Out with the Old

2022 was... quite a year.

What will 2023 hold?

There are few certainties. 

Let us hope for moments of contentment, and peace, and a few Good Things along the way.

Wild/Civilized

Saw this distinguished gentleman -- deer, I believe -- while traveling yesterday. Delightful. 

No, But Thank You

I appreciate the reminder email, but I know just where Tiny Dog is, and always will. (Her ashes are on a shelf in my study.) Let's make that "update email notification preferences" button in the email larger, shall we? Thank you. 

Bunny Butt

Everybody Else's Feelings

 Herself speaks.

This is a tricky point in personal history right now, as lovely Daddy's decline continues apace. The members of my Family of Origin (brother, sister, mother, Daddy, and I) are all coping in differing ways and with varying degrees of success with the current state of affairs and the shadows of Things To Come. Emotions are colored by half-a-century-or-more of relationships, old hurts, current states-of-relationships, imported feelings from external relationships beyond the Family of Origin, and more. It's a lot. Beyond the emotions, there are the mundane conversations: how many days of home health care are necessary? Beyond necessary, how many more should there be, to ensure safety and sanity and peace of mind for all involved? Who is capable and willing to do what? We would all do everything if we could. We cannot. Resources must be deployed to fill in the gaps and bring everyone literal and metaphorical comfort. 

The hardest part for me, is that everyone else's feelings are nearly Deafening. I can hardly hear my own over everyone else's. I need to listen to mine, but others are SO LOUD that I cannot. It is frustrating. Frightening, even. I am terrified that someone is going to hand me their wailing, screeching Feelings, and I will have to somehow tend to them. No thank you. I cannot. Please do not make me. 

If it happens, I will do what I must, because I always do. Do what needs to be done. What will be the cost? Only time will tell. 

-----

As a youngster/teenager, I never learned how to help other people with their emotions, because in truth I did not have help with my own. I did not have a good example of how to acknowledge someone else's Feelings, how to help someone to feel Feelings safely, how to come out on the other side of an emotional difficulty and move forward. 

Even as a young adult -- or even as an adultier adult -- validation of Feelings and assistance with moving through them, has been sparse and hard-won. I feel like I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to explain my Feelings to the very few people with whom I am comfortable discussing such things, and even then I feel as though I have limited success. It's extraordinarily painful. I often don't even want to try. But I still do, because even after all this time, I still long to be understood. To be Seen.

Somehow, I am always surprised when someone is nice to me when I am experiencing Feelings.  

-----

I don't really know what else to say at this juncture. I am putting one foot ahead of the other, one day at a time. I don't know how much, or how little, time there is. I don't foresee anything getting easier any time soon. If I am silent, gentle reader, it is because everything around me is So Very Loud. 

We'll get there. 

Please keep my much-loved Daddy in your thoughts. 

Thank you. 

Christmas

And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses. 

- Taylor Caldwell

Revealed

Current Mood

Buck at the Park Down the Block

Neat!

Tarot

In the spirit of Taking Myself To Go Do Things, I went to a nearby artsy-craftsy fair at a local park. There were a lot of "mystical" booths and wares, which I always find mildly interesting. I'm not a believer in the powers of astrology or crystals, but I am willing to hear out those who are, out of scientific/people-y curiosity. 

At one booth, the gentleman hawking the wares informed me that the nearby young woman was their local Tarot reader, if I was interested in a reading. I declined politely and moved on, but thought about it later. 

On the one hand, I think the idea of Tarot is fascinating, because it requires in part a level of people-reading skills that would be extremely useful to have, not to mention a level of imagination that would be interesting as well. It would be fascinating to see that in action. Could I be "read" by a stranger? Probably. How on point would it be? And if so, how alarming would that be? 

On the other hand, I realized that my first specific thought in this specific situation was to decline a Tarot reading because I didn't want to subject the Tarot reader to any bad juju/intense aura/weird planetary alignment/karmic whatnot that I am currently experiencing. I had this sense that I'm just too much right now, it might be harmful to her or she might need to 'smudge' herself or her Tarot deck or otherwise cleanse her aura after interacting with me. I wouldn't want that for anyone. 

There's a lot going on inside my head -- some migraine-related, lots emotion-related, with various emotion-related bits having to do with various people in various amounts of intensity at varying times -- and I'm choosing to let it all percolate and sift itself through rather than to try to actively sort itself out right now. Given that I'm already a slightly odd and relatively intense individual anyway, the combination means that I am more likely than ever to be a bit much for another person to experience even tangentially. That's why I'm keeping myself pretty tightly contained right now.

Maybe that's why I've had more migraines lately. Hmmm.

On the other hand (so many hands), that's probably all silly. I'm not so special. My feelings are not likely to be qualitatively much different from those of any other human being's. Surely I'm not bad luck or a dark cloud. Right? 

I just want to protect other people in the way that I do not, at the moment, feel protected myself. And so I try -- despite where I am inside my head -- to foster light for others like lovely Buela does.  By shining enough light for others, perhaps I can find the way out of my own darkness, too. 

Fall

Today's earworm: Fall at Your Feet (James Blunt), a cover version of a Crowded House song.  I'm sure I've posted it before - I came across it while listening to the iPod, and it hits just right. 

Credit Where Credit's Due

 Beloved Husband gave me a Harry Potter-themed purse for our anniversary this year.  (It was an unspectacular anniversary otherwise, seeing as I had COVID at the time. Nevertheless, the gifts were quite thoughtful.) It's an excellent purse: backpack style (my favorite kind), just the right size, subtle, tasteful. Nice.

As I've mentioned previously, I've had a spate of routine maintenance appointments lately, plus have also run a bunch of errands -- gone to the pharmacy and the grocery store and the eyeglass place and the bookstore and whatnot. (I'm the only one wearing a mask these days, but that doesn't bother me: I have festive holiday-themed masks! What could be better?) The purse has come with me everywhere, and I've received numerous compliments on the purse. Everyone loves it. 

Each time someone comments on the purse, I give appropriate credit to Beloved Husband: thank you - I need to give credit where credit is due, it was a gift from my husband. He did a good job. And the compliment-giver invariably says, he did! 

And they're right. He did!

I think that there's a tendency, not only in the media but in society in general, to portray husbands as being poor gift-givers. People roll their eyes and scoff at men in general and husbands in particular when it comes to presents, and allow them to maintain deliberate incompetence in the gift-giving department. We're doing men a disservice. They can do better. We should let them. And we should always give credit where credit is due. If they do a good job, we should say so. 

I really like my purse. Thanks, Beloved Husband!

The Angels Who Walk Among Us

 Herself speaks.

I had a short text conversation this past week with my mother-in-law. We'll call her Buela, because that is what everyone calls her. 

Buela inquired after my parents' health, and I let her her know that things are going as well as possible. She was delighted to hear. She then she inquired after Cherished Friend, saying that she hoped he was doing well also. I answered in the affirmative and let her know I had spoken to him recently. And she replied:

Mija, that is wonderful! Please give him my regards next time you talk to him, tell him he is not forgotten. <3 

And this simple statement somehow both broke my heart and healed it. She keeps my Cherished Friend in her prayers and in her heart, always, even though she hasn't seen him for years, because she knows how important he has been, and continues to be, to me and my family. 

This is the kind of person Buela is: she loves a person, because someone she loves, loves that person. 

It is the kind of person I try to be. 

What a shining example of Love. Buela, an angel among us. 

Lovely Oceanside

Every time Cherished Friend captures and sends an image of Oceanside, I think:

What a lovely place. I am so happy for him.

I hope, every day, that the beauty and the water and the natural life all around him, bring him some genuine moments of well-deserved Peace.

Unexpected Side Effects

 It's been nearly two weeks on the new migraine meds, and.... they might actually be working. (KNOCK WOOD.) The nearly-constant headache has diminished significantly. I've only needed one rescue triptan in this timeframe. I'm not quite in the clear yet, but things do seem a bit better. It's almost too good to be true. I have another four weeks to go before I can make a decision about whether to continue, or whether to try a different option, but I'm (extremely) cautiously optimistic. We shall see.

One unexpected side effect of the lack of omnipresent headache is: there is room for Feelings. And Feelings have made themselves known, and occupied space, accordingly. 

Boy howdy. I don't know what to do with them.

There are a lot of Feelings this time of year, anyway -- Holidays always trigger dormant wants, needs, desires. Old memories, new longings. And right now, with my lovely Daddy's poor health and the Phantom of Things To Come lurking in the corners, there are even more Feelings abounding. With all these Feelings frolicking, the old faithful companions of Abandonment and Unbelonging join in the fray. And here I am, spectator to the gathering.

I don't know which Feelings need attention -- if any. Do I just acknowledge them? Observe them as they pass by? Do I need to converse with them? Or do I need to... actually Feel them? Um, no thank you. There are too many.

I want to try to explain the situation to Beloved Husband, but I think it is too much for him to understand -- or perhaps I lack adequate words. My statement to him of, I am tired, yields a response of, Me too. I don't doubt that he is tired. But there seems to be a full qualitative difference in our respective Tiredness. His Tired, borne of demanding clients and endless Hard Work, is different from my Exhausted-from-All-The-Feelings Tired. I do my best to help him with his Tired, but I am not sure how to begin to ask for help with my Tired. I am not even sure if there is something that will help.

I think that perhaps some time in Nature will help. 

Some place with pine cones. Because evergreens are my favorite.

That would be lovely. 

One day at a time. 

Insured

 The other evening, Offspring the Second and I were communicating about health insurance. He is picking a new plan. We went over premiums, co-pays, co-insurances, deductibles, how to balance all the things. 

I realized: he is a fully-fledged adult. And I am so incredibly proud of him.

-----

I don't write often about Offspring the Second, because he is an extremely private person. But he launched himself into the world on his own a little more than a year ago now. He found himself a job, and another job, and an apartment, and overcame some tricky obstacles, and purchased a vehicle, and navigated vehicle insurance, and done all the grown-up things, and has flourished. He asks for nothing (even though I would happily give him anything). He is Getting It All Done, all on his own. Which, I think, was his ultimate goal when he left home.

He's so bright, so diligent, so thoughtful. So quietly observant. Witty. Delightful. I miss having him at home. Yet I am so glad that he is achieving his goals. 

My lovely young man. Well done. I hope life continues to bring you everything your heart desires. 

Inner Peace

I found it! Of sorts. At the bookstore.

Twenty-Four

 Offspring the Third has turned twenty-four.

He is a charming, sweet, tender-hearted young man. He works hard. He loves his kitties. He notices when people are upset, or if they need a glass of water. He roots for the underdog. He tries not to let the bitterness of the world creep into his heart. 

He has taught us patience, and kindness, and how to ask for what we need. He is a magnificent soul. 

Happy birthday, Offspring the Third. We wish for good things for you, always. 

Trees in the House

Apprendre

Dreamscape

 Herself speaks.

I've got a new nightmare. It's not really a nightmare, though, because it's not necessarily frightening or anxiety-inducing. It's just an... unpleasant and unusual occurrence, might be the best way to describe it. It is intertwined with ongoing migraine, which makes everything more vivid and which narrows the band between sleeping and waking. And it is very strange.  

It's a dream. In the dream, something or someone approaches. It's a plant, or perhaps a person -- some kind of entity that has a definitive form, although the form has not quite coalesced where I am yet. I can see it, but it is shadowy, or perhaps incompletely corporeal is more accurate. It will, in due course, form entirely where I am. And the completion of its formation where I am is a harbinger of Bad Things. (The entity does not itself bring the Bad Things -- rather, its complete appearance indicates that Bad Things have arrived.) 

I know in the dream that it is important that I wake up before the entity arrives completely, and the (always-short) dream consists of my attempting to wake myself up. I do inevitably wake up, too -- only to discover that the bridge between asleep and awake was a razor-thin line in the first place, and that I have been speaking in my sleep, or have sat up and am pointing toward the entity, or otherwise bringing the dream into wakefulness even as I bring wakefulness into the dream. 

It has happened three or four times now, and is vivid enough and bridges the sleep/wake gap enough that Beloved Husband has noticed it and been disturbed by my behavior and the event. Definitely out of the ordinary. What does it mean?

I am at a loss to identify any particular feelings associated with the dream, other than a kind of danger is approaching sentiment (to be distinguished from active fear, which is a very different sensation).

 Perhaps identifying what it is not, will help me to identify what it is. 

It is not an abandonment dream. (I am very familiar with those, having previously had a very specific abandonment dream for years and years, until I recognized it for what it was and acknowledged the primordial fear of abandonment that I unwittingly carry with me. And side note, a story for another day: the abandonment dream I used to have with regularity, I no longer have -- the last time it appeared, an entity known to me made a singular, brief and reassuring appearance, and the entire dream disappeared in a puff of smoke, never to return.) 

It is not a dream of anger, or powerlessness. It is not sorrow. It is not something of which I am afraid. It is something which I know is coming, which I would like not to encounter yet, but which seems inevitable. 

As I write, I realize: I think I know. Or at least, there is a plausible explanation for what is lurking in my subconscious and emerging in the wee hours of the night. 

I don't want to give it a name yet, because I might not be quite right. I might be, though. 

We shall see. 

Art found here: https://www.funeralguide.com/blog/death-art

Reunions/Yesteryear

Herself speaks.

Beloved Husband and I are in the process of making reservations for his thirty-fifth college reunion. It seems absolutely impossible that so much time has lapsed. Wasn't his graduation just yesterday, or last week, or perhaps just a few years ago? I was there -- it was just a year before my own graduation. 

I am struggling with the whole concept, because... I miss the me of back then.

-----

I found college to be an isolating experience. I was never sure of the people around me, whether I fit in, whether I truly belonged. I didn't know how to communicate effectively, how to make and keep friends, how to ask for what I would like or what I might need. It was oftentimes quite lonely. Nevertheless, there was also so little obligation: all I needed to do was to study and do well in my classes.  What a breathless freedom from responsibility. I did not fully appreciate it back then. I long for that freedom now. And I long for who I was then, too. 

In days of yore, I could eat what I liked, when I liked; my body cooperated and functioned properly nearly all the time. It was youthful, nubile, helpful. What blissful ignorance, to give my body no thought, except to know that it was generally conventionally acceptable. And as Beloved Husband reminded me last night when we were chatting about college and reunions, apparently attractive -- my junior year, I was voted "person with whom one would want most to spend five minutes in the closet". (That might speak more to the paucity of alluring people in our social group than my particular attractiveness, I feel compelled to say.)  

I was comfortable in my own skin. Happy to be the first on the dance floor, because dancing was always a joy. Pleased to buy Play-Doh to share with my classmates. Delighted to be the Elf at the Christmas party, because what could be better than handing gifts to people? Satisfied just being me, with the only expectations being my own. Delightful. 

And now here we are, these thirty-odd years later. My body is not at all what it used to be. I am middle-aged, invisible, no longer conventionally attractive. I haven't been dancing in ages. I spend my days trying to meet expectations of clients, coworkers, other people. 

I am tired. 

-----

A few years before college, my family took a vacation to a Club Med. I was about sixteen at the time: old enough to have developed sufficiently to be mistaken for a grown woman, and also old enough to know I did not want a grown woman's attention. The best part of the vacation was blending into the crowd of young woman -- all of us in our bikinis, all of us of uncertain age, all of us enjoying the freedom that came with youth and beauty. It was probably more dangerous than I realized for the young women with so many hungry men prowling about. My aloofness and disinterest in most male attention probably protected me more than I realized. 

I befriended a nice girl with a blue bikini, who was cautiously exploring the men of the resort, while I read my book under a palm tree in my favorite red bikini with the purple stripes. We played the games of catch and volleyball on the beach with the others, tied mauve sarongs around untouched hips, giggled and drank an occasional glass of wine with dinner and blushed when men much too old for us stared a little too long. 

I found the photos recently while looking for some college-era pictures. I've covered my face and the faces of the other young women, because while it has been some forty years or so, we all deserve anonymity even in our innocent youthful exploits. 

I look at those photos, and I wish that I could momentarily slip back into those moments: to be carefree, to have health and youth and a molecule of beauty, to dance and to play, unconcerned for the future. 

It was glorious. 

I no longer have that same health or youth or beauty. Perhaps, though, I can still find a time to dance and to play. Perhaps, even, at the upcoming reunions. We shall see.

   

Home Alone

 Herself speaks.

With the exception of a couple of dorm rooms here and there, I have never actually lived by myself: I moved from my parents' home, to apartments with roommates, to my marital abode. That's the way it worked out, and it has always been fine. 

As I am more and more firmly ensconced in middle age, though, every now and then I think about what it might be like to live by myself. It's not that I don't love my People -- for I love them tremendously -- it's rather that I have reached a point in time where caregiving and maintaining communal spaces and attending too/anticipating other peoples' needs, in combination with middle-aged exhaustion, has left me completely worn out. And so I occasionally think about: what if the only laundry, was mine? What if the only dishes, were mine? What if the only grocery shopping, was for what I needed? What if the space, was mine alone?

What if I only had to look after myself? 

(I function under the assumption that my People are all tending to themselves/being tended to by Others when contemplating these things, because that relieves me of the guilt/obligation of worrying about them.) 

In all honesty, the few times I have had the opportunity to look after just myself, it's been a little weird. As accustomed as I am to tending to others, I am the tiniest bit at a loss if I am only tending to myself. It's not bad, though.

Sometimes I contemplate what RV I might like, if I had a solo space for myself. And sometimes I contemplate what kind of small house I might like. I'm particularly fond of several of the designs of the Ross Chapin architects (link here: https://rosschapin.com/plans/small-houses/):  the Edgemoor Cottage, for example, or perhaps the Egret or the Spruce House. 

I think that perhaps I need to take more time for myself -- maybe find a way to go solo camping safely. Something that gives me the time to tend to myself (something I am terrible at), without the obligation to tend to other people as well. It would be restorative, I think. 

One day at a time. 

The Edgemoor Cottage, found here:

https://rosschapin.com/plans/small-houses/edgemoor-cottage/

Outstanding. 

Routine Mainenance, Nearly Complete

 This week was positively replete with maintenance appointments. 

The kidney doctor reported that all the screens looked good, no sign of any further kidney stones -- and so, I have been released into the wild, with no further need for follow-up unless additional kidney stones appear. Yay! 

The dermatologist conducted just a routine survey. We didn't do the whole-body review (I only feel a need for that once a year), but we did take a close look at the problematic areas, especially my face with the previous MOHS surgery sites. Everything seems OK, with nothing obviously new having appeared. Free for another six months. Yay! 

The neurologist appointment was a little more important, since I am desperately seeking better help for the migraines that have increased in frequency and severity lately. We've agreed to try one more medication for the next six weeks.  It's one I've tried before but did not have success with -- but I suspect the previous failure was due to encountering a very strong migraine trigger at the time. Now that I have a better feel for the triggers, perhaps it might be helpful after all.  Here's hoping. The next step will be medicinal Botox, which I need to research. I'm a little bit in despair at this point. 

The only appointment remaining on the calendar this year is one more follow up from the recent surgery, the last week of the month. Things feel okay, and so I can be brave for that one. 

I will be glad not to think about what is happening body-wise for a bit after that. I would like to just... be.