I'm still finding out what I'm about but I think it has something to do with writing and connecting with people and serving God. I don't believe I have to understand it all in order to do it and am pretty content with what comes my way, day by day. I believe there is a God who created all of us, the world we live in, the science we think disproves Him, well, everything. I know my natural tendency is to think I don't need God and I need to be saved from that. I know I need a savior and I'm thankful I have one. The small glimpses I get from the here and now of what my real home is going to be like when God restores it all - that's what fuels me, stirs my sense of adventure, and keeps me going. Until then, I write about what is.
Today I am doing laundry and being thankful for black pants. They are such a good thing, not just in February, but pretty much all the time.
When it comes to getting dressed, I don’t raise the bar very high. I am very okay with that. I wear clothes from the thrift shop, hand-me-downs from my daughters, catalog clothes, you name it. Sam’s Club is my favorite department store for clothes which gives you an idea of my requirements. Sometimes I even shop in a better store – I think I did that once last year, for a wedding. No matter where I shop, I look for and find black pants.
Black pants go with everything, which means I never have to decide what to wear on the bottom. One less daily decision is a winner in my book. Almost all black pants make me look slimmer even when I’m not. And when I’m not, it’s a blessing that almost all my black pants are stretchy.
Any time I see an ad for “travel pants” I give it a second look. Travel pants are black and stretchy, almost exclusively, because that keeps them from looking wrinkled or dirty – maybe for several days. They’re probably going to have pockets and for me, that’s important. And they can expand with me as I eat airport food or whatever strange fare I encounter.
There are many pair of black pants in my closet – all clean at the moment. There are corduroy pants, fleece pants, leggings, sweat pants, pants for snow, pants for hiking. All are special to me, all are black. If one pair of a certain kind is good, two are better. I wear them every day, except when I wear navy or grey. Black pants are my helpers. Just sayin’…
My guess is that we all have some trademark way of dressing that makes life a little easier for us. What clothing helpers do you have?
I have an affinity for old stuff. I like stuff that has a story to tell, stuff that reminds me of times past, people who have passed and ways of living that are no longer around. I like to look at my grandmother’s cook stove in the corner of my dining room, the spinning wheel that my brother made in high school shop class, old sewing machines like the one on which I learned to sew.
After dinner last night, I was thinking and asking myself what good thing stood out in my memory of the day. I had done some adventurous cooking and invited my “pod” of family over to eat – that, of course, was a very good thing. It was a satisfying feeling which lasted all the way through kitchen clean-up and dish washing. There on the counter, waiting to be dried and put away, was my pile of washed flatware. I can legitimately call it silverware because it is silver plated.
The set has been with me for years. It’s been present at so many holiday dinners, birthdays, and family special occasions that it is a true memory holder. Never mind the spoon that got caught in the disposal, or the little bit of tarnish on a few forks. It is a beautiful set, simple enough to be pleasing to me (I’m not a fancy girl), a gift from my mother (found by the garage sale queen). It came at a time when I was mourning the loss of all my tableware during our move to Florida, so it’s first role was as a comforter. It started my love of vintage silverware and I’ve collected odd pieces here and there ever since. It’s made by Oneida in a style called Queen Bess II from 1946. True old stuff.
Polishing silver is not my favorite thing to do, but I’ve found that if I use it often, it doesn’t need to be polished as much. It likes to be used, and I like to use it. And there it lay, an aftermath of another family connection around the table. Just looking at it made me feel good. There is a unique kind of beauty in “old stuff”, and I’m thinking, as I get older, that’s a good thing to know.
Many people just don’t get into doing jigsaw puzzles. I am not one of those people and I’m not passing judgment because I know that they have various reasons for walking away. I walk toward, sit down and lose myself in the hunt, quite easily.
It might seem like a waste of time to reconstruct a picture from hundreds of tiny pieces, look at it (maybe glue it on a board and frame it), and then take it apart and put it back in the box. For me, the value is in the process. Each puzzle is different not only in the picture, but in the way I must solve it. An hour into a hard puzzle I can usually decide what the dominant method should be. I am not always fast, but I am persistent. There has only been one puzzle that I have not finished because it was so disgustingly hard as to not be fun at all.
I am almost sure that someday I will solve a great, important mystery because I have learned to do jigsaw puzzles. It’s mind exercise.
Exercise is another activity that requires some persistence. A few weeks back I was working on 10,000 steps a day and writing about the experience. I did cut back a bit after the self-imposed challenge was over, but am still aware of how important exercise is to my physical health, of course, but also my mental health.
I decided to investigate Noom, a strategy which injects psychology into the weight loss world. I have lost 10 pounds and feel much better about the body I live in. Exercise is part of the Noom strategy and yesterday I was given a strength training regimen to work on. Yesterday’s good thing was making it through the session alive. Now I know how much stronger I need to get, and I have something new to persist in. I also got in 7,500 treadmill steps, which is a decent amount for winter.
Persistence in doing good things will be what gets us through 2021. Let’s encourage each other whenever we find opportunity. Just sayin’…
What are you doing that you would like to be encouraged to persist doing. I’d like to encourage you.
YesterdayI stepped outside into several inches of new snow. It fell most of the day as well. I also saw that the next seven days were going to be our coldest streak of the winter – staying below zero degrees most of the time. It was as if February was giving me permission to “chill”. So I did.
January and February are our most serious winter months and often have the most severe weather. When I was a child it was with great anticipation that I listened in the dark, pre-dawn hours for the radio announcer to give the school cancellations. Back then -30 degrees was the bench mark for us to stay home, the buses would not be running that day. Or, at least, they wouldn’t be running until it warmed up a little.
I have that same feeling now when I see a blizzard, or a arctic freeze coming. It’s permission to curl up under a blanket, start the fireplace, read more books. Yesterday’s good things were:
A puzzle that got started.
Knitting projects brought out
I made soup. We ate it before I could take a picture. Sorry. It was Lentil Soup.
It was the kind of day that brings relief to the parts of you that have been getting tired (unless you’re the one responsible for shoveling the snow…). It’s okay to get sleepy and take a nap. It’s okay to sit by a window and watch snow fall. Spend a few extra minutes with a cat on your lap. Yesterday February gave permission for those good things.
I am learning to recognize blessings, not actually counting them, like the old song describes, but realizing that all the small surprises in my day are really blessings. That was the common denominator of all the good things on this Wednesday in the first week of February.
A stunning sunrise that kept evolving so fast that I ran outside in the freezing temps at least three times to capture its stages. The brightest spot is no longer hidden behind a building like it has been for several months. The sun is moving! (I know, not really…)
Our family pod of five, gathered together to have a meal. And our extended family and friends on ZOOM who took the time to throw a virtual birthday party for our Ryan, my youngest daughter’s fiancée.
The catalog promising that spring is coming eventually for us, and even now for some happy gardeners. I have already planned, and ordered but that doesn’t keep me from reading it all again. Gardens are such hopeful things!
I’m especially grateful for these blessings on a day that also holds much tension. A dear friend battling cancer went into the hospital on an emergency basis. Blessing and trial, side by side, else how would we know that by contrast they sweeten each other. We are praying for this situation and appreciate all who join us in hoping for more time with our friend.
“I have got to get out of here!” This thought comes to me every now and then and thankfully I can do something about it. I can move. I often think, well, what if I couldn’t?
I’ve seen the frustration of people who can’t move due to life changing paralysis (former client), or chronic disease (the husband) and it never fails to produce gratitude. But, when I’m not looking right at it and thinking about it with intention, I sometimes take movement for granted.
Today was one of those days when I knew I should get out and move a little, because I still can. It’s cold outside (yeah, winter…) and the first few minutes I felt it. My face got cold and I felt the warmth being sucked out through the multiple layers of leggings, shirts and jackets. I was breathing differently to protect my lungs. A few minutes later as I started moving my skis, I forgot all about the cold. And by the time I’d been out an hour and a half, circling the property multiple times, stopping here and there to take a picture, I was actually hot inside all those layers. Movement wakes my body up, and it feels really good.
The ability to move is something to be thankful for, and it’s worth protecting. I ask God daily to help me keep moving, both for my own sake and for those I help, because they can’t move as well. Maybe it’s aging that is giving me more awareness of how wonderful it is to move. Maybe it’s February, and winter, and the cold.
If you got up today, stretched and walked out of the bedroom, savor that. Move it, while you can.
An interesting thing at the end of this first day of February – a relief, and a miracle of sorts.
The husband has a condition, Lewy Body Dementia, which wreaks havoc with his autonomic nervous system, among other things. This is the system that controls blood pressure, and it shows up as giving him unstable pressures from time to time. He has been on medication, but even that is trial and error in keeping him stable. So we check it fairly often.
This morning I found his medication from the night before. He had missed taking it with his other pills and it was still in the container. Sure enough, his pressure was on the high side, so he took a diuretic in addition to his morning medication. Late this afternoon I asked him to check his pressure again and he got this:
For those who might not have had to know anything about blood pressure, the top number is the pressure in the system when the strongest part of the heart, the ventricle, is squeezing. The bottom number is supposed to be the pressure when the heart is “resting” in between beats. The top number is ideally below 120 and the bottom number should be less than 80. The husband’s reading of 197/116 – not so good. I blinked a bit, held my breath and tried to get my plan in mind in case he stroked out. He’s had this happen before, but knowing that it changes quickly, I’m not one to speed him to the ER.
We prayed. I told God we would check Dennis’s pressure again in a few minutes and asked him to please let us know whether to stay home or get help. I gave him another diuretic, hoping it wouldn’t keep him up all night going to the bathroom.
About 15 minutes later, after we had finished eating dinner, his pressure was 128/84. His medications had not had time to work yet so we either had faulty equipment or a miraculous change. The equipment checked out okay. I have no trouble believing that I was spared spending an evening in the hospital, even spared the decision of whether or not to go. That’s really the hardest part of my caretaking role, deciding if it’s time.
There were other good things in this day, but this was probably the most dramatic. I’m happy to share it because it wouldn’t be right not to give God thanks for doing me a favor. And I would encourage anyone – don’t be afraid to ask him for things like this because he really is kind. Just sayin’…
It’s 2021, it’s February, it’s still winter. I’m challenging myself to find something good to be celebrated every day this month, in the interest of mental health. I need help, and thinking on good, deserving things is going to do wonders. Yep.
A lot of my southern friends have felt sorry for me, having to live “up north” in the winter. I will be the first to admit that the winters are long and can get pretty cold, but there are bright spots to being here.
Entering Wisconsin from the southern border, most of what one sees are farms, lots of farms, and small cities and towns. About 2/3 of the way north, things change and when you finally reach Hayward, you find… trees, lots of trees. Real forests, that go on for a long ways.
Thirty years ago when I was living here, logging was a huge industry. I used to see the logging trucks, fully loaded, on the roads, and wonder how there could be any trees left in the forests. That was years ago and there are still as many, if not more, logs being hauled out. The forests are so well managed, and so BIG, that there is no apparent shortage of trees.
And now for the bright spot. Today I got to go out in the forest with my brother on his snowmobile. We rode tandem for two hours. On the way home we switched places and I got to drive. Miraculously, we did not fall off the trail. The experience is a cross between riding a boat in choppy water, riding a dirt bike on rough roads or maybe a bit like posting on a horse with a rough trot. All done out in the forest, at speeds between 0 and 30 (40) mph and at temperatures usually below freezing. We call it winter recreation.
Recreation is pretty big here in the Hayward area because there aren’t a lot of other ways to make a living. People take ice fishing, snowshoeing, skiing and snowmobiling very seriously. There are about eight snowmobile clubs in this northwest corner of Wisconsin that have found ways to get from here to there, mapped them, created apps and invited the “world” to get up here and have fun in the snow. On good weekends the motel parking lots are full of trucks and trailers from as far away as the Dakotas, and the sound of snow machines is in the air. The trails are groomed often. Some are like the “interstates” of the forest and some are “one laners” complete with mile markers and signage.
My brother’s new machine has heated seats, hand grips, and the throttle (for that cold thumb). Even the helmets plug in and stay warm. It’s a very comfortable, maybe even luxurious, ride. However, they haven’t yet learned how to make them quiet. We live close to a major trail into town and I hear the snow machines a lot. I can only imagine what the deer, bear, wolves and coyotes are thinking now that their forest homes have been invaded.
Groups of snowmobilers travel for hours, stopping for “refreshments” and fuel at designated resorts and bars, bringing a lot of business to our area. All this happy influx of business hinges on two requirements. There has to be snow, preferably quite a bit of snow, and it can’t be so cold that it’s no longer fun but dangerous. This winter has not been bad so far, but we have February to get through yet.
I did enjoy my ride today. The forest was wild, the trail was full of twists, turns, hills and ravines – just beautiful! Most of the time I had no idea where we were, but I was glad to be there anyway. Something good happened today, just sayin’…
Today I donated, not to Salvation Army or Goodwill or Humane Society Thrift Shop. Today I donated to Memorial Blood Center. I’ve done it several times since moving north, since I’ve stopped making trips overseas and since my hemoglobin number has been high enough. It’s kind of strange to think of my blood being shared with someone else, from my body to theirs. It’s strange and amazing to think that I have that much extra, and that I can make more so that it’s hardly even missed.
I became aware of a new kind of donation called double red because my brother had given in that way and told me about it. I wanted to help meet the demand for red cells, which I was told was high, and I qualified so I went online and got on the schedule. That kind of donation has to be scheduled because it takes considerably more time on a special machine called an apheresis machine. Blood is separated into various components and some parts are collected, in this case it would be red cells, and the rest of the fluids and plasma are returned into the donor’s body.
Pulling into the parking lot today, I was a little excited about doing the double red thing. As a nurse, I’ve seen a lot of blood and transfused a lot of blood so I’m not upset or queasy about the thought, but I’ve never been the one hooked up to the machine either. I registered at a table manned by the bus drivers (yes, they do multitasking when the bus is parked) answered my online questions and was sent to one of the buses to get the process going. I had quite a wait and started thinking about the apheresis machine and wondering how it worked and how they cleaned it, wondering if it ever malfunctioned… was even getting a bit anxious (deep, slow breaths, calm thyself…).
Then due to a scheduling mistake they told me they couldn’t get me on a machine and asked me to donate whole blood instead. So, short story, that’s what I did. It was over in a few minutes and was familiar to me. I was fine with that.
The most common blood type is O+ and it also happens to be the one most easily shared with others. I am type O+ and am blessed to be healthy enough to donate, to give back. There’s also a little something to be hopeful about – people with O+ type blood have been showing more resistance to COVID19 and are among some of the most long-lived people as well. I’ll take that.
Yesterday I finished working a lengthy project. Today I am re-centering. I started to describe it as finding my own life again, but that is not true. It’s all my own life. Choosing to immerse myself in work away from home and my usual routine is choosing how to spend my life, my minutes. Things, like this project, that seem like they could be distractions are really important parts of the main thing. They are my life. Stepping outside the norm challenges me to be resourceful and flexible. It brings new experiences, new thoughts and emotions, reveals areas of needed growth. And when it’s over, it makes coming back to “normal” sweeter and restful.
Today I started back to center. I spent time talking with mom, and praying with friends. I took out the garbage, washed the dishes, found the washer and dryer under a rather large pile of stuff and started reading a new book to the husband. I watched snowflakes float down. I cooked broccoli, zucchini and salmon for dinner. I got a package ready for the mail. This too was all my life. One of my favorite sayings describes it perfectly. “It was all fun, and fun is good.” Just sayin’…