I took a tumble yesterday. It all started with spilling my water bottle in my office. I jumped up to grab the papers on the floor (don’t judge me) so they didn’t get wet, slipped on the water, and things went to hell in a handbasket after that. Further proving most accidents happen in the home.
When I slipped, I fell onto my desk (aka parson’s table) which then turned over, sending my computer, lamp, candle, marble coaster, and myriad other desk adornments to the floor, including me. Had the Russian judge been there, I’m pretty sure I would have scored at least a 9.2.
I’m happy to report, no bones were broken as a result of this colossal fail. I’m bruised, sore, and it feels like I was run over by a dump truck, but no pins, plates, or casts were required. (IYKYK) Either my bones have gotten stronger as I’ve aged (highly unlikely), or I’ve finally learned the fine art of falling gracefully (also highly unlikely).
As I so often do, I looked up the word tumble in the dictionary. Webster says:
I’ve been spending time in the passenger seat as my gbabe learns to drive. In general, I love to be chauffeured. As a single person, I’m typically the one doing all the driving. I usually enjoy it when someone else takes the wheel and I can relax and marvel at the scenery…usually.
Although the gbabe has had his permit for a while, he hasn’t been interested in driving until the past few months. According to an article in the Washington Post, the hesitation or disinterest in driving is typical of his generation. His reluctance to drive is so contrary to my experience with his mom and uncle. Had it been open, they would have been at the license bureau at 12:01 AM on their birthdays.
It’s possible that an earlier episode of “Driving with Mimi” traumatized him. I thought he had already driven on the highway, so I instructed him to merge onto Highway 70. In hindsight, I learned he had NOT driven on the interstate before, AND my frequent, elevated directives to “SLOW DOWN” and “SPEED UP” may have caused a tiny little bit of anxiety in the lad.
He’s really doing a good job and I tell him that with each outing. He’s still working on navigation, so he drives to the far end of a parking lot and lets me walk 2 miles to the store. We haven’t tried parallel parking, but he assures me he can fail that on the driver’s test and still get his license. I’m taking his word for it.
All in all, he’s been very patient with his instructor. There have been a few, “You already told me that,” and more than one, “I KNOW!” I’m glad my hair is already white; I would hate for him to think he’s responsible for that AND my panic attacks.
It snowed in Colorado yesterday…a lot. Some cities reported snowfall amounts in feet, not inches. Where I live, Doppler Dave says we have 19” of snow.
As is the case with so much of life, the public response to Snowmageddon has been mixed:
Parents are scrambling to find childcare since the schools are closed. Students are elated that their Spring break has been extended by 2 extra days.
We were warned the volume of snow would make driving almost impossible and very dangerous. Yet, first responders and medical personnel were out risking life and limb to rescue the guy who decided his Honda Civic with balding tires could weather the storm. (Skiing is life!)
Highway 70 (You know, the major interstate highway that connects the United States from East to West) was closed in Colorado for 24 hours. I’m sure the inconvenience that caused skiers (aka Honda guy) attempting to get to the fresh pow was nothing compared to those folks stranded in their cars for 24 hours on the closed highway. Reminder: Don’t eat yellow snow.
Kids who want to make extra money are loving Snowmageddon. The elderly will be lucky if they get out of their homes by the 4th of July.
Looking outside, one is reminded of a winter wonderland. Hard to believe Spring is 5 days away.
I was listening to a podcast this week and heard the term precious time. The phrase was described as a kinder, gentler alternative to the words actively dying, the medical idiom used to indicate the end of life is imminent. The physician who coined the phrase would tell families, “You are in the precious time now,” as their loved one was nearing death. I love the term precious time. What a beautiful way to sojourn a loved one from this world to the next.
When I think about precious time, I see it as a lovely descriptor for all life’s phases. When a young couple discover they are pregnant, it is precious time to dream, and plan, and anxiously await the miracle of life. Time doesn’t seem to move fast enough, but it’s still precious time.
Parents of newborns may be sleep-deprived and blurry-eyed, but meeting your new son or daughter, and learning to live as a family, is precious time. In this phase of life, time may seem to stand still, and you may wonder if you will ever sleep 8 hours again, and yet, it’s still precious time.
Toddlers, tantrums, the terrible-twos, and time-outs may seem anything but precious. Life can be hard when parents are trying to manage family, home, and work. The hours may pass at a snail’s pace, but the years fly by; it’s all precious time.
Homework, soccer, football, assemblies and bleacher butts, driver’s licenses, college applications, and before you know it, they are walking across the stage in a gown and mortar board, brandishing their newfound freedom in the form of a diploma. Your precious time raising that child flashes before your eyes and you wonder, “How did we get here so quickly?” What I wouldn’t give for more precious time.
I came across this Nietzsche quote while I was reading Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. (If you haven’t read this book, I highly recommend it.)
“He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how.”
Although simplistic, the thought has stuck with me. The fact I am contemplating the message on the daily is also confusing me. I know what it means, I just don’t know why it has struck such a chord.
Why can be a charged word. In Social Work class, we were encouraged to refrain from asking a client why. We were told it could sound accusatory (i.e., Why did you do that?). I understand the premise; I don’t agree with the directive. Sometimes, we need to know why to fully comprehend a person’s motive or intent. Sometimes, we need to know why to understand the whole story. Sometimes, there’s a darn good reason whysomeone said or did this or that. We won’t know if we don’t ask why.
I don’t think Nietzsche had that kind of whyin mind. My interpretation is that we can cope, endure, or survive almost anything if we know our why. For instance, ‘I exercise so I remain healthy – that’s my why.’ ‘I’m graduating early so I can start making money – that’s my why.’ ‘I don’t drive a fancy car so we can afford a family vacation – that’s my why.’
According to Frankl, if we can find meaning and purpose in our actions, we can bear the unbearable. It seems to me, knowing our why requires introspection and insight. Knowing our why may also require an awareness and trust in our values and beliefs. In other words, sometimes we have to dig deep to know our why.
Then again, sometimes it may be as simple as ‘Hold My Beer.’
I’m about to enter the deep, dark days of winter, AKA no more football. It’s bad. For the next few months, I will eek out an existence in a world of freezing temps and Ted Lasso reruns.
In 2020 (You remember 2020!), I lived on home confinement and Schitt’s Creek. I would be embarrassed to admit how many times I watched the entire Schitt’s Creek series on repeat. But that’s just it, I never got tired of the show, and I almost always heard something I’d missed the other 200 times I’d watched it. I feel the same about football and Ted Lasso.
I canceled cable a few months ago without realizing I would no longer have the ability to record football games, rewind outstanding catches, or replay Chiefs games when there was nothing interesting on TV. I definitely did not think that one through. My saving grace is Ted Lasso.
If you haven’t discovered Ted Lasso, do yourself a favor, stop reading this blog, and go watch the pilot. You will be hooked before you know it. Ted is a charming, winsome character who imparts pearls of wisdom when you least expect them. Here are a few of my faves:
Don’t let the wisdom of age be wasted on you. Football is life. Don’t you dare settle for “fine.” Your body is like day-old rice. If it ain’t warmed up properly, something real bad could happen. I do love a locker room; it smells like potential. Let yourself enjoy that biscuit. Believe.
PSA: Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. If you have yet to purchase flowers, cards, and candies, the clock is ticking.
If you don’t have a Valentine, or even if you do, loving yourself may be the best gift. Sometimes, Hallmark holidays serve to remind me of:
1. All I have to be grateful for and don’t always appreciate, 2. How comparison is the thief of joy.
Bonnie Raitt has a line in her song, Nick of Time, “Those lines are pretty hard to take when they’re staring back at you.” It’s so easy to focus on the wrinkles without acknowledging how blessed I am to have lived long enough to have them.
I could, not should (no shoulding on yourself), lose a few pounds but rather than concentrating on what isn’t, I’m grateful for what is. I don’t have washboard abs but I do have 2 beautiful children who were born via C-section. No toned tummy will ever compare to the joy they bring to my life.
There are days I’m up at 6AM to run, and days I’m still in my jammies at 4PM – it’s called balance. The fact that I have the freedom to choose is not taken for granted. I started working before I graduated from high school, and I worked for the next 55 years. In fact, I’m still working but on my schedule in between days reserved for family, friends, and fun. I didn’t always have that kind of flexibility as a single mom, part-time student, and full-time employee. If you’re in the throes of raising kids, working 8-5, maintaining a household, and coaching the soccer team, just know it may feel like forever, but it’s over in the blink of an eye. In the meantime, ask for help and please take a break every once in a while – it’s not selfish, it’s self-love.
I am a determined woman. Some might say ‘stubborn,’ but I prefer words like purposeful, tenacious, resolute. Anyone who spends 23 years in college has to be committed, and yes, I’m aware there are 2 definitions for the word committed, and both apply. Other than college Algebra, which I failed 4 times, my sheer determination has served me well over the years.
Although my tenacity has been steadfast, I’ve come to realize sometimes the wisest thing to do is let it be. Things work out, one way or the other, and my ability to influence a particular outcome is minimal, at best. Recently, life has given me several opportunities to let it be, all of which I resisted mightily.
I get medication from an online pharmacy because it’s less expensive. On Tuesday, I received a text letting me know the meds had been “delivered in or around my mailbox.” Seems vague, but oh well. However, no meds were found “in or around” my locked mailbox. I had a tracking number that I traced. The tracking info confirmed the meds had been “delivered in or around my mailbox.” Still no meds. I spoke with my mailperson who directed me to the post office where I waited…and waited…only to learn the tracking number shows the meds were…you guessed it. Finally, I called the online pharmacy to explain the problem. A lovely woman who answered the call encouraged me to, “Wait a bit; they almost always show up.” Mind you, this is heart medication I take on the daily, but nonetheless, I let it be. The meds arrived Saturday.
A few months ago, I bought a new sewing machine. The purchase was precipitated by a request from my gbabe to help him make a pair of pants. He had watched a YouTube video “and it looks really simple.” Out of the mouths of gbabes! The process wasn’t quite as simple as it looked (Is it ever?), but we were successful in making not 1 but 4 pairs of pants. He is now taking orders from friends.
Yesterday, I noticed the stitching on the sewing machine needed adjusting. I’m a pretty good seamstress and I know my way around a sewing machine. However, since this is a new, computerized machine, I read the manual from cover to cover, no help. I scanned the QR code and looked at the online tutorials, no help. I watched numerous YouTube videos. I took my sewing project, the manual, and my patience to the sewing store to ask for assistance, no help. Finally, I reluctantly decided to give it a rest and to let it be. This morning, I sat down in front of the machine to further contemplate the conundrum. And there it was, 12” directly in front of me, the dial that turns and adjusts the stitching. How is it none of those resources mentioned the dial? They must have thought it was too obvious to miss. Ha…fooled them!
