• Retool

    Retool

    At some point, I sat in my recliner with the heating pad at my back and an ice pack on my shoulder and decided I needed to retool.

This Time This Year

Sep 272022
 

©WholesomeNsuchArt

Autumn used to be my favorite time of year. Notwithstanding what lay ahead—the abundant snowfall, lack of light and bitter cold that were and perhaps still are a feature of Wisconsin winters—I welcomed the restart September implied. Some of my hopeful mood had to do with the start of a new school year, some with the meaning of the season to my parents, casual followers of Judaism whose children eventually failed to connect. Most of it had to do with the sights, sounds, and smells of the season. Rustling leaves, brilliant colors from gold to umber. All things apple and most things pumpkin (except coffee). The light is different, too, diffuse, filtered.

But the loss of my husband on September 11 made it hard to enter autumn. Then my sister died some years later, on November 30th. Grief now bracketed the season. Autumn was as many others had always seen it—a time of endings.

Flash forward to 2022. At the end of one of the worst late spring/early summers in memory (yes, even worse than the height of the pandemic), I ought to be “over” this next season. I’m not. For one thing, I live in the Northeast and autumn is our time to shine. While the south battles excessive heat and terrifying storms and the west deals with the threat of wildfires, we have been favored with blue skies, changing leaves, and perfect temperatures. Given how hot it was this summer, I wasn’t even sure we’d have any beautiful fall days. This year, at least, we do.

I eat, dress and exercise differently in the fall. My favorite outfit is jeans, a sweater, and a jacket. My boots, my sneakers, my hiking shoes give me far more joy than sandals ever could. I’ve been on my bike for the first time since before the surgery. My refrigerator is stocked with apple cider, my shelves with canned pumpkin. I’ve got toe warmers and snuggly socks and a comforter I love on the bed.

According to everything any of us will ever read, I am in the “autumn” of my life. Maybe that fact, along with my body’s refusal to stave off time, ought to depress me. Some days it does. Other days, I hop on the bike or take a walk in the neighborhood, breathing in air that is neither humid or hazy. I can make plans; everyone has plans in the fall. I can also plan not to make plans and curl up in front of the fireplace to read or watch TV.

Autumn used to be my favorite time of year. It will be again.

Safety First

Jun 272022
 

I was a little anxious as a kid. A lot of things scared me: werewolves with red eyes, creepy crawly things, barking dogs and hissing cats, and bullies. As I grew a little older, my worries transformed into larger and, on occasion, justified concerns. For instance, I never believed that crouching under a wooden desk would protect me from a nuclear missile.

Some people are born to plunge headlong into this and that adventure without thinking about the consequences. Some people are born practically paralyzed with fear. I was somewhere in the middle, willing to do certain things but only after a lot of consideration.

At the same time, I also felt protected. I was fortunate enough to grow up in a very strong family unit. I never had any doubt that my father, my mother, and even my siblings would come to my defense in a nanosecond. The one thing that safety net never prepared me for was its absence.

I’ve been on this planet for decades now, and I’ve never felt so vulnerable as I do these days.

Part of it is age. While I’m a healthy senior woman at an ideal weight, I am senior. I’m less strong than I used to be, less agile with less stamina, more discomfort. I’ve had three joints replaced and I’m in line to have two or three more done in the next five years. I exercise every day and walk miles with my shoulders, back, and head held high. My friends and even my physician like to tease me about being bionic. Trust me, bionic beings aren’t stiff in the mornings.

The second factor in my increasing sense of vulnerability stems from my social situation. I have friends, lots of virtual acquaintances, and some kind neighbors, but I live alone. Sometimes I can find people to help me, but often I can’t. I’m used to being on my own, less a preference than a necessary habit. And as the years go by, I worry I’ll be less skilled at it.

Honestly, though, those first two factors are nothing compared with my distress over the state of affairs in the world and particularly here in the U.S. I feel as defenseless as I did when I ducked under my school desk, except the danger feels closer. Every time I think society is progressing, I’m smacked in the face by the truth. Our profoundly inequitable political system continues to provide loopholes and stymy the majority. Our broken medical system makes receiving and paying for treatment disturbingly difficult. Increasing numbers of people are turning to conspiracy theories and “alternative facts” to reinforce closely held beliefs. We’re living in the 21st century version of the Wild West, complete with unbridled emotions, galloping disinformation, and plenty of guns. Respect for life seems to stop at birth.

American exceptionalism used to mean a land of unparalleled advantages and endless possibility. Now it seems to be linked to mass shootings (we’re number one!) and squandered resources. Maybe that’s where evolution has decided to take us. Throw in a pandemic or two, a cyber attack, an energy meltdown, and a series of weather events spurred by a warming planet and what do you have? A series of entertaining books and movies set in post apocalypse times, when the hardy survivors take to the highways and byways to survive, thrive, rebuild, and connect.

Meanwhile, I’m just looking for a safe place to live.

 

 

 Older Entries