Category: Introspection

I have always assumed that in the ideal world there would always be time for all the things that are important to us, time for the people who are important to us yes, but also time to explore and learn and do all the things we think matter.

 

But of course we do not live in an ideal world, and I suspect that even the concept of ideal is highly subjective and even illusory, just as the imaginary "ideal mate" is only a shallow half truth, a list of the things we think we want which is never fully realized because we as humans tend to discount the importance of the mundane, the necessary, and especially the things we dislike. We tend to not think about how the characteristics of those we love are deeply intertwined in their psyches with other characteristics, perhaps even qualities that we find less than attractive. In the same way that our view of those we love is defined by our views of ourselves, so is our view of the "ideal" world.  Our relationship to the "ideal" directly reflects our relationship to ourselves and our own self-judgement. The truth is there is no ideal, only me, how I chose to function in the world and what I chose to accept or not accept.  This is something I struggle with every day, some days more successfully than others.  The same is true for all of us to some degree or another, whether we chose to be aware of the struggle or not.

 

But where am I going with all this philosophizing? Is it really fair to disappear for two weeks and then reappear, spouting mumbo jumbo? To tell the truth, I am not quite sure, but I am willing to trust all the hypothetical posts that have been swirling around in my head during the past weeks are not completely lost, but have found some toehold in my mind and that something coherent will arise from the depths. In the end, this too may prove to be just another illusion.

Let's go back to that concept of "ideal".  Nearly two weeks ago I was in Chicago.  The trip was good for me, and although it had its ups and downs, it was clearly exactly what I needed.  I would have preferred not to come home to the chaos that greeted me upon my return, and I would have said that in the ideal world what is good for me would also be good for G.  The truth is that what is good for G probably is good for me and vise versa.  But to make that work, I have to stop wishing for the ideal and start living with the actuality.

 

The simple story is that things fell to pieces on the home front while I was away.  The scheduled night aide disappeared and the agency had to scramble to fill the slots.  Yes we had help, but having someone new every night was not good for G, whose mind can no longer really comprehend or cope with the unexpected.  Sunday night I returned to my hotel room to a flurry of texts that once again there was no aide, and I was on the phone, calling everyone, the angry hen defending her brood, even when that brood is one dementia-addled spouse.  Perhaps I overreacted.  It is true that I did not have all the information, and that I regretted some things when I returned home and learned more.  But I also learned that I made the right decisions, that things could have been much worse.

 

But as I pondered the whole situation and went through the various stages of coming to terms with the state of my life I realized several things.  It was not about me feeling guilty for going away.  It was not about me at all.  I had to accept that there are two forces at work here.  Me, meaning what I think I want, what I think I don't want, my own self-judgements about these things, and what actually is happening around me to the person I love.   I knew that we needed more help.  That five full days and two half days a week with no night-time help was not good enough.  But I was not ready to accept that G really needed 24 hour care.  I thought there could be some transitionary period where I could prepare G for the eventual shift.  But it wasn't really G who needed to be prepared; I was the one who needed to accept the inevitability of change and decline. I needed to see G with both my eyes and my heart, not looking for some ideal, but accepting what is and making the most of it.

 

It is not always easy.  

 

The last two weeks have been a period of transition and changes.  G was confused and tired.  I was a trifle overextended.  Nonetheless there were good moments.  We went to the zoo.  Grandpa held on to Owen's hat while we took a short break for ice cream and popsicles.  Moments of silliness still exist.

 

On Monday we start 24 hour care.  I expect the first week to be difficult, but it may not be as difficult as I imagine. G may in fact be more ready for this transition than I.  Nonetheless I am planning for a light week, with no particular plans and a pile of frivolous, easily interruptable reading.  I am giving myself permission to try not to define myself by what I do, but to just go with the flow and try to be present when needed.  This may be the hardest task I've set for myself yet.  

 

It may be a week of radio silence.  It may not.

 

 

This is the first day since I've been in the new house that I have accomplished absolutely nothing.  Not.A.Single.Thing.  Frankly, I am not expecting a big turnaround in productivity now either, although I am going to get this post written.  I'm not expecting much.

 

I had big plans this morning, and then things just went a little haywire. And then we took a walk, G, his aide and I to the end of the street, and I continued on to make a loop about half-way out of my neighborhood and back, about 1 mile total.  Not a level mile mind you, it is all up and down my neighborhood, from the top of my hill to the next and so forth.  Most of my neighbors tell me they won't do it.  They drive two miles to a nice level walking trail. But I did it for the first time this morning.  And I just did it again this afternoon. 

 

I feel good but tired.  And old.  I've been feeling old a lot lately and today in particular.  It probably has a lot to do with a month of persistent back pain and the things you don't see in the dead frontal views I am likely to post on this blog when I post photos.  The fact is that I pretty much always stand tilted forward now, and have for a few years probably, but it didn't used to be the case.  And this affects so many things both physical and mental. It causes stresses on muscles and joints, my knees and my hips, and yes is the primary cause of my back pain.  It also strains my view of myself because there are days when not only am I in physical pain, but I also feel old and deformed.  It is not pretty. And it is these days that I need to pay even more attention to getting my hair right, to finding an outfit that I feel attractive in, regardless of whether it truly improves anything or not, when I need to spend time fretting over the things I can control in life, like eating well and yes, trying to get some exercise as soon as I can manage it. But those two walks may have taken everything out of me today, that and the thought that G has been particularly restless and I am not looking forward to an easy weekend.

 

I have no regrets about the surgery I had at 15.  My scoliosis was bad, and there was no question that I needed surgery.  My results were good, and frankly I've had fewer probelms than most.  I am grateful for what modern medicine has done for me.  But it is time to push forward.  I probably can't make myself stand up straight again, as that seems to be beyond my immediate control and apparently a known problem caused by the particular type of surgery I had.  But perhaps I can buy some time.  Perhaps I can get stronger and control my pain. 

 

Look.  I did accomplish something.  I walked.  I cooked.  I made phone calls, unresolved phone calls, but phone calls nonetheless.  I looked up a bunch of articles on medical journals and through the Scoliosis Research Foundation.  That did not make me happy.  So now it is time to just rest and read.  I think I will curl up on the sofa and read the new issue of The Gentlewoman which just arrived today.

 

Maybe later I'll iron or knit.  Perhaps I'll hook up the grill, which also just arrived.  And I just remembered what I planned on writing about today. Now that I think about it the day looks brighter already.

 

 

When I was much younger I used to have nightmares in which I would find myself out in public at some even or another, where everyone was pointing at my feet and laughing.  Invariably I would look down and find that I was wearing my slippers and I would wake up in a cold sweat, absolutely mortified. I outgrew that fear as well as my youthful social anxiety.  Actually one of the ways I conquered my fear was by doing exactly what I dreaded most.  I forgot and wore my slippers, a pair of Ugg boots, out to the grocery store.  This was a long time ago, before you saw Uggs on every corner, and it was not common to see them out and about.  It never occurred to me in those days that I would wear them out, just that they were warm slippers.  The point was that no one noticed, or if they did, they were too polite to say anything, which is as it should be, and I stopped having nightmares.

 

But I still didn't wear my Uggs out in public.  That was one of those things that I just didn't do. Actually it was one of those things that striving upper-middle class people like doctor's wives just didn't do and I toed the line.  Until recently anyway.  

 

I was actually thinking of wearing my Uggs out before I moved to Tennessee, but hadn't yet.  When we were still living in the hotel I wore them a couple of times with jeans or a short dress and tights.  They seemed a better fit, stylistically speaking, than any of the other choices I had with me.  Once we were in the house they were happy to stay home while I galivanted about in loafers, clogs, my Acne boots, or the occasional Manolo.  Until this weekend anyway when it was cold and windy and I had a cold as well.  Warmth and comfort were desireable, and suddenly the uggs seemed perfect.

 

There we are, out and about on Saturday afternoon.  me in my uggs, jeans, a pink striped shirt and fleece-lined Barbour jacket.  G in his typical uniform of black fleece pants, gray tee, and brown fleece jacket.

 

Speaking of the new house, I can't believe its been 5 weeks already and I am still not completely unpacked.  It seems I always over anticipate how much I can do, and then I get mad at myself for not living up to expectations no matter how unreasonable they may be.  But the house, for the most part looks pulled together, and things are waiting for work that needs to be done, such as redoing a few closets, putting up bookshelves and unpacking the books and so forth.  Forget about upstairs and my own creative space; it is all still boxes, although I actually have hopes of getting to it soon.  

 

Once I wrote all this down I realized I am not that far behind schedule and that I don't give myself enough credit for having to do it all myself while at the same time trying as much as possible to maintain a sense of normalcy and routine for G.  I forget that I voluntarily went from having full time live-in caregivers to having someone come in only 4 full-days a week and 2 half-days plus a couple of hours on Saturday, just to maintain a sense of routine. And those activities, spending time together, shopping, cooking, watching TV in the evenings, can constitute a full-life even without the unpacking, acquiring, assembling, and putting away that moving into a new place can require.  And yes, there are days when life seems like a burden, and other days that it seems like a joy.  I am learning to hold on to the joys and let the burdens slip through, although being human, that always sounds easier than it actually is, and the burdens seem to crave more than their share of attention.

 

So perhaps living up to expectations isn't always in our best interest.  We are human.  We fail.  Hopefully we pick ourselves back up again, apologize to any we may have hurt in the process, and continue on.  As to apologizing to ourselves, it shouldn't be necessary, although all too often it is both necessary and neglected.  Something to remember when the brain turns on itself and our thoughts are consumed in self-immolation. Corny as it may sound, warm and fuzzy is often better and reality, if given a chance,  may be more rewarding than keeping up appearances.

 

Now that the days are getting shorter, I am often up before the sun.  Unfortunately, I have no view of the sunrise to enjoy with my morning coffee, usually just a gradual brightening as the sun filters through the thick morning fog that coats the river.  

 

So far the subtle play of light through fog is something I am unable to capture on film.

 

The sunsets, however, have been spectacular, and although my photographic skills don't capture their full glory, I occasionally come close.

Although I love the longer days of summer.  The fall sunsets are somehow more vivid and the timing now is perfect.

Providing the perfect counterpoint to the day.  

Allowing time to pause and reflect.

Before settling in on the sofa with my sweetie for a few quiet hours.

I never intended to disappear.  And yet for a while I did, if not from reality, at least from the virtual version of reality as it shows up on the internet.  In some ways this was good as I was quite busy and the time gained helped me focus.  And that time was time was well spent.

 

But it wasn't really the busy intervention of life that kept me away, at least not at first, but a head-slamming encounter with the kind of nastiness that swirls around the currents of the interwebs.  By the time I dealt with the issue and my own feelings, life had indeed intervened, and I was swept up in other tasks.

 

But I'm back, perhaps in some ways more open and more connected to my own voice, my own thoughts, and actually less interested in what other people think.   For that I have to say "thank you" to the trolls.  It seems that I have spent most of my life worrying about what other people think, worrying if I am doing the right thing, saying the right thing, trying to look right, trying to be right, trying to maintain the peace and avoid conflict at all costs.  Especially trying to avoid conflicts.  And it struck me that all that effort trying to avoid conflict, trying to do the right thing, trying to be nice, was for naught.  I'm not going to go into all the nastiness, because really what is the point?  We all get our share of it.  Hopefully it never crosses the line from our internet lives to our "real" lives, but it can.  I now know that from personal experience.  Despite this, I am still here.

 

Consider this blog active once again.   

 

In the intervening time a few things have happened:

1. My House is on the market.

2.There has been some sewing and some knitting.  These projects may or may not appear on this blog, depending on my whims.

 

And a few decisions have been made, namely that this is my blog and I am not particularly interested in pursuing a narrow focus or in any kind of move toward having a presence or branding.  It is what it is and I hope you continue to follow, but in the end I shall write what I feel like writing. This blog is my space apart from the pressures, conventions, and tyrranies of expectation.  

 

There will be knitting.

 

There will be sewing.  

 

Some of the knitting or sewing will be new garments, but some of it may also address alterations or refashioning of garments as well.  I am not and never will be interested in sewing all of my clothes and I honestly don't mind alterations.  In fact I've learned more about garment construction from altering high-end ready to wear than from any number of sewing books and classes.   I don't expect clothes to fit perfectly off the rack (no one should) and I don't expect patterns to fit perfectly either.  This leaves room for exploration.

 

In my mind, wearing and creating are completely different processes. Posts about things I make will be about the thing and the making.  Posts about what I wore will be about the wearing and the reasons behind the wearing.  I refuse to submit to the tyrrany espoused by some, but by no means all, in the sewing and knitting communities that garments must be shown as they are worn on a person. 

 

There will, of course, be books and music.  I am no critic.  I am increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of criticism per se, and of ratings systems.  Writing about books and music will be about what said books or music meant to me and will therefore be highly subjective and personal.

 

And of course, I will write about whatever else lodges in my mind and refuses to budge until I have beaten it into submission under a pile of words.  This is after all my blog, my journal, my place.  Hopefully that place will be a calm place. Athough I might occasionally vent, I hope to do so in a reasonable way.  I expect that my readers will do the same.  Different opinions and constructive criticism are welcome if they are offered with civility and at least a nod to keeping an open mind.  Comments remain open; however, those who persistently violate the tenets of civil discourse will be banned.