Look at that Bird

 Herself speaks. 

There's a term in relationship-speak referred to as a "bid for connection": a verbal (or nonverbal) attempt to get another person's attention, affection, support, or interaction. The term was apparently popularized by John and Julie Gottman, who are "relationship researchers" (that feels, in the words of movie Hermione Granger, like a "very woolly discipline"). 

I've seen the bid for connection recently on TikTok, described as the "look at that bird" experiment: one person says to their partner/significant other, "look at that bird!" What does the other person do? Do they look? Comment? Research the type of bird? Relay their own bird story? The level of resultant interaction based on the initial "bid" provides the asker information about their relationship with the ask-ee (and also about the state of mind of the ask-ee at that particular moment, to be sure; can't make sweeping generalizations from a single bird moment). It's an interesting idea.

I've spent some time watching my own Bid activity with my own People. It looks like this: if I can, I try to feel people out before I even get to the Bid stage -- will they be amenable to conversation or interaction? Are they busy? Are they mired in their own Stuff? Is this even a moment to point out, "look at that bird!" Assuming I can make an assessment and deem the Bid winds to be favorable, I send forth a Bid. If I am feeling brave, I may blindly send out a Bid without such knowledge. Either way, I know full well that it may be hours before a response appears, but hope all the same for eventual connection. 

I've discovered: I don't even get to the Bid stage much of the time; and when I do, so very many Bids go unanswered. 

It's a bit discouraging.

My People are so involved in their own Things that (my impression is) very often, a Bid will be unsuccessful or possibly even unwelcome. Everyone is either too busy, or disinterested, or in need of their own emotional support, or promptly vacates a conversation to attend to other matters. (In the latter case, I am torn between feelings of, thank you for acknowledging my Bid however briefly, compared to, having a truncated Bid feels worse than "I see your Bid but can't talk now, let's talk later when I can give you my full attention." No one says that and follows through, though.) 

I don't want to be a burden, or a bother. Can't just blurt stuff out Bid-wise when people don't have the headspace for it. And so I am slowly becoming more and more silent.

When a Bid is not picked up but just dangles there, out in the wild, waiting, I feel awkward. Unanswered small questions litter my texts and my environs, like dry oak leaves stirring with my steps. I scurry away from my one-sided conversations, and go hide. Never mind. I'll be (more) quiet now. 

Does no one have any extra bandwidth right now? Am I just... not compelling enough for people to ask what's on my mind or in my heart, or what bird is outside my window? 

It's hard not to take it personally. I know they're busy.

Should I take it personally? Maybe it's me. 

Maybe No One wants to hear what I have to say. There's a certain complexity/sorrow/depth to thoughts and feelings lately. Most people aren't comfortable with that. OK, then.

Send me a Bid and I'll listen, though. Tell me about your Birds. 

Puzzling

Beloved Husband and a couple of his friends went a-motorcyling by the Grand Canyon recently. They seem to have enjoyed it very much. (And they all work hard and deserve some relaxation and scenic vistas -- so good for them. It's important to take time for oneself.) 

He brought back a teeny puzzle from a gift shop, and we worked on it one evening. It has been approximately a hundred thousand years since I've worked on a puzzle, and I'd forgotten how satisfying puzzles can be. It was pleasant for us to undertake it together, especially since we so rarely are able to spend time on projects together that aren't Work projects. 

It was tricky, but we succeeded. Hooray! 

I Feel A Little Uncomfortable

A little while back, I attended a service at a Catholic Church. (I'm always vaguely surprised that lightning doesn't strike when I set foot inside, for I am very much a lapsed Catholic. I enjoy the readings and the rituals and the liturgy, and many aspects of the faith; I do not enjoy some of the very terrible history and cruelty and general exclusionary nature of the Church, not to mention the questionable hierarchy and misogyny and hidden abuse and other Issues.) It was a lovely church, with beautiful stained glass and interesting statues. 

One thought, though: why is Our Lord and Savior so... unclothed? How are we supposed to sit in worship with bare-torso-ed Jesus floating above us like that? It's distracting, frankly. He needs a shirt. If I could knit (or even sew), I would make clothes for our Lord.

Watch

I had previously used my FitBit as my watch for years. Now that I have a new streamlined FitBit (a FitBit Air) which does not have a face, I need to wear an actual watch. And it's a great opportunity for me to wear my excellent Snoopy watches, which I love. It's a little strange to wear an analog watch. Still -- Snoopy is always a happy thing.

Happy Father's Day

Today we celebrate Beloved Husband, for his role as patriarch of our little nuclear family and father to the Offspring. Happy Father's Day, Beloved. I know how much you love the Offspring and how you want the best for them, always. They are like you in many ways -- work ethic, kindness toward others, joie de vivre. Eyelashes. Interested in extended family lore. They are Good People, brought to this world with your help. Thank you. 

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I also reminisce about my lovely Daddy. Father's Day becomes harder, not easier, as time goes by. Perhaps it is a bell curve, and we have not yet hit the nadir. 

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 I keep four photos on my desk at work: one of Beloved Husband and I, from the week before we were married (ah, so beautiful, the promise of a lifetime together to come); one of the three Offspring, taken at Offspring the Third's high school graduations (my beautiful Offspring, all fledged adults -- what pride I have in them, and what hope for their futures); one small one of Cherished Friend and I together, from my last visit to Oceanside (a small photo, because we both hate having our picture taken, but nevertheless present, because friendship is a sheltering tree, and it is nice to have that reminder when workdays are hard); and front and center, my Daddy and I, smiling together, looking alike, a moment captured in time, never to happen again. 

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The other night, I had a dream: I picked up a phone, and there was a voicemail message. It was from my Daddy, and it was his voice, clear as it ever was, speaking the first four words with which he began every message: Hi (nickname), it's Daddy. I woke up, knowing that the voice was a ghost, and haunted by the clarity with which it was his voice, that I can no longer hear except while sleeping. 

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Some days, I do not know what to do with myself. So much love, and nowhere to put it. Especially for Daddy. I don't think I told him enough how much I appreciated everything he did for me. 

I hope he knew. 

Happy Father's Day, Daddy, wherever you are. 

Pause the Pause

Back in March or so (good gravy, so many things going on in March), I started up again with hot flashes.  Wheeeeee ewwww. Last time I had hot flashes was about two years ago -- a month of feeling VERY SUDDENLY HOT on occasion. Eventually, the moments dissipated, and bloodwork showed that no, I was not in fact entering menopause at all. Oy. I wondered: could this be it, this time? 

I happened to have a routine maintenance appointment with my OB/GYN at the end of the month (convenient timing), so I mentioned the situation, and left the appointment with orders for bloodwork to see what my hormone levels said now.  

Because April and May were busy, I delayed getting the tests done. But lo and behold, after about a month of feeling VERY SUDDENLY HOT on occasion, the flashes just... stopped. Back to your lives, citizens. Nothing to see here. 

With the bonanza that was the heart monitor, though, I thought it would be helpful to run those tests to ensure that there wasn't some perimenopausal source for my FitBit data. 

And.... nope. 

We're still doing the regular, non-menopausal thing. Which, all things considered, is good for my bones and my overall heart health. A little frustrating, given the body's firm desire to disallow overriding any attempts to shut down periodic cycling, still. But OK.

Do what you must, body. I only live here. 

We love off the mark dot com. 
Because it is, really, on the mark.

Hearty

 Back in April, my FitBit -- which I've worn regularly since the days of The Plague -- announced to me that it had noticed a high heart rate at a time when I was inactive. 

Well, that's not right.

I wasn't particularly alarmed. Nevertheless, in view of the family history of aFib, it certainly warranted mentioning to a doctor. Fortunately, I had a follow-up appointment within a few days to get the results of my cardiac stress test (ah, manteca dreams), so the timing was fortuitous. 

Good news: the stress test was clear. Yay me!

It was decided to run a thirty-day heart monitor to see whether any other aberrations like the one identified by the FitBit appeared.  And so that was done. (I'll leave out some significantly annoying petty details, because they are all water under the bridge now; suffice it to say, some customer service people were helpful in accomplishing the monitor, and some were VERY MUCH not.) 

The technology was interesting, and all-in-all relatively easy to use/convenient-ish. Not too uncomfortable, though a tad sweaty, and poke-y on the cleavage. Hard to shower without worrying about damaging the adhesive. Oy.

Results showed nothing alarming. The monitor did not pick up any further spikes like the one found by the FitBit (even though the FitBit itself identified some spikes in the same time frame). It did show one moment of "bunny ears" (comical, given the number of rabbits in my house) where my heart apparently tried to go into a right bundle branch block, but that appears to be an incidental finding and not of concern. 

In short: nothing to see here, citizens. Move along.

My FitBit has anxiety, maybe? Who knows.

So, moving forward: I opted to get a different FitBit; switch it to my other arm; and not be concerned. I can do either depression or anxiety, and depression has chosen me, so no time for anxiety. We'll see whether the new FitBit provides any interesting data -- it may be completely different data, because the FitBit platform has also changed significantly just recently, incorporating new AI technology (AI: it's everywhere). 

I think my heart might just need a little bit more love.