Downhill

There are decidedly fewer days left in April than have already passed, so I am on the "downhill" slope in terms of blogging in two blogs daily & submitting poems daily. And I'm one week into the current Whole Life Challenge.

With the headache I had most of the day, it was hard to concentrate and get things done. But once it passed, I was able to focus better. Drove S. and Mr. Darcy to the vets for an 8am appointment, walked the dog, cleaned the house more, had blood drawn & pressure taken & urine samples, all that jazz, for the insurance company, then worked on paperwork and weeding, went for a walk with D., a trip to storage, drove A. home, more yard work, poetry submissions, and now posting. A busy day - and it's after 9:30pm now! - but still it felt too short, knowing tomorrow starts another workweek. 

Quickly Approaching Fast

Tonight, D. & I will fast for blood tests tomorrow. We're thinking of getting new life insurance policies (controversial, I know), and this is part of the process. I just wish our appointment were earlier than 11am!

I expect to drink a lot of water in the morning to keep my stomach from being too hollow. And maybe I'll have a snack in an hour or so that will see me through better than going to bed without. 

I'm especially tired tonight, having done a lot today. D. is completely wiped out from his 2nd COVID vaccine yesterday. We make such a lively pair! 

Ready for the "weekend"

Working an odd weekly schedule means that the weekends I have are not the weekends that others have. But it affords me a blissful day of being alone and getting things done. Especially when not receiving vaccines and teeth cleaning followed by 15 hours of incapacitation from the former.

I make long lists of what to accomplish on my days off. If I do half of them, great. 2/3rds? Super! It occurs to me that a shorter to-do list would result in 100% completion if I played my cards right. Too bad it would be a winning hand but at the wrong game. 

A bit of good news during an otherwise sticky day: acceptance of a poem at a lovely journal. Hooray!

Work, work, poetry, poetry, sleep

After my usual morning walk and chores, then a long work day including three zoom meetings, another post-work zoom poetry meeting, and forty-five minutes finishing on a submission, I am ready to do my 10 minutes of stretching and one hour off media before going to bed! 

On another note, I have started reading A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, and am quite enjoying it so far. 

And if this is seeming more like a series of Tweets than blog posts, I refer you to the aforementioned daily schedule. 

Wane

This evening, after a very long and busy day (up before 7am, still working at 10pm),  I didn't think I could submit poetry to another journal and make two blog entries. But I was only kidding myself.

It's cold in the room where I write these entries, because the floor is the least insulated in the house, and the draft comes right up. (My fingers are stiff with the chill.) But I've put away the space heaters, and it's not cold enough otherwise to justify starting the wood stove. Maybe tomorrow.

For now,  I shall write a little longer, read a little longer, and be ever so grateful for a roof over my head and a bed with many blankets!

Let's Review

 It's been a while since I've posted this image, so here's the latest from Johns Hopkins. This virus is not suddenly going away just because our county has moved into the orange tier and some of us are vaccinated. In states where there is great resistance to wearing masks (I'm looking at you, Arizona, Nevada and Florida), I'm not sure how they're going to get past this thing. 

That Much Better

So, I felt so much better today it was, if not like Jesus back from the dead (I would not dare to compare), than at least like Scrooge Christmas morning. I felt very alive, and lively, all day, and I know it was in no small part because my headache was gone and my body aches and fever were gone. Except for a visible swollen and discolored area around the injection site, in fact, I feel as well as ever.

Also, this second day in my 6-week challenge, I'm especially grateful for an opportunity to focus on health and fitness in the company of others (online) who are doing the same. Lots of water, lots of sleep, daily exercise and stretching and cutting out media just before and just after sleeping. All good things. 

Your Mileage May Vary

I had hoped that I would only suffer a sore arm and a chill or two with the second vaccine shot. And for many hours, that was true. But by 1am, it was clear that I had been knocked down in a significant way. It was a rough night, with fever and aches and, by morning, a horrendous headache. I spent much of the day sleeping, too worn out to even move. I am better now, although I still have a slight fever. I'm hoping it'll break by morning so I can go to work. It's hard not to feel a little irritated by "losing" such a beautiful day, when I had had fantasies of "taking it easy" but still getting things done...!

Art is What You Can Get Away With

Apparently, Andy Warhol said this. 

The topic came up when I showed him the work of Agenetha Dyck in Canada. She places objects in bee hives and removes them after the bees have built wax over them. Here is an example: her "masked ball" series.

I'm think the pieces are interesting, if a little creepy - but nowhere near as creepy as a mouse that has been mummified by propolis. 

I really miss having bees. Even though I know I'm just delaying until we're in a better physical place for me to keep them, I miss them horribly. 

I had my second vaccine shot this morning, followed by a visit to the dentist, followed by an extraordinarily unhealthy meal as a last cheat day activity before six weeks of very healthy living. While I ate what was basically straight-up junk, I did think of one of R.'s catch-phrases, which is "I was making regrets." 

Glutton

 I am a glutton for...well, if not exactly punishment, then at least challenges. I have just signed up for another Whole Life Challenge - six-weeks of lifestyle changes (or habits) to stay healthy and sane, starting Saturday. The habits are nutrition, exercise, mobility, sleep, water, reflection, and well-being. The last one, well-being, usually takes the form of meditation or acts of kindness or time in nature or time away from screens while eating - that sort of thing. I think this might be my sixth challenge, and each time, although I have moments of wondering what in the world I was thinking when I signed up, I do find that I come out of them feeling healthier and more balanced. And it just feels like it's time. Maybe because of, rather than in spite of, all the other challenges in my life. Something to help me focus on what keeps me well.

Tomorrow I get my second COVID-19 vaccine shot, immediately followed by a trip to the dentist for a cleaning. Because why not. I've not planned much more for the rest of tomorrow or Saturday, though, just in case the "jab" (as so many people call it) affects me. At the very least, though, I hope to go through the mountain of paperwork I've left in the living room...

The Blessing of Invisibility

I don't believe anyone is reading these blog posts, which you would think would be discouraging, but instead seems to give me a sense of license and liberation. 

What does it matter what I write? It does not. But what does matter, to me, is that I write something. Almost anything. It's an exercise that improves the quality of my life, especially if done daily to develop the habit and the writing "muscle." I could write about the difficulty day I had at work, and even go into some detail in the interest of practicing my narrative skills, but I don't have to, so I won't. And the truth is that I don't even want to give it that much more time or energy. The workday was tough. I might even have shed a tear or two. It's over. I learned from it. Ça suffit. 

Spring Cleaning 2021

For decades, I've stored paintings, drawings, cards & stories by the kids up in our attic. This includes approximately a hundred main lesson books, which are the beautiful artifacts that parents of Waldorf students must agonize over whether to keep or toss. Main lesson books are not just mimeographed pages of multiplication problems or thin lined paper with a column of penciled spelling words. They are colorful, artful compilations of a several weeks of work, complete with titles and decorative borders, and as such, they're a little tougher to toss. For me, anyway. (Here's a link to a video showing a 3rd grade main lesson book, for the curious.)

Right now our living room looks like a Waldorf school closet threw up in it. I have pulled down boxes and bags of those paintings, drawings, comics, stories and heavy colorful main lesson books so I can go through them and winnow. Whatever I keep, I'll likely be keeping for myself, because the kids care less than I do, being unsentimental or still scarred by their education or maybe a little of both. Like so much else in this down-sizing project, it will look worse before it gets better. But I think I already feel a bit lighter, knowing all that tonnage of paper is not over my head. And I'm falling in love with my kids' creativity and sense of humor all over again as I start this process. I certainly won't keep everything. But I'll keep enough to relive their childhood now and then with little souvenirs. I am working to kick the habit, but I'm still a bit of a sucker for ephemera. 

Easter Monday

 And oh, that's right. Yesterday was Easter, and I didn't even mention that in my blog. Beekeeping and poetry trumps all, I suppose. But I rose early to take Tango on his walk and be back in time to make a feast and hide candy, although in the end, N. wasn't feeling well and she and A. didn't come over until the afternoon.

So we had all those Welsh cakes (gluten-free and otherwise) and popovers (gluteny) and bacon, and eggs, and cantaloupe and a tiny bowl of hash-browns for just three of us.  And Mr. Darcy, overseeing the table. Just in case. The orchid in the photo is on its second round of blooms since I bought it. I'm always so pleased when I manage to get an orchid to re-bloom. But an even more amazing feat is the poinsettia that S. has kept alive and blooming since Christmas. I've often said that poinsettias are an exercise in consumerism, futility and guilt. You buy them, you try to keep them alive, and they die. But she has proven me wrong. Some day when she moves out, she'll take approximately 30 houseplants with her, including blooming venus fly traps and propagating philodendra and spider ferns. I'll keep the orchid.

Beekeeper's Veil and Poet's Hat

 (A duplicate of my Practical Poet blog post...)

Today I went to a backyard on the other side of town to try to catch a bee swarm that had originated from a beekeeper's hive. Alas, the bees were twenty to twenty-five feet up in a tree, and even my extendable painter's ladder plus extendable painter's pole and attached bottomless 5 gallon water bottle provided insufficient reach. 

Also, there were power lines involved. 

As I said to the beekeeper, I am passionate, but I'm also sensible. 

He's a librarian (married to another librarian) and their children went to school with ours. We know each other, but not well. So I was touched that he remembered that I write poetry (!) and asked me how it was going. I gave him a brief update, and he shared that tomorrow night, he had scheduled a virtual poetry event with Jane Hirshfield and Lynn Ungar at the Benicia Public Library. I wish I could "go" to that reading. Or to the Rivertown Poets reading with Terry Ehret and Phyllis Klein. Monday nights are good for poetry. Sometimes I think about requesting a change in my work schedule, just to catch some of those opportunities.

Accidental Beekeeper Selfie from a few years ago...

Day 3 of Year 2 of Blogging through April

I am already feeling slightly anxious about my commitment to blog (in two blogs) and submit poems daily this month. Will I make it? Almost certainly, having announced it. I'm too proud and stubborn not to. But whether I'll have anything interesting to say is another matter.

Today, I added a couple hundred more books to my Libib.com inventory, as I boxed things up to put them in storage. For now. So many were 1970s paperback science fiction books, and it reminded me how when D. and I were first married, we realized that we had tons of duplicate titles in our individual collections. That seemed to bode well, and today, I thought that most of the books would probably still interest both of us, if I had the time and he had the inclination to read at all. But I love the idea of re-reading some of them in my retirement someday, especially because many are quick and light-weight, easy reads that would probably feel like visiting old friends. 

So basically, I put away a rainy day in two blue bins. Several more to go. Below is a sampling of those 200 titles, which does not include the many Arthurian books, Gillian Bradshaw, L'Engle, Connie Willis, C.S. Lewis, et. al.

         

Re-grout shower: Check!

Here is what I wrote in my poetry blog, for the reader who may not follow that one, or want to read both:  

I have been trying to keep an ongoing file of daily poetry "starts" or "automatic writing," - what the late (and blessed) Marvin Bell would call a scroll. The idea is to write daily, ideally in the morning before the mind is truly awake and making trouble by remembering bills to pay or emails to answer. As I've said before, for me the magical time is between the first and second cup of coffee. 

But I confess that some days, my entries are retro-active - notes made a day later - and they reflect the other things in life that I have done instead of writing. 

Thus there are entries like, "The poetry of shelving books," "The poetry of weeding," or (especially lately) "The poetry of grouting." (Closely tied to "The poetry of an aching trapezius muscle.")

(Image from this random grout-related website)

It may be inaccurate to say that these daily activities are poetry. Meditation, perhaps. But poetry? 

No, it's more likely that there are poems that find their genesis or impetus in chopping wood and carrying water. At least, in my case, this is true. I do not write poems of passion that describe the details of a lover's body, or poems that call out injustices and inequity. When I'm not writing about Wales or the Welsh language, or beekeeping, I am usually writing about domesticity and the tasks that make up my day. (Actually, beekeeping is one such task.) I don't feel compelled to change that m.o., at the moment. But I do, always, always, always feel the need to write better, clearer and stronger. I want to engage language in a fresh and breathtaking way, to see the world clearly and then give it back to itself. Today: the poetry of trying to talk about poetry. Hmm. Trying for metta. Achieving meta. 

The kids - daughters, son-in-law - are watching The Road to El Dorado in the next room. Last week, it was Anastasia. The week before, Hercules. They buy pizza and a growler for those who are not pregnant and can therefore drink, and they re-live their childhood memories and sing along with the old songs. It's lovely. Sometimes raucous, but lovely all the same. Tonight they let N. decide on the pizza toppings, and she's clearly under the influence of an unborn child who likes to experiment with unique flavor combinations. 

I think I am going to rub some ointment on my aching upper back and then perhaps I'll join them. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 380: National Poetry Month, Again

Spring is here, shouting itself all over the yard with its long grass and sprouting weeds and blossoms: a blanket of oxalis and a new line of daffodils. The lilacs are coming, and the roses, and the nigella and buddleia. And it is National Poetry Month.

And because I am a sucker for a self-inflicted dare and felt so pleased (read: smugly satisfied) about it last year, I am going to try again to blog daily and submit poems daily this April. 

Day One. So far, so good.

So much has happened since February, I could fill a screen with the updates. But I shall parcel out the news a bit at a time. The highlights in no particular order: the dog continues to do very well indeed, in defiance of his cancer diagnosis; we are still hoping to find a "house in the country" that we can afford without leaving the area;  local libraries are not quite yet open to the public; the kids are well and happy; the grandchild-to-be is active and growing; D. and I have had our first vaccine shots. 

I have Easter weekend off, and shall slide back in to these daily posts with the time it affords me, so that by Monday, when I'm back at work, I will have set the necessary precedent.

Shelter-in-Place Day 308, Inauguration Day

I have just watched a recording of Amanda Gorman delivering her poem at Joseph R. Biden's Inauguration earlier today. If I wasn't already exceedingly happy about today's events, this would have been enough.

AP Photo / Patrick Semansky, Pool

Even though white supremacy and hate and conspiracy theories and COVID-19 and its mutations have not disappeared, even though the country is still divided on many issues, for the first time in four years, I am hopeful. And for possibly the first time ever, this morning, listening to the 46th President's Inaugural address,  I felt something like patriotism -  a pride in what being American might mean, if only we truly do face the ways we have failed and fallen short, and step into the best that we can be.

These are strange times. In the country, a huge change on the heels of so much tension. At work, disagreements over how and when to reopen to the public. At home, life-changing events all around me: the dog's cancer; N and A's new marriage, new apartment, the baby's coming arrival; S. deciding to move out, if/when she gets her license, D.'s attention because of the model; and the concrete, real, exciting steps we're taking toward a house in the country. All at once. Because, sometimes that how it happens. 

But today, Biden signed executive orders to start the undoing of some of the horrible damage wrought by his predecessor. And I am so very, very grateful. That, and poetry, in the news everywhere you look. Thank you, Amanda Gorman. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 289, or thereabouts. New Year's Day

If I've done my math correctly, we're nearly 300 days into an order to remain at home as much as possible, avoid eating in restaurants or gathering in groups. We are still wearing face masks in public and in the workplace. Schools have switched to remote learning. Visitors aren't allowed at nursing homes. Hospitals are at capacity in parts of the country, and according to the Johns Hopkins site, there are currently 83,689,541 cases of COVID-19 reported, with 1,822,467 deaths (346,043 in the US). A new, more contagious, strain, noted previously in Britain, has now been reported in California and Colorado.

Before it finished, 2020 also saw the death of two wonderful and wise men (both lost to cancer): Marvin Bell and Barry Lopez. And just a couple of weeks ago, we learned that our beloved Tango, nearly 12 years old, has bone cancer, and is not a good candidate for surgery+chemo and radiation. We are spoiling him and telling him how much we love him and how wonderful he is for as long as we have with him (days? weeks? months? We don't know.) I lost one hive a couple of months ago and the other a couple of weeks ago, and so for the the first time in four years, I am hive-less, but that is nothing to the emptiness we know will arrive when Tango leaves us.

And although none of the above has changed since midnight, we were very happy to say good-bye to 2020 and hello to 2021.

In other news: Biden has been elected. Trump is still acting out. But in theory, in nineteen days, a new President and Vice President will take office, and they are likely to behave very differently from the current, soon-to-be former, POTUS. 

Jupiter and Saturn just appeared in a Great Conjunction in the night sky; I wanted to see it in person, with our little telescope (why else have it if not for such opportunities, at the least?), but I didn't manage to get clear of Christmas lights and fog at the right time of night to view this thing that only happens in this way every several hundred years.

We have refinanced our house and are now in a position to do some home improvement in preparation for a move to the country. A little land and a shop are the main requirements, but we still have a lot of work to do to get there. It's daunting and exciting and stressful, and we have moments of overwhelm at the mere thought of all that has to happen for this next step in our lives. But as we often say, quoting Anne Lamott, "bird by bird." 

More important than any of the other updates, however, is the news that N. and A. were married by their beloved mentor in NJ and are expecting a baby boy in the summer. They both have jobs, and move into an apartment this coming weekend. 

We are in a time of many changes, and (especially after last night's excessive snacking of junk food, wine consumption and Cards Against Humanity binge-session with the kids), I know it will be especially important for me to continue to do the things that keep me well: drinking water, eating healthy fresh whole foods, the yoga/tabata workouts, reading and writing. Hence this entry. I don't know that this blog is the best place to journal - I have other options, of course - but it seems important to add an update after such a long period of silence, for myself more than for the one or two people who might happen upon this disjointed entry.

Shelter-in-Place Day 198

Because of the Glass Fire, which started less than a week ago, the Air Quality Index for Santa Rosa and Petaluma was in the high 200s by the end of the day today. This is right now:

150 or above is a number that can cause health effects to everyone, not just those with pre-existing conditions, after 24 hours. Library branches have ceased curbside service here and there while the numbers remained high. The evacuations didn't reach downtown Santa Rosa, but they were close. Napa and Calistoga, St. Helena, and parts north and east of there are getting the worst of it. Nor is this the first fire of the season, but this one hit me harder than previous ones in terms of anxiety. Perhaps it's the combination of COVID, the state of US politics, and the post-traumatic trigger of smoke in the air, NIXLE alerts, and sirens. Could be. 2020, you just keep comin'.

On Sunday and Monday, I addressed the problem of high anxiety by organizing belongings; almost all of the previously unlabeled boxes in closets are labeled now. I know which ones have the tin-type family photos from the 1800s, which ones have my elementary school drawings, programs from the kids' performances - the whole range of what to take, what to leave is at least a little more understandable now. I've also packed something of a go-bag, and have prepped a few things so that we won't have to grab them. Water and animal food and tp already in the car. It's not only practical to do these things; it also helps me feel much less panicky. And in the process, I am able to get rid of more childhood clutter that doesn't serve me or anyone, and no only doesn't spark joy, but in some cases sparks regret and bitterness. Goodbye to that nonsense!

And it is October, my favorite month for many reasons and one in which I either write more, or at least tell myself I write more, which becomes a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. A good time to continue the cleanup, re-set, focus, and prepare for what almost certainly will be an extremely challenging few months. There is little doubt now that forty-five won't be leaving office willingly, regardless of the outcome of the election. It makes me want to do something to prepare, but I don't know what. Stock up the pantry? Move to Canada?

Perhaps moving backups from 16 years ago from CD to three computer hard drives will help. Somehow.