Barking Backwards

Mr. MacDonald seemed so old when I was a young fourteen just starting high school. But as I reflect back, I realize that he was probably the age I am now. He taught my freshman English class and he loved poetry.   The first poem we studied was:

“The old dog barked backwards without getting up, I can remember when he was a pup.

He spent so much time on that little poem.  I think it was two solid lesson days spent on dissecting it and discussing its hidden meanings.   It made such an impact that of the many fascinating things I learned in my high school years this little poem remains in my memory.

I’ve been feeling a bit like that old dog lately.   I’ve spent much time this summer healing my injuries from the car accident and healing requires stillness.  The longer the healing process took, the more I realized that the stillness has been good for my healing heart as well.   

Perhaps all the times this past year or so when God told me ‘no’ when I signed up for some activity it was with good reason.  The number of times plans just didn’t work out for various reasons cannot be coincidental.   And the fun outings I did have were all the more special – with family and friends and each memorable in its own way.    I suspect that God knew I needed some stillness in my life to help my healing heart. 

I remember when I saw my oncologist a few months after Robert passed away.   She said it had been obvious to her how deeply we loved each other.  I shared with her that another acquaintance had mentioned how much she admired the care  and kindness with which we treated each other.   My doctor smiled sadly and said that the one problem with finding your soul mate is how much it hurts to lose them.   

If I had known this simple fact of loss earlier in life, would it have deterred me from finding my soul mate?  I think not.   I’ve always felt that living life with an open heart is so much more pleasant than a closed one.  Sure – you feel pain that others do not- but your joy is great.

My doctor’s comments helped me to understand that the depth of the unspeakable pain I was enduring was a reflection of the love we had shared.   I know that my heart is still healing.  My wonderful cousin pointed that out to me last year and it holds true today.   Healing takes more time than you expect.  And stillness.   Restful, quiet times set amongst the busier moments.   I may be barking backwards just a bit longer.  Although, I am starting to remember being a pup.  

Fake it till ‘Ya Feel It

When I woke up this morning I could sense that I would have to force myself to get out of the house today.  Last evening was difficult because I was feeling a bit under the weather and missing my love.   My natural nestling instinct kicked in this morning and I so just wanted to stay home.  Curl up on that couch and ignore the world.   Then I recalled my promise that I would work on balance.   I needed to find positive things on the weekends to balance the weight of the workweek.   Sigh.

A recent conversation with my sister came to mind.  She told me that sometimes ‘ya just have to fake it till you feel like it.   This is one of those days I told myself.   I put on a cute top and chose coordinating earrings and headed to the garage with a newspaper clipping in tow.  I told myself that if it was really not fun I could just come home.  

It was chilly and drizzly so I had on my new fuchsia rain jacket.  That ought to perk me up I thought.   I put in the address for a seaside botanical garden that I hadn’t visited in nearly twenty years.  I still remember the garden party I attended at Fuller Gardens.  It is located about a block from the seawall with a walking path.  Today was their annual plant sale said the newspaper and I was looking for herbs. 

The rain stopped and it became quite humid there by the sea.  I found some really great looking plants and decided to become a member there.  This could be one of my new ‘happy places.’  A reason to get out of the house on random Saturday mornings.   In the gift shop I joined a couple ladies in their passionate discussion of the most recent Downton Abbey season.   Of course, I told them.  Garden lovers would enjoy that show!  We reminisced about season one with the tea and garden parties and all those hats.

As I left, I put in the address for a craft fair on the common in Hampton Falls, a neighboring town.  As I drove along the seawall, the sun came out and the sea was sparkling to my left.  I was suddenly hungry and there was the Beach Plum restaurant I ate at last year with my mom.  I pulled in and got a fresh haddock sandwich.  The beach facilities were open across the street.  I got there just before the huge lunch crowd arrived.

When I got to the craft fair I realized I would have to park a ways down the street.  Well I said to self – good exercise and fresh air all together.  The common was covered in newly mowed grass a lovely deep shade of green, soft and comfortable for strolling around the craft tents.  I found many things I liked but was there for the entertainment factor more than the shopping.    Chatted with a few artisans at their booths.  As I was leaving the common, I noticed a sign for a local farm and it was further down the street I was parked on.  Well, I can get home from there quite easily.  I’ll just drive a new road I said to self as I banged a u-turn mid road.  No traffic in either direction, trust me. 

At Applecrest Orchards I picked up some new red potatoes and green onions so I can make potato salad on Sunday.  I actually found a small jar of pickled eggs.  Too funny.  They were featured in a scene in a recent book group read about some Russians and the meal they ordered in a bar.  I had wanted to recreate it at home.   Maybe I will.   Well, except for the herring.  There are limits as to what I am willing to try.   I had a nice chat with the owners at the cashier stand.   I got something to drink in the refreshment shed and admired the rows of perennials they had for sale.  It was less humid and the breeze was lovely.  The sun’s strong rays made it feel warmer than the 67 degrees the thermometer indicated.

As I left I marveled at the circuit I had made in my junket.  It was only twenty miles in total and I didn’t get on the highway once.  Many of the roads I hadn’t driven before.  Lovely discoveries of small town commons, old trees and rock walls.   The entire outing took only three hours.  And somewhere along the way I didn’t have to fake it anymore. 

Softly Arrives the Spring

I sit bathed in gentle early morning sunshine with mug of tea at the ready.   All the grass and trees are quite green in my neighborhood.   Contemplating another neighborhood walk as the morning progresses.  Perhaps that lady in the back will have finished spreading that huge pile of mulch?  Perhaps not just yet.

After all the cool weather and rain, these rays of sun feel particularly sweet.   I hear so many people complaining about the lack of spring this year.  I smile as I point out that this year is more normal than recent years.  Spring should be slow and gentle in its arrival.   Excessive warmth is more suited to late summer days than spring.  

I recall that spring a couple years ago when it was 80 degrees on the first day of spring.  Nothing gentle about that year - in the spring weather or my life.   I hadn't considered before if the weather mirrors the patterns of our lives.   I believe it is coincidence.   Or maybe we notice things with different perspectives depending on our moods.

The gentleness of this spring is a welcome respite for me as I journey on.   The warmth of the sunshine is as welcome as the warmth of my family and friends with whom I have been spending much time of late.  Alas, my blog has been put on the back burner.  Yet today, my creative side is bubbling to the surface.  

Weebles Wobble, They Don’t Fall Down

I always thought that little song about the ability of Weebles to wobble was cute.  One of the joys of having a younger sister when I was growing up was that I had fun with toddler toys when I was a toddler and then again when I was older.  It was allowed.  And those little Weebles really couldn’t fall down.  It was all in the balance.  They could sway pretty far and lay down for a moment.  But they always bounced back up.

Last week I may have fallen down.  Never fear, I have bounced back up.  But for a time, I had fallen.  How could this happen I wondered?  All those layers of stress over the past months with work and medical issues just kept adding to the pile otherwise known as grief.  If you ever had allergies then you know what I mean.  One allergen won’t cause an attack, neither will two or three.  But you layer them all at the same time and WHAM – allergic reaction of mammoth proportions.  Apparently tons of stress building over months can collide with a grief burst and it gets messy.

I thought I was doing everything right.  Going for walks, healthy meals, resting on the weekend, etc.  It’s not enough if the stress levels get too high.  There are always signs – perhaps going through bottles of Tums and Tylenol that quickly?  I went in to see my doctor and she calmly pointed out that perhaps I should schedule a vacation.  Just a few days off.  And plan some fun things to do.  Perhaps a movie or eating out.   She wisely suggested that I have had a lot of negatives the past few years.  I need to add in some positives.   My countdown for retirement is a positive -  I always knew this job would be the death of me.  Wink.  But perhaps more is needed. 

Yesterday I met a woman who lost her husband to divorce and within a few years he passed away.   We started talking and made a connection.  We may never see each other again.  She must have sensed my situation because she asked the question.  Or perhaps it was the hand of God.   She offered some suggestions as to what she does to get out of the house and have fun.  She goes to the movies.  On a random Wednesday or the weekend.  She goes by herself.  I started laughing and said someone else had suggested the same thing a few days ago.  I told her that my husband wasn’t a big movie kind of guy so we rarely went.  But I used to love the movies on the big screen.  She shared that she doesn’t eat at restaurants alone but will eat at the bar and just order a small plate.  She sits at the end and people watches.  She was a great lady finding small joys in her life each week.  To think the conversation started because I used the word ‘plethora’.  Such a fun word.  Turns out it was her departed mother’s favorite word.   Serendipitous moments begin this way.

Last night I found a journal book in the pile contained in a basket on my desk.   The first page was a list of fun things Robert and I were going to do in retirement.  Ouch.   The next few pages were the moving list of box contents from when we were packing up the townhouse.  Ouch.  I debated whether I should tear those pages out of the book but decided to leave them for now.   I think I need to start keeping track of the fun things I’m doing.   Not what I plan to do, but what I have actually done.  I have a notebook jammed full of ideas that I started collecting after my cancer diagnosis.  The ideas themselves won’t give me balance.  So far I have: the discovery a couple weeks back of a comforter set that matches my bedroom perfectly.  And the new adventure of cooking a turkey breast in my crock- pot.   I’m spending time with my family for Easter so that gets added to the list.  Then there’s my DAR chapter and book group monthly meetings. 

Progress both great and small takes time.  More time than you expect.  And sometimes if we lack balance we will fall.   Remember to be like those Weebles.  Weebles Wobble, but they don’t fall down.  At least not for long.

Flying Monkeys

Remember watching ‘The Wizard of Oz’ as a child?  What were the scariest moments for you? Mine were the instant when the mean neighbor on the bicycle morphed into the witch on the broom and any scene with those flying monkeys.  I’m shuddering at the memory.  I have a natural fear of open heights.  So any beasty that can swoop down, pick you up and dangle you up in the air is worthy of fear.  Of course, they also carried you over to the evil castle lair of the wicked witch.  Enough said.  

Why is she talking about flying monkeys?  I can see why you would be curious.  Well, I’ll get there.  Just be patient.   Let me tell you some car stories that, while horrible at the time of happenstance, are actually amusing when linked together into a pattern over the years.    

Back in the ‘80s I bought my first new car.  I think the interest rate was 15.8% on the loan.  Good times.  I couldn’t afford much so I purchased a Hyundai Excel.   It was the perfect shade of blue.  A few months later we moved to New Hampshire and rented a condo with a carport.   It was a large roof supported upon cement posts.  Shortly after the move, I came home from work and parked my little car under the carport.  I went upstairs and opened the front door of our unit when suddenly my cat came racing from the back bedroom and launched himself at me.  He was terrified.   I picked him up and walked to the back of the condo.  What?!$%^&    The carport had collapsed onto our cars.  And where I had parked was the worst of it.   I was proud to say that it did take over a week before the roof of my little car totally caved.  But it sure was sitting lower in the interim.  The cause of this fiasco was unusually high winds and an updraft that pulled the unanchored posts from the ground.  The insurance company insisted on repairing the damage instead of replacing the vehicle.  They replaced the roof, windows, door, etc.  I stopped doing business with that company shortly thereafter. 

A few years later I was driving a zippy red Celica.  I loved that car.   I was now living in a townhouse.   One day I saw the sky darken.   The wind picked up and the lightning came down with a vengeance.  Suddenly the lights in the house went to an eerie half-light and I could hear trees thrashing about.  I opened the front door and there was the top of the utility pole complete with transformer and all the wires on top of my favorite car of all time.  Sigh.  At least it wasn’t caved in I told myself.  Just damaged the front end where it crash-landed and bounced onto the ground.

Several years later I finally replaced that Celica with a Corolla.  The next spring, in the early evening, I had just pulled into my parking spot after a visit to the dealership for an oil change.  I went inside and immediately the wind started picking up and the sky was a tinge of yellow.  Within moments the sky darkened, rain poured down and lightning came down en masse.  The locals called the river in back of our home ‘lightning alley’ for a reason.   Then the power went out and there was a bright light out front radiating into the windows.  I was in the kitchen closing all the windows and then ran to the front door and ripped it open-  and there it was.  I saw this very large tree on top of my car and the transformer was on the car and the wires were live and snaking in the street with flames shooting up into the air.  The utility pole beside my car was cut in half.  The utility pole across the street and down a ways was literally cut off three feet from the ground and standing in the middle of the street.  I called the fire department.  They called the utility company.  What a mess!  There were neighbors parked nearby.  My car was the only one damaged.  The trucks were there for hours making sure there was no fire risk and power was shut off.  Then the utility trucks were there through the night restoring power to the area.  

As for the car?  My brother came and helped me get it towed to a local body shop that had unbeknownst to me recently changed ownership.  I had to wait until the fire department removed the tree.  The body shop turned out to be very bad.  The car was there for months and they repaired it instead of totaling it.  They wouldn’t let me know what ‘repairs’ were made.  I began to suspect an arrangement with the insurance adjustor.  When they finally said I could pick it up my brother came with me.  Not only was the car not repaired properly but there was also fender damage from an accident with a white vehicle.  They tried to tell me that damage was already there!  I had the dealership visit just prior to the falling tree to back me up.  I refused delivery of vehicle.  Ultimately I protested with the executives at my insurance company and they immediately absorbed the repair expenses and totaled my car.  I bought a new Corolla that weekend.  And changed my insurance company.

A few more years go by and I am now driving a Honda CRV.  I had wanted a small SUV for years and was thrilled with my car.  One summer day I am quietly working at home.  Clear blue skies.  No signs of any storms on the horizon.  Just like a Kansas day right before a tornado strikes.  Now, as I already shared, I know to beware flying monkeys.  But what I did not know was to be on the lookout for flying tires.

I had run a quick errand at lunch and then pulled into the designated parking spot for my CRV.   Around 5:00pm a neighbor arrived home from work and parked beside me.  She knocked on the door and asked ‘have you seen your car?’.  And I said ‘no, why?’  She said ‘you have to come look at your car.’  I grabbed shoes and keys and went outside.  I noticed nothing wrong with my car from the back and asked her why this large tire was sitting in her parking spot.  My neighbor calmly said “Karen, you need to look at the front of your car.’

I slowly approach the front-end nestled deep into the parking space and exclaimed ‘oh no… not again’.  I sighed.  ‘How did this even happen…. it couldn’t have been that strange tire could it?...how could it bounce off the street onto the front end of my car … and with all those trees on the embankment from the highway up above…how could a tire have possibly rolled down the embankment and then gotten airborne in order to land on the windshield.  I don’t understand’

Yet somehow this most mysterious incident of all did indeed occur.  The windshield and roof frame were caved in as was the dashboard and steering column.  That tire had to hit with excessive force from the air to do such damage.  Leather seats damaged from flying glass.  The door had to be replaced, etc.  Another rental and months of repair work. 

And the insurance adjustor, insurance agent, body shop, family and friends all agreed…  how could this have happened?  In fact the insurance agent / adjustor over the phone was convinced that a tire must have come off a moving vehicle on our street and then bounced up in the air to land on the front of the CRV.  I tried explaining that I parked with the front of the car deep in the spot and that wasn’t possible.  Eventually the insurance inspector came over and cleared that up.  They were trying to link it to a moving vehicle accident that would have a much higher deductible.  Then they wanted to be sure I wasn’t driving when it happened. Fortunately, I had my neighbor and the photos I took right after she told me about the accident. 

For me, I have learned to practice detachment when it comes to my vehicles.  They certainly don’t stay new for long.  I have wondered about the timing of some of these incidents.  What if I had been in the car when these things happened?   I had just left the vehicle moments before most of them.  As for the flying tire incident – no one knows when that occurred.  It could have been just after I came inside. It never tripped the alarm due to the damaged dashboard. Maybe I was more fortunate than I realized at the times.

And the consensus is that my cars just attract objects to fall upon them.  Half of the people we know think they should never park near me and the other half think it would be the safest spot as things only land on my cars.   I can only conclude that my fear of flying monkeys- flying tires- flying utility poles- flying carports is justified.  Flying beasties be bad.  

My Father’s Voice

When I was young, the voice in my head was my father’s.  You know what I mean – that voice telling you to handle this situation a bit differently.  Such as:  ‘make more than one trip’ as I walked by with arms over laden- ‘you’ll drop something or fall on the stairs’.  Or the driving comments- he taught me to drive, you see.  Such gems as ‘don’t follow so close’ or ‘yes, you have the right away but that guy wasn’t looking.  Would you rather be right? or dead?’  I admit that to this day, every time I take a huge armful of something and carry it anywhere, I think of my dad. 

My dad was an advice-filled man and as reluctant as I was to listen to him, inevitably he was right.  How annoying is that, right?  But I’m showing you my stubborn side now.  Later in life my dad found it highly amusing that I fell in love with another advice-filled man who was inevitably right.   Robert was known to exclaim ‘stop typing so fast- no wonder your hand hurts’ or ‘be careful with that knife- I don’t want to take you to the ER if you cut yourself’ or, my favorite, ‘why are you carrying all that laundry in one trip?  Put it down.  I’ll take it upstairs.’   See, I really do have a stubborn side.  And for the record, I never cut myself while slicing veggies other than a one-time very small nick.  But, now I hear his voice too, every time I pull out that paring knife and cutting board.  And I think – gosh, now I’d have to get myself to the ER.  I better be careful.  And I picture him in heaven, smiling at me. 

As you may have surmised, today is the anniversary of my father’s passing.  Thirteen years ago he died on the 13^th of March.  The date is not without some family significance.  My parents were married on a Friday the 13^th and nearly two years later I was born on a Friday the 13^th.  My dad always said that day was ‘our’ lucky day – him, mom and me.  In recent years I have begun to wonder how true that is, but I like to cling to my dad’s belief.   As he was nearing death, he lingered in a coma and passed just a few minutes past midnight on the 13^th.   Coincidence?  I think not.  

I remember that week- in the midst of my grief  - just knowing that I would spend the rest of my life and never again would the phone ring and be him.  If I was having a bad week, at random the phone would ring and I would hear Dad’s voice saying ‘I’ve been thinking about you.  Are you okay?’  Or back in the 80s when the Bell Phone system was in place and they had frequent commercials with people saying ‘I just called to say I love you.’  Well, you guessed it.  My dad used to do that too.   Or the times he would tell his funny stories- with some facts created out of the blue with such skill that you couldn’t tell truth from fiction.  Consequently, Dad rarely met a stranger he wouldn’t engage in conversation.

And his utter pride the time I wanted shelves made for this tiny kitchen cupboard and he made them for me remotely.  I measured and told him the numbers over the phone.   ‘Yes, I checked them twice’, I said.  Then he cut out the wedges to hold the shelves and predrilled the holes for the screws.  He carefully used his saw and finishing tools to make the shelves.  He tossed it all into a box and mailed them to me.   I called him when it was being successfully put into place.  He was so proud of himself that it worked.  He had included a mini-level in that box so I could get the shelves mounted properly and he told me how to use it.  I still have that tool in my toolbox.  It was one of the few that got moved to the condo.

He loved to laugh and spend time together as a family.  And when we couldn’t visit – well, he picked up that phone to check in on his kids.  And at the end of those phone calls, then he would say, ‘Well, Karen Marie, I’m out of words.  I love you.  Goodbye.’  Right back at you, Dad. 

Highway Hazards

Construction boys are highway hazards.  Or to be more precise the haphazard way they toss their gear into the back of pickups and drive away.  They pull onto highways at high speeds.  And sometimes things fall out of those trucks.   Especially if I happen to be on the highway behind them.  What I am about to share are a few tales from my driving past.   They range from laugh aloud funny to scary to infuriating.   These tales give a sample of the interesting things that happen on our highways and byways when you’ve held a job that involves driving to various locations.

A classic example was in Dallas at rush hour in the mid-80s.  I was driving my little blue Pinto.  I know.  One rear-end collision and it would have been all over.  Fortunately that didn’t happen.  At least not in that car.  But I digress.  I was heading to work in the early morning on the expressway.  I was all dressed in my little suit and pumps with big hair.  The ‘80s in Dallas, okay?   That day my suit was a pale pink Evan Picone beauty that I just loved for spring.  With the coordinating pastel multi-colored blouse.  And the perfect shade of pale pink pumps I had just found to go with.   It was a great hair day too.  The usual morning routine of hot rollers in while layering make-up on was very effective.  After slipping on the suit I would take out the rollers and run my fingers through hair to fluff out the curls and hit it with tons of hair spray.  If you forgot to hold your breath you would be choking at that point.  Not kidding. 

So there I was in my little Pinto listening to some pop song on the radio and driving along.  Traffic wasn’t that bad and I was cruising.  Cars all around me but we were moving.  And suddenly there it was in front of me.  A large white caulking compound bucket rolling along the highway.  There was no way to brake or switch lanes.  I kept my car straight and prayed it would roll beside my car instead of under.  And it did but unfortunately it rolled back and I caught it with my back left tire.  And that wheel stopped rolling.  So I had to cross two lanes of traffic to get to the brake down lane.  Dragging the tire the whole way.  And there I was in my little pale pink suit- oh so girly.  Starring at this empty caulking bucket wedged in my tire well. 

My first maneuver was to put my hands on the side of the trunk and jump on it with both feet.  Of course pink pumps may have slippery soles.  So as my feet slid off with some force I was thankful to hang onto the trunk with my hands.  Whew!  I narrowly avoided sprawling onto the highway.  Then I tried pushing the bucket off with my hands.   I broke a few nails on that maneuver and the ‘glow’ I was generating in the warmth of a Texas spring morning was impacting my makeup.  And frizzing my hair.  Next up I tried kicking and pushing on the bucket with just one foot.  Ahhh!  Sweet victory!  It finally came off and I was on my way.   A little rumpled and weather worn but the suit still looked fairly good.  And at least my fellow commuters got a free show.

Flash forward about twenty years.  I’m heading home from work on a Friday afternoon.  I’m on the highway known as Rt 128 just south of Boston.  And in front of me I see a contractor’s pickup crossing lanes towards me.  A very large painting ladder is leaning in the truck and bouncing around.  I watch in horror as the ladder jumps out of that truck and lands standing up in the highway.  Then it flips a few times end to end.  At this point I had already hit the flashers and slammed on my brakes.  I was able to cross over to the brake down lane and just stopped.  Because the ladder had finally landed flat onto the surface of the highway and it was snaking around at a rapid pace.  Finally it stopped moving.  It was fairly close to my CRV.  What are the odds that the ladder moved in tandem with me?  Yet it did.  My hands were shaking as I slowly pulled my car out and drove around the ladder.   Such a relief to get home and share the tale with my husband.  He told me the young man in the truck was probably more focused on getting to the bar to meet his buddies.

There are many other car stories I could share.   Let me ask - how many times have you been stopped at a stop sign at the end of a highway exit ramp or at an intersection and been rear-ended?  Try four times.  Granted it was due to slippery roads twice but you get the picture.   A third time a construction geezer in an uninsured battered pick-up claimed his brakes failed after the police arrived.   When in reality he had initially asked me why I stopped instead of yielding on the off ramp.  Hmmm, because it’s a stop sign?

I can feel my guardian angel cringe every time I pull out onto a highway.   
And neither of us enjoys visiting Home Depot.  Construction boys are highway hazards.  

To Uke or Not to Uke

I’ve been trying new things lately.  I signed up for a water walking class but learned that rushing to a pool based class in the middle of a workday is not my favorite thing.  Schlepping all the wet gear out into the cold while rushing back to work is not relaxing.  Neither was being the only woman younger than 70.  I don’t need to hear how much joint pain I’ll endure about twenty years from now.  Shudder. 

Then I heard about ukulele lessons.  My neighbor started a group in my condo building.  It sounded like fun and I signed up.  Then I had second thoughts.  Was I ready to try something so outside my comfort zone?  I decided it couldn’t hurt to give it a go. 

I had a couple lessons and then joined in on the ‘jam sessions.’  I learned about frets and chords and strumming.  I progressed from Three Blind Mice and Row, Row Your Boat to new songs such as My Darling Clementine.  I faithfully practiced everyday.   I was starting to feel very musical.  Although if you’ve ever heard me sing you would know that I can’t carry a tune.  In fact that could be problematic for a uke player.  It’s not like when I took piano lessons in high school.  On a piano you are playing the whole song.  On a uke it’s just the chords and you’re suppose to sing along.  But I was excited to try this new venture. 

As the days of practice went on I realized it was aggravating an old hand injury.  I rested it and tried again on another day.  Same thing.  Sigh.  Since I need to be able to use a laptop for my day job I had to admit defeat.    It seems I am not meant to uke after all.   At least I have the memories of trying something new and getting to know a few of my neighbors.