Happy Hours

Inspirational song: Montana (Frank Zappa)

Who doesn't love dipping a toe into absurdity every once in a while? For us, forget just the toes. We jumped into the deep end and let our freak flags fly. I went to dinner with my local girls (my daughter and foster daughter) at the Montana Grill, and there wasn't a one of us who didn't walk face first into a verbal trap at least three or four times over the course of one meal. It was like watching Sideshow Bob walk through a field of rakes. I haven't laughed this hard in a long time. None of us takes ourselves so seriously that we couldn't appreciate jokes at our own expense. We all needed a night to unwind, and we seized the opportunity we were given.

My favorite moment of the night: "I'll have the Avalon burger on a gluten free bun, medium rare," I ordered. Younger child, "I'll have the Snowmelt." (Looks at me) "Also medium rare." I told her that I'd raised her right. She explained that it was a chicken sandwich. Nothing like medium rare fried chicken, we decided. "I used to play bass for Medium Rare Fried Chicken," she said.

Honorable mention: Waiting outside closed store where her boyfriend works. He was still inside, showing semi-precious stones to the last customers, while the Buffalo Stampede concentrated on the block outside. I asked whether he'd have to come clean the glass if we pressed our faces up against it to get his attention. She immediately shoved her bag at me, "Gurrrl, hold my purse," and headed to the glass door.

We danced like fools to the fight songs, we sang along to the Journey show that the Golden Buffalo Marching Band has resurrected this season. These girls are great for helping me forget to be old and broken, even if it is just for a few hours. I felt like I was still in college, that everything still worked on me, and that hopping along Pearl Street to the sound of a drum cadence was my birthright. I'm exhausted now, but absolutely thrilled to be alive. Plus, I have a football game to look forward to tomorrow, and it is generally assumed my team will win. I can sleep happy now.

Extroverted

Inspirational song: Bold as Love (Jimi Hendrix)

Well, today could not have been more different than yesterday. After allowing myself a blanket fort rest period, I spent all day being productive and extroverted. For the entire day, I wanted to be visible. It has been years since I found myself wanting to be looked at and talked to this often. I was stuck in a horrible rut of feeling bad and feeling worse about my appearance. I'm getting to a place where I feel healthy enough to dress well, stand straight, and make eye contact more often than not. It has only taken seven or eight years for me to loop back around to this mindset. So glad to be here. So glad.

I had a few people suggest that I needed to go shopping for a new rheumatologist, because I hadn't gotten super clear communication with the one I've been seeing. But I hung in there, and gave her more chances. I'm glad I did. I think we've gotten past the awkward stage, and we are on the same wavelength now. Today went very well, and we covered a lot of ground. She approves the new supplements I added in without seeking permission first (turmeric capsules). She also allowed me my first real painkillers since all of this started in January. You can't imagine what fun it was going through a major flare of a chronic pain illness with nothing to take the edge off except Tylenol. And finally, we revisited the conversation about fibromyalgia. As she says, it's a diagnosis of exclusion, so it will take a while to decide that it is in play, but as of yet, it's still on the table.

Since I was dressed so cute for my doctor visit, and craving public attention, I went out to lunch with my girlfriends, wandered the streets of Boulder with my roommate, and even went back out and walked again after dark in my favorite public park. It was just too good of a day not to be out and active. It was cloudy and cool in Boulder, perfect for a walk. An awful lot of people seemed to agree with us. I managed not to spend much money, just restocked my favorite kind of incense, and I dropped a dollar into the open case of a rather talented banjo player. Saw a guy making art on a fountain using only leaves. Great day. It was capped off after dark when we arrived at our usual park to find that they are indeed constructing an outdoor skating rink, as we suspected. For the first time since childhood, I am imagining that I will be able to ice skate. Skating used to wreck my ankles, because I never knew how to control them to avoid strain. How far I have come, to be bold enough to test my muscles, joints, and balance in such a way, and think I might just get away with it. I don't know when this rink will be open to the public, but it will be far enough out that I can start doing some conditioning to prepare. Winter is coming, and I'm going to be ready.

Splunge

Inspirational song: The Story in Your Eyes (Moody Blues)

It turns out that a single day of melancholia wasn't enough. I allowed myself a second day of quiet reflection and meditation. The grieving process is ongoing. I am gaining more and more days between the hard times, but they still sneak up on me from time to time. One thing I've discovered lately that there are still a whole lot of songs that remind me of the past, and my reaction is not always simply to smile fondly and recollect. It's a toss up whether I'll end up sobbing silently or having pretend confrontations with absent family members, when certain memories are rekindled. I mostly had imaginary arguments today, while I sat quietly, listening to the soft rock radio station. I'm not terribly proud of my day, but at least I'm honest about it.

On the whole, things are improving. With medication and dedication, I am feeling much better. I don't have to be persuaded to exercise. I even suggested that it would be fun to walk to the pharmacy and natural foods store this afternoon (with the sun still shining brightly and everything--that was new). But I still struggle with sleep schedules and balancing rest and activity. I go see the rheumatologist again tomorrow. I wonder whether she will have any new suggestions for me.

Ah, hell. With little new inputs, I have little new to opine about this evening. I have a whole lot of fun stuff planned for the next week, but today my engines were idling. Check back over the next several days. There will be better topics than me moping about what was my life and is no longer.

Dead and Gone

Inspirational song: Living in the Past (Jethro Tull)

Ghosts of the past visited me last night. There were two of them, and if I'm honest with myself, they both died in the summer of 2014. In my dream, we were at a lake, looking for a picnic site. Mr X was planning a lakeside party to celebrate our anniversary, to make up for the one we missed this past summer. As we walked around, members of the Pride were there with us, including Cricket, my dear calico who died during that rough summer two years ago. She was curled up in my arms, blissfully happy to be with me again. I was equally thrilled to have her back with me. If there was a whole lot more to the dream, I didn't remember it. I woke up so melancholy, having to face reality that memories were all I have left of these once cherished parts of my past. The melancholia lasted all day.

I got to know someone new this evening. A woman joined our writers group two weeks ago, and this evening she gave a presentation on a project she's been working on for years. She and a good friend of hers from Missouri created a book series they call "Grannie Annie." It is published annually, and is a collection of family histories as written by children between the ages of 9 and 14. The children are encouraged to interview members of their families, and learn interesting stories about their relatives. They then write the stories in their own words, to submit to a selection committee. If they can include an illustration with their work, all the better. So far most of the stories have come from children in the US, but they can come from anywhere. The project has mostly been spread by word of mouth. Teachers have encouraged their classes to enter, and the Grannie Annie leaders are trying to engage with home schooling support groups and magazines as well. At the end of the presentation, our group made more marketing suggestions, like reaching out to library conventions, to encourage librarians to add these books to their collections. We read a few of the stories out loud, and were moved by the pathos and humor that these young people brought to their family histories.

Next week, our writing assignment is to create one of these family histories for ourselves. The main criteria, just as it is for the kids, is that we are to tell a story of something that happened before we were born. Not everyone has a parent, grandparent, aunts, or uncles left to interview. I am fortunate enough to have family left to interrogate. So, mom, be thinking of something I'm allowed to share. Maybe about our own Granny. That would be cool. Annie's Granny.

Talked Out

Inspirational song: No More Words (Berlin)

Like almost one third of the country, I spent my evening watching a political spectacle on the television, making a lot of sarcastic comments and angry retorts that only my roommate could hear. I believe it was Chuck Todd on NBC who called the whole thing "surreal." Indeed. I don't think I need to offer any more words than that. He was entirely correct.

My progress continues. I advanced my efforts on real estate dealings past another few milestones. During my weekly phone call with my managing broker, it occurred to me how lucky I am that my boss is a teacher as well. I keep entering new territory, this time into the realm of what constitutes a good, buildable lot, and he gave me lots of his time, patiently explaining to me what I need to research and how I need to write the applicable contracts. I have a few irons in the fire now, and I was glad that I had plenty to discuss with him. There have been several weeks that I had no news to impart, for good or for bad. It's much better to sound busy than sound like I just emerged from the blanket fort long enough to make a phone call.

I've been getting a whole lot of pictures from other people, and have not shared many of them. Today I specifically requested permission to post the ones I just received. The kids (my daughter and her cohorts) went for a walk in the mountains south of Boulder, and someone had a good eye with a camera. I have run out of words to say this evening, so I will let pictures speak thousands of them for me instead.

A Walk in the Park

Inspirational song: Oh Where, Oh, Where Has My Little Dog Gone? (Septimus Winner)

I thought I wouldn't have much to write about. I daydreamed a whole lot, but didn't do anything particularly noteworthy. I tried to make up for yesterday's lack of photos, by taking a few around my Park, and then by going to walk around the lake park in the golden hour, to gather some images. I did three laps around the lake, and got a few good shots. I was pleasantly tired afterwards.

Then I came home. I hoped that I would see Alfred's face looking at me through the door to the garage, where he almost always is when I drive up. He disappeared right after dinner, and I hoped he was inside and not over the fence. He wasn't in his spot. He wasn't on my bed or on the couch downstairs either. I grabbed a flashlight and one of the bowls of cat food, and went for another walk, out the back gate, down the alley to the big, busy street, and I looped the block all the way around to the other end of the alley, and back to my gate. No sign of my bunny boy. I Do Not Like This. It is one week shy of the day we lost Zoe fifty yards from the front door. I am not ready to have another incident like that. I want him to come home, and I want everything to be okay.

When I first reached the end of the alley, a young (adult) man who appeared to have some challenges with making eye contact and interacting with strangers came out his back gate, calling for "Leo." I asked him whether he had seen a large white and black cat, and he looked off into space a few moments, and said, "We are missing a cat." I said me too, and realized the conversation was at an end. I don't know whether it is simply a coincidence, or do I need to wonder whether there was a feline altercation that sent two of them off to territory where they didn't belong. Either way, I have the back door cracked enough that the girls can't get out, but Alfred can call for me to let him in.

Think happy thoughts, everyone. Boy needs to come home and explain himself.

The Change

Inspirational song: Blowin' in the Wind (Bob Dylan)

I really must not have been paying attention. Wasn't it just last week that I was griping about the weather continuing to hit the 90 degree mark, and I was worrying about how much water my lawn was requiring to grow to unmanageable lengths? I was struggling to keep the hanging baskets of flowers alive because the soil dried out so quickly in the sun. It hasn't been that long since I purchased an extra fan to put on my bedside table, so that I had a hope of being cool enough to sleep for half an hour at a time. I must have blinked, because suddenly two days ago I noticed how many crunchy brown leaves are in the gutter just beyond the sidewalks. The nights are getting cold enough that on my frequent wake-ups, I find myself shutting off those fans, including having to talk myself into getting out from under the covers to walk to the window, to stop the downright chilly air from blowing in. Yesterday I bought a different blanket, one that my doctor insisted I use. This one is a simple woven cotton number, more breathable than my thin quilt, so that I might be warm enough to sleep and cool enough to sleep through a hot flash. Today, while I had the back door open so the Pride could roam while I cleaned house, a strong autumn wind picked up, and sent falling leaves dancing through the Park. I really should have taken my radio outside to listen to the game out there, to truly enjoy the beauty of the day. It's probably okay that I didn't. My neighbors might have wondered what that crazy lady was up to, coaching the players from the safety of my internet connection, purring compliments like a soccer mom stroking the egos of a team of five year olds.

I let myself get completely spun up listening to the game, strung out on too much caffeine and enthusiasm. By the time my team had held on to win, I was unable to be still to save my life. (And really, not being still will effectively save my life, won't it?) I grabbed my purse and ran to the grocery store on a quick errand, and upon leaving, thought, I'm already out, and I have an excess of nervous energy. Why don't I go ahead and go for a walk? My roommate wasn't home today, so I took myself over to the park with a path that loops a pond, and zipped around it for a couple quick laps. My pace was quicker, for being out in the shoulder-high weeds under a nearly moonless sky all by myself, hoping that this park was far enough away from the mountains and deep enough in the city that there would be no mountain lions or other predators all too happy to find an unsuspecting human chew toy wandering by. (There is actually a lot of open space and undeveloped land west of this park, so I might have been unjustifiably confident in assuming a lack of predators.) The air was crisp, and although I had failed to grab a jacket on the way out the door, my activity kept me feeling comfortable on the walk. The best thing I proved to myself was what I had suspected weeks ago, that I didn't need to have an over-six-foot-tall male bodyguard on my walks after dark to feel both safe and inspired to go out and get my exercise. In the past I would have taken Bump and Elsa with me to have the same feeling of confidence, but since they don't live here anymore, I have been reluctant to go out much alone late at night. (I do really miss having them along on my late night walks, even if I didn't ever get used to how much Elsa pulled on the lead.) I'm not sure I'll ever get another dog to make up for their absence, but it might be nice if I were to get visitation rights to them once in a while.

One thing my roommate has been good for is reminding me nearly every day to stop and appreciate how far I've come. He says "today was a good day" often, like it is a mantra that helps him stay centered. Even though I didn't see him today to hear him say it, he's imprinted that on my psyche enough that I have learned to say it myself. Today was a good day. I am stronger, relying on myself, and accomplishing a great deal as I build myself back up and improve my immediate environment. This is a welcome change from where I was six months ago. Very welcome.