Tag Archives: change

Early Warming and Bare Toes

The first week of February is simply too early.

Buds on trees.  Crocus blades nearly two inches above ground level.  Daffodils pushing hopefully sun-ward.  Tulips rising in anticipation.  Blueberry bush buds, like little flames tipping the ends of the bare branches.  Song bird songs and mourning dove coos… it’s simply too early.

Granted, when there are several days of 60+ degrees, these things are bound to occur.  But dang!  It’s not typical, I say!

Enjoyable, definitely, but it makes me leery for what the consequences might be:   the options seem to fall anywhere along the lines of an extraordinary proliferation of bugs due to the prolonged warmth, or a snap kill-off of trees and early plants due to a harsh return of  winter.  I’ll hope for middle ground.

In the meantime, I took myself right out the door and immensely enjoyed that warm ol’ Kansas sunshine.

Lake Dog

A visit to a nearby lake with the dog, then  a meetup with friends at the lake.

lake treasures

Walking around the yard barefoot, giving early test of foot to rock callous as I ambled over to the dead grass.

Oh the feeling cannot be described as I rounded the corner and found the patch of freshly damped bare loam!  A few spots that do not get much sunlight, in a high traffic area.  The result is a finely powdered dirt, newly enriched from a recent soft rain, finely soaked in to leave what felt like milk chocolate for my feet.  It was pure enjoyment.

I don’t know if you’ve heard of the term ‘earthing’.  It’s a movement of sorts, the principles and theories of which I’ve not researched thoroughly.

ground

What I know, for myself, is that there is nothing quite so satisfying as touching Almighty’s creation.

Skin to creation.  Simple pleasures are the best.  🙂

 

Is It Real…

Or is it Menopause?

It was a relief to discover that my red-eyed appearance was not an emotional symptom, but rather simply a case of dry eyes that I ignored to the point where my tissues were constantly inflamed.  Menopause symptom, likely, and easily addressed by adding Omega 3 and using re-wetting or artificial tear drops as needed.  As needed being more often than I remember to administer – but I’ll get there.  Thankfully, my constant red eyelids are now just an unpleasant memory.

Granted, I’ve been more likely to reach a silent overwhelm of emotion these days, particularly when I’m in the presence of my children.  It makes no sense to me, as these are some of the people with whom I draw the most comfort.

watered false nettle

I am rendered nearly speechless, unable to converse comfortably, or sensibly.  Some of it is attributed to tinnitus – there are only so many tones that I can focus on without losing part of what’s being heard.   Partly, it’s that I don’t want to miss a thing, so I nearly miss everything as I try to focus on every conversation at once.  Not as easy a fix – but I’ll be working to find my perfect hearing range so that I can focus to give full-on attention to the conversant in that range.

The part that I can’t change is that I’m full to the brim with love for these people, and am faced with a change in status, for which I have no practice.

watered dawn 2

Change is a constant in life, and I’ve done a damn fine job of handling change in the past (meaning that I didn’t go on a rampage, and I didn’t have a total meltdown).  Change during my earlier years was like drinking water.  I gulped it down and on to the next task I went.

About five years ago I noticed a shift, a grating of tectonic plates sort of shift.  Suddenly, I found myself irritable with too much change or too many compounded changes.  Sure, I could still function well, I could still move on to the next task, but my comfort zone had been impacted, and it unsettled me, irritated me.

Still in the irritable stage, change has been fairly constant, the compounded sort, but I’m functional.

watered daylight

A change in position not aptly prepared for – that sort of change is like a chasm that has opened up beneath me.  I’m not prepared for it, but accept that I must either embrace and learn to roll with it, or tumble along grasping recklessly at strongholds along the way.

Mother-in-law, Step-mother-in-law, Grandma, Step-Grandma – these titles, these changes to my position, have caught me off-guard in comparison with my own head-in-the-clouds, prior-concocted expectations.

Let me broadcast with great joy:  I have the absolute best of the pick when it comes to family.  Our sons were extremely easy to raise, and they chose very well when they chose their mates.  I have daughters-in-law whom I love dearly, and they are the perfect complement to our family.  Our grandchildren are a pure delight, and their parents are doing a great job raising these youngsters.

sunflower detail

My job should be easy, but I’m a perfectionist in the most annoying ways – obsessive about where my everyday use items are situated, persnickety about what I ingest, and particularly overly particular in creating my own expectations.

I want to match expectations that I set long ago.  I want to take bits and pieces from others I’ve observed in these positions and meld them into some fantasy figure, based on very little reality.  Who could possibly have factored in where I or my family would be in our lives when this particular stage of life arrived?

So I emote silly things based on my silly notions, and get myself all tizzy-frazzled for things that no one else can control.

Compound that with the fact that my mother-in-law died during my second year of marriage, creating a void where I could have learned a great deal.  My mentor is absent, that’s my excuse…

hewn

So I’m forging ahead in uncharted territory, with great hope that I won’t injure any relationships, step on anyone’s feelings, or cause any great distress; yet keep in mind my own emotional health and well-being.

Oh, and did I mention I’m menopausal?  😉

Understanding Snowbirds

Each year, another notch of unrest strikes at my aging body.

During the early years of marriage, our primary difference was where our ‘dream’ home was located.  He said humid Texas and I said rocky Colorado.  He loved the moist heat and I loved the dry cold.

As an easy compromise, we remained in Kansas.  Hot humid summers and cold-ass winters.  Neither of us really thrilled about the locale, but staying put is ever so easily accomplished.

Aging, it seems, makes me reconsider – perhaps there’s merit in warmer climates.

As the joints in my fingers squeal little prophetic tunes of ‘if you think this is bad, just you wait’, and my cold ankles send icicles up my spine, I recognize that there will need to be some more compromises made – and quickly!

I’ve discovered that once my ankles become chilled, there is no other body part that I can warm to adjust my core temperature back to comfort.  I simply have to find a method to keep my ankles warm, always.  Similarly, the back of my neck is now a temperature modifying zone.

Where are those leg-warmers of the 80s?  Why didn’t I subscribe to that fashion phase and store a box of them as mementos?

Thankfully, scarves have been quite the recent fashion craze – and as usual, I’ll finally be interested in them once they’re going out of style.  Count on me to be completely off the tracks of fashion sense.  🙂

Seriously though, I’ve recently discovered that quality “short”boots – not the ankle boots, mind you – provide just the sort of heat entrapment necessary for these thermostat ankles, so I’ve stalled the caravan South for a bit.

But I do understand those SnowBirds now.  Does that mean I’m still learning?

 

Sober and Scribbled Pictures

I can’t really describe this funk that settled upon me since leaving the hospital.

Deflated.  Perhaps.

I relayed to My Love that I’d painted this perfect little picture of the moments I’d share with the new family and how those would feel.  But the reality is that reality happens.

Boom.

Pow.

Scribble, scribble.

Other people are living in the picture, and other needs and feelings and goings on are happening.

My picture got scribbled upon.  Oh poor, poor, pitiful me.

Yeah.  It’s like that.  I’m processing it, preparing to put the hurt aside, but I’m allowing the feelings to marinate just a bit first.  I’ll not share them, you see.  So before I tightly contain and seal them up, I need to feel them – that way they won’t fester and become some ugly wound.

We’re the family members who reside farthest, so I had it in my mind that we’d have a good portion of touch time before we parted.  But those who live close angled in for their firsts at the same time and mommy and daddy got a bit overwhelmed.  Time for everyone to go.

But those who live close will be able to resume quickly, where we’ll need to parcel out time and funds from our schedules and pocketbooks to make another run.

No blame there.  It just is what it is.  Reality.

Not what I’d had in mind, silly me.

So I’m oozing emotions today.

On the bright side of those funny little emotes, I saw the man who is my son stand tall and proud this past week.  I saw his capable hands change a diaper, saw his jaw set firm with concern for his wife’s well-being, and saw his compassion flesh out as a bright shining thing.  I saw his impatience as well, the niggling little allowance of we intruders.  He’s fully entered his own now, and that – that there – that makes this mom proud.

Painful as it may be.

 

A Growing Family

Due to increased risk to mommy and baby, our pregnant daughter-in-law will be induced this week – three weeks early – bringing a new granddaughter into our world.

The thought of that perfect little parcel of cells opening her mouth wide and gulping her first breath exhilarates me.

I’ve always loved kids.  Kids and animals.  Put me in a room full of faces and bodies and I’ll find a corner from which to observe and the small bodies will gravitate to me.

Conversations with kids are so easy and natural – innocent and information hungry questions, simple requests, and bonding extraordinaire.  Pure enjoyment of pets comes without the hassle of overtones and inflections and nuances.

Adding instant grandchildren has been so easy for me.  Build a quick addition to my ‘heart and soul house’ and put their name on the wall.  Instant family.  Instant love.  Equal rights.  Easy-peasey.

This is a first though – a challenge to my stance.  A seed.  The added room to the ‘heart and soul house’ is more like a new tree.  It’s been growing, a part of me already – not quite the same as something I’ve built.  Suddenly I’m aware of those carefully saved treasures, little snippets of papers to show progress through the years; memories captured – boxed and saved books from my childhood, special items from my son’s childhood; simple little cards and writings I’ve protected dutifully through the years.  Suddenly all of these things make perfect sense.  Their space-taking has full value now – these are the physical representations, the accouterments of the new room, the outgrowth finally seen for its worth.

And now my logical mind wrests with the knowledge that what I’ve always said, what I’ve always thought, what I’ve always lived, is not quite true.  I’ve fooled myself.

Blood is thicker than water.  It is.  There’s a surge of feelings that cannot simply be constructed with imported family.

But there is the choice, free choice, true choice to build family, to add them honestly and truly to your heart.

I recognize the difference now, as I contemplate that these hands, these arms, these eyes, will caress an outgrowth of my cells, my parts, my pieces.  My mom’s parts and pieces – my dad’s parts and pieces.  Suddenly the generational puzzle will fit another piece into place.

Those family that have been added as fully formed units formed from other generational parts are still my family – they have their own true familial space, because my heart constructs very authentic room additions on the ‘heart and soul house’.  For better or for worse.

So to my daughter-in-law who brought me instant grandchildren:  Dear love, you are my tribe – your kids are my tribe.  I’m Grandma no matter the result of your vows – the heart rooms are already built, and I’m a master constructor, and an equal opportunity sort of gal.  Please understand that I never got the same start with your babes that is now available with their cousin-to-be.  Bear with me as I bond, as I relish in the glow of new feelings.  Hang in there Hon – there’s no devaluation in store.  We’re adding, not subtracting, love for one more.  You are my daughter, and I love you and what you’ve added to our family.

And to my daughter-in-law who carries the unborn child of my son, my cells, the inheritor of my past:  Dear love, bear with me as I run the gamut of emotions, as I try to give you space to bond.  For my hands want to reach out and intertwine with this new little semblance of my son.  My mind wants to erase the mistakes I made as a mom and embrace the opportunities of being a grandma that is there from day one, with the hindsight and knowledge to share.  I’ll do my best not to smother you all with my needs.  Know that as this little one resides in room number six of the ‘heart-and-soul’ home – it’s the first room of its type, it’s special and will always be, something I have no skill to construct.  A room only God can produce.  I love you, dear daughter, and love what you give to my son.

Bubbe T

aka Grandma Trish