sent upward with the smoke. We continued to speak more thoughts, light more candles. We talked about joyful losses: loss of weight, loss of anger, loss of unreasonable expectations. We talked about grief: loss of husband, loss of father, loss of self, loss of home. We talked about endings: end of a job, of a lifestyle, of youth, of middle age. All of which leads to beginnings.
She usually does this ritual during the dark of the moon, to help honor the past time and look forward to the new beginnings. I was reminded of the solstice celebration at T's, 2 years ago back in Portland. There, we started in darkness and lit each others candles and spoke a word for winter. The growing light and the sense of community were equally palpable. This was a more intimate ritual, with just the two of us, and it went deeper in a way. It began the process of letting go. I have been talking about losses in this blog, but I haven't been letting them go. I've been stuck in the grieving process.
Today, I came right up against the perils of being stuck. I have feared that I didn't have the wherewithal to find myself again, and I have feared losing my friends in the process. I have feared that I am not worth the time or the stress, that the more I reached out, the more I would drive away the help. And that is coming to pass.
It's probably a good thing to realize, viscerally, that the healing has to come from myself, and that others can do little to help. You can't replace 30 years of connection in a few months, and while those distant connections are real and deep and strong, they can't be there for you every day, or even every week. And neither can the new connections. Their support is of a different nature, and the trust and depth are embryonic, maybe stillborn. For the daily bread, I have to grow my own yeast, bake my own loaves. I have to do it alone.
And crying is bad for my sinuses.
Yesterday I walked in the hills with a new friend. We talked, we were silent. I touched the amazing rocks, I sniffed the piny juniper and the spicy woody willows, I watched the white fluffy clouds in the brilliant blue sky, I listened to the wind in the junipers, with the deep silence behind the sound. As ee cummings said, "how could tasting, touching, seeing, hearing, breathing, any -lifted from the no of all nothing- human merely being, doubt unimaginable You." I spread my arms to the soft cool breeze, I was full of joy, full of the moment. And that is as real as my grief and my tears.
I just wish I experienced it more often.
It was very kind of her to recognize the anti-climax and emptiness I was feeling, and to offer me a way to deal with it. I accepted, not knowing what she had in mind, but trusting in the intent. It was a night after work, so we planned for 7 pm. I got home and decided to bake some chocolate chip cookies as thank you offering. Or rather, a cooky: the toaster oven doesn't really accommodate cookies, so I put the whole batch in a pie plate. It doesn't cook evenly, so the bottom was burned. But you can't really go wrong with butter, chocolate, pine nuts, and brown sugar, right?
M's house is a lovely adobe, with a fireplace and wood floors. We sat in the living room, on a two-person couch, facing the western windows into the garden. She had a tri-fold votive screen, which held 12 votive candles, and it was on a table about 5 feet away from us. We each had a glass of water, and a box of kleenex nearby.
She started with a short meditation: close your eyes, think of a joy, focus on that sensation. I can't remember what joy I thought of: friendship? snorkeling? waking by the ocean? chocolate chip cooky? but it was actually hard to choose and focus on it, which was a nice revelation.
Then we opened our eyes and thought of an ending or a loss that we wanted to honor. We took turns, speaking of the event or the thought or the person, and then going to light a candle. Speak, rise, strike the match, light the candle, sit back down. In my case, grab a kleenex. When the candles were all lit, we blew them out, and those endings were sent upward with the smoke. We continued to speak more thoughts, light more candles. We talked about joyful losses: loss of weight, loss of anger, loss of unreasonable expectations. We talked about grief: loss of husband, loss of father, loss of self, loss of home. We talked about endings: end of a job, of a lifestyle, of youth, of middle age. All of which leads to beginnings.
She usually does this ritual during the dark of the moon, to help honor the past time and look forward to the new beginnings. I was reminded of the solstice celebration at T's, 2 years ago back in Portland. There, we started in darkness and lit each others candles and spoke a word for winter. The growing light and the sense of community were equally palpable. This was a more intimate ritual, with just the two of us, and it went deeper in a way. It began the process of letting go. I have been talking about losses in this blog, but I haven't been letting them go. I've been stuck in the grieving process.
Today, I came right up against the perils of being stuck. I have feared that I didn't have the wherewithal to find myself again, and I have feared losing my friends in the process. I have feared that I am not worth the time or the stress, that the more I reached out, the more I would drive away the help. And that is coming to pass.
It's probably a good thing to realize, viscerally, that the healing has to come from myself, and that others can do little to help. You can't replace 30 years of connection in a few months, and while those distant connections are real and deep and strong, they can't be there for you every day, or even every week. And neither can the new connections. Their support is of a different nature, and the trust and depth are embryonic, maybe stillborn. For the daily bread, I have to grow my own yeast, bake my own loaves. I have to do it alone.
And crying is bad for my sinuses.
Yesterday I walked in the hills with a new friend. We talked, we were silent. I touched the amazing rocks, I sniffed the piny juniper and the spicy woody willows, I watched the white fluffy clouds in the brilliant blue sky, I listened to the wind in the junipers, with the deep silence behind the sound. As ee cummings said, "how could tasting, touching, seeing, hearing, breathing, any -lifted from the no of all nothing- human merely being, doubt unimaginable You." I spread my arms to the soft cool breeze, I was full of joy, full of the moment. And that is as real as my grief and my tears.
I just wish I experienced it more often.
 |
| To honor Easter I resurrected two joys: Hiking and Thai food. |
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