Stop the Roller Coaster, I Want to Get Off
A minister I know used to say she was “ambulance tired,” so tired she wanted someone to load her onto a gurney, put her in an ambulance and take care of her.
A few weeks ago, I inadvertently achieved that wish, calling 911 and spending the night in the ER because of possible heart attack symptoms. Not typical chest pain or pressure, but I know that women can present with very different symptoms, and mine were extreme heartburn and indigesetion (worse, but I’ll spare you the details), sweating, severe back pain and anxiety. The EMTs were skeptical, but as they loaded me into the ambulance I told them, “I’d rather go the hospital and be told there’s nothing wrong than go to sleep and not wake up.” It was about 11 p.m., and there was no way I could go to sleep.
After a night in the ER, with all the basic tests, I was told everything was normal, and my dear friend Helen took me home at 6 a.m. (The nurses had let me sleep till it was late enough for me to call someone to pick me up, one of those factors of widowhood you don’t anticipate.)
My life has been like a constant roller coaster ride. In October, my granddaughter convinced me she needed her own dog, and the pit-bull mix puppy we adopted was a mistake. While they were away it was so much less stressful, despite the remodeling, and I dreaded their return.
In the meantime, I have been preparing for a chorale concert with a difficult repertoire. It’s music from animated movies, and pop music can me harder to perform than classical, which has fairly predictable key signatures, rhythms and harmonies (with exceptions of course). Pop is usually faster, has lots of syncopation and other off-beat rhythms, complicated lyrics and, oh, the key changes! The Lion King (thank you, Elton John) goes through about four key changes! But it’s fun, good for my brain, my body, and my spirit, and choral singers are wonderfully supportive of each other.
I’m also still keeping up with art and craft projects, including cards for the spring iHanna postcard swap. I try to make time for art every day. My lifelong soul-feeders have been art, music and words (reading and writing).
The pup came back, bigger and more energetic than ever. My 10-year-old heeler barely tolerates her, life became too chaotic, and we decided to try to rehome her. I printed flyers, contacted every shelter in the area, posted on social media…. A friend decided she would take her, and it seemed like a perfect setup–another dog her size, a big yard–but after a few days she decided she couldn’t keep her after all.
There are too many adoptable pets, nobody wants a pit-mix, and each day I fell deeper into despair. Hip surgery looming, granddaughter needing to focus on important activities, I made an appointment at the county shelter to surrender her. The local Pets Alive organization told me they would probably take her from the shelter and try to rehome her.
I lost sleep thinking about this poor sweet girl going back to a shelter. I met a sweet young man who said he loves pitbulls and would consider taking her, but it seems the family disagreed. (A woman at one shelter told me she’d rather have a pitbull than a chihuaha! I agree; little dogs are feisty and barky.)
Strangely, since Bonnie returned to us, her behavior has changed drastically. Did she sense it was her last chance? She is calmer, sweeter, and even Junior tolerates her better. We went to the dog park yesterday and they swam in the river and sniffed around together. Junior dropped his ball in the river, and Bonnie went in and got it, dropped it (into the river–dogs don’t understand gravity!) and Junior went back in and got it. We lost it a few minutes later, but we lose and find tennis balls all the time.
Before the ball was lost once and for all.
Yesterday I cancelled the surrender appointment, notified the Pets Alive folks that we would still like to rehome her, but only with the right adoption to someone with enough space and energy to care for and appreciate her.
Who could resist that face?
I suspect she may be my forever dog after granddaughter moves out. I worry about her outliving me, but otherwise I’m kind of cool with it. I am going to board her for my hip surgery and recovery, mainly so that my granddaughter can focus on taking care of me and not both of us.
Once again I am able to sleep at night. The roller coaster is smoothing out a bit. I kind of look forward to the post-surgery period as a time to rest and be taken care of (minus the ambulance).
P.S. If you live in Central Texas and would like to meet Bonnie, maybe give her a loving home with kids and/or other dogs and a big yard, please comment or email me at jillybeanswiggins@gmail.com.
Mining Nuggets from Old Journals
As reported in my other blog, jillybeanswiggins.wordpress.com, I have been repurposing old journals and calendars into art projects.
This is an old blank book that was a gift. (I added the new label.)
It had odd jottings and thoughts about my life, including Christmas lists and deep discussions with myself about my marriage and my life goals. Very little of it was worth saving, so I tore many of those pages out. I kept the page on which I had created my color palette, and used that as an inspiration for the rest of the book:
The title page and the three palettes I have created so far, using Pantone color samples.
But there were some nuggets worth keeping, which why I’m posting them here. I probably took a workshop that encouraged me to develop a sense of my values and my “mission.” No matter how long ago I wrote them, they still work for me and are worth keeping, and sharing:
My Mission
My mission is to add beauty, joy and color to the world through my art, my writing and my person, while providing a loving, solid foundation of trust for all I care for and who care for me.
Highest Personal Values
Commitment, honesty, integrity. Sticking to what I believe in; being trustworthy; always doing what I promise.
Compassion, empathy. Caring about others; helping when possible; being loving and kind.
Learning, open-mindedness. Never stop learning; curiosity; being open to ideas and viewpoints that may be different from my own.
Humor, joy. Try not to take myself too seriously. Nobody gets out of here alive. Might as well enjoy the ride.
Gratitude, appreciation. Nothing is a given to be taken for granted; it’s all a gift.
Adding a little color and joy with a carrot top today. (It will wash out soon.)
Still Rolling, Toward Balance
The ups and downs of new widowhood are smoothing out, and I feel more comfortble knowing that, when I go into a ditch, it won’t take long for me to find my way out again. Friends and activities help a lot.
My granddaughter has gone to stay with another family member while her room and bathroom are undergoing remodeling/repair of a failed shower (the second we have replaced in this house–shoddy construction in the mid-1990s). Other than the workers, who come and go pretty much without disturbing me, it’s just me and Junior for a while.
For the first time in my memory, I actually have time on my hands! Coinicidentally with granddaughter being away, I’m in a phase without appointments or very many commitments. It’s both scary and wonderful.
So my days are pretty much my own for the first time in forever, and I’m having a little trouble focusing. I read a lot, including a series of novels about grief, “Me Before You” and “After You,” by Jojo Moyse. I love her books and the fact that they are set in England. That and watching “All Creatures Great and Small” have me reverting to my native tongue (at least in my head.) I’m trying to catch as many of the Oscar-nominated movies as possible, disappointed at the “Barbie” snubs. The sequel to my favorite movie, “Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget” wasn’t quite as good as the original, but I think I’ll watch it again because there are clever details that I may have missed while watching it with friends.
I have a variety of art and craft projects going, including, as always, stitching, knitting, and a new project, a color palette book,reusing an old blank book to create a reference source for myself. Below is a nascent stitching project. I love the color combinations!
Junior and I have our nearly daily visit to the off-leash dog park along the river, my (and his) happy place (except on occasions when some nut is doing target practice or shooting squirrels on the other side of the river, which means Junior runs straight to the car and cannot be convinced that he is safe. Ruins my day. I have called the sheriff’s department and was told it’s legal and there is nothing that can be done–they are outside city limits, in the county. I have tried adjusting the times I go, which so far seems to be working. Talk about spoiling paradise!)
I love this twisted old tree, and our amazing Texas sky.
I am singing in the community chorale, my art group meets every Thursday, and I go to church most Sundays. There is a feng shui class after church that’s helping me consider colors, flow and decor in the house.
There are multiple projects that I am postponing–I want to paint the kitchen and my bathroom cabinets, the garage and storeroom are a mess (the Christmas boxes are still in the living room), and there will be outdoor projects soon, since spring often comes in February here.
I have scheduled hip replacement for April! Many of the projects may wait till after I recover. The doctor assures me I will be walking three miles again! But will Junior? He is nearing age 10, and we are growing old together.
Rolling along…gradually
It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year and a half since Gary died, and I am just now moving back into the room we would have shared before he got sick. (Parkinson’s causes sleep-talking and agitation, so after being awakened by a whack in the face a few times, I moved to the futon in the guest room.)
When we downsized into this house, my granddaughter got the master suite so she can have friends over, a messy bathroom and plenty of privacy. I dubbed Gary’s and my rooms the “master wing,” with a bathroom between. He slept in one room, while the other was my studio with the “guest” futon. It was very comfortable, but after he died I was split between the two rooms–clothes, sleeping, art and craft supplies.
In our time together, Gary and I traveled at Christmastime 25 out of the 28 years. Even last year I went alone to the Dallas-Forth worth area, where he was from, and had a beautiful gathering for his friends and family at a restaurant on December 30.
So this year I decided to stay home and have a quiet, relaxed holiday. On the 22nd, I hosted a potluck for my art friends, with about a dozen women, good food, conversation and a little prosecco. My daughters, son-in-law and grandson (who attends school in England) came for our traditional Christmas Eve cookie decorating (although I did much less baking this year).
So Christmas day was quiet and peaceful. Granddaughter had a friend over, so she wasn’t lonely, and I heated a frozen pizza for our Christmas dinner. (Hey, we could have just eaten cookies.)
During the day I got a wild hair to fix my bedroom/studio split. “It’ll take about an hour,” I figured. Silly me. I had to finish up the next day. However, I am happier than I expected to be, having one room for sleeping/dressing and one for office/art space. I was concerned that the bedroom faces east, and is on the street side of the house. But I usually get up at dawn anyway, and our neighborhood is quiet, so neither of those things is a problem.
It has taken a little while for Junior to adjust. He sometimes goes onto the futon first if I don’t close the door, and the “new” bed is much higher, so if it ever gets too high for him I’ll have to get him a ramp or steps. But he manages to hog the queen just as much as he did the futon. And he keeps me warm.
I look forward to an even better 2024. My goals are simple: to keep making art, take care of my loved ones and myself, possibly get hip replacement (I see the orthopedic surgeon January 3), and just be grateful for my fortunate life.
Hacking Away at Gordian Knots
Back in my working life, when a job interviewer asked me about my greatest strengths, I usually answered: “I am very well organized and highly detail oriented.” (Obviously, the less positive term for these traits is “OCD.”)
Although I still believe this to be true, I notice I’m slacking off a bit these days.
For several years in my teens, I worked as a bookkeeper at a lumber yard. It was great fun, working with mostly men (the co-owner, my boss, was a woman; her husband ran the lumber yard and it was a wonder he still had all his fingers, because he was a bit klutzy to be running a sawmill!) My job was mostly managing accounts-receivable, but I also got to run errands in a company vehicle, which was thrilling for a teen driver!
I have few math skills beyond basic arithemetic, but I know how to balance a spreadsheet and reconcile a bank statement. Throughout my life I have been meticulous about financial records and almost always balanced the checkbook to the penny. In the past few years it’s been more likely to the $5, but still, the bank and I mostly agreed.
All my bills are on autopay, and I have a couple of credit cards that give cashback bonuses. So the amount on the statement and the amount withdrawn from the bank account don’t match. I was a bit behind about looking at the bank statement, and I got so frustrated trying to untangle the inconsistencies I finally said to myself: You know what. Just go with what the bank says. There’s plenty in the account, nothing is going to bounce. Just match it up every month and check for any big booboos (like forgetting to write an ATM withdrawal in the checkbook).
On a different but similar note: I’ve always found untangling yarn to be sort of meditative, and very satisfying when it’s finished, especially with a really bad yarn barf (that’s official knitters’ terminology). Only as a very last resort did I cut yarn, and then with great regret.
Lately I’ve been doing more stitchery, and embroidery thread tangles even worse than yarn. The other evening I got a wild hair to sort and reorganize all my threads, at which moment the internet and cable TV went out (all over town), so I had nothing to distract me while I did this not meditative task. But being, as noted before, somewhat obsessive-compulsive, I stuck with it. As I mentioned, knots in embroidery threads are much worse than yarn. I cut out knots more than once. Without remorse. And the organized thread makes me happy.
Organized by color and sorted onto big binder rings. (I don’t even try to untangle metallics, as you can see.) At left, a current stitching project awaits completion.
Tucked into a repurposed plastic container.
Freeing myself up to cut these figurative Gordian Knots, just like Alexander the Great, got me to thinking about how much this applies to my life in general, especially since my husband died. It may be about priorities, or it could be the sense of knowing my time in this life is limited, but I am getting lax about dealing with things I used to be fussy/obsessive about. The small dog run needs mowing after some good rains. I’ll text the yard guy next week…. really.
Granddaughter and I have worked out an arrangement whereby she unloads the dishwasher and I load it. This leads to some big piles of dirty dishes awaiting an empty dishwasher. To paraphrase Anne Lamott: There was a time when she couldn’t write when there were dishes in the sink. Then she reached a point that she could write if there was a body in the sink. (I’ve googled the quote and can’t find it, but it may have been an NPR interview rather than in print.) No bodies in the sink yet, but I breeze out the door to the dog park without a second glance. It’ll get done eventually.
I think my mother went through a similar phase after World War II. She had been a super-meticulous housekeeper, but she had TB after the war, and became much less fussy after recovering from that (and the War). I was told she polished the brass entryway to the house every day, on her hands and knees, before she got sick. I am embarrassed to admit I used to iron sheets. The only thing I iron these days is fabric for stitching.
It’s about 80F right now, and I’d rather walk the dog than sit here typing, so I’ll sign off.
To quote a knitter on the forum Knitting Paradise: “Life is short. Knit the pretty yarn first.” (And don’t be afraid to cut the knots. )
Pretty yarn.
To see more of my art, stitching and knitting, visit my art blog, https://jillybeanswiggins.wordpress.com/
Latitude Adjustment
Being English, I feel like I need a dip in saltwater at least once a year. The Texas Gulf coast, with its gentle, warm surf this time of year, was the chosen destination for granddaughter, her friend and me (along with the dog).
Junior wasn’t too sure but hung in there with me. (I got a bad haircut right before the trip, so decided to go pink since it couldn’t be any worse.)
Travel makes me reflective–maybe it’s the free time, the change of place–I’m not sure, but I usually come back from travel with new perspectives and priorities.
With two teenagers on a totally different schedule, I had plenty of time for walking the dog (who wasn’t too sure about the salty surf, and I think he would have had more fun off-leash; unfortunately that wasn’t an option; one reason we chose Port Aransas is that dogs are allowed on the beach). Reading: Billy Porter’s memoir, Unprotected, which was as amazing as he is, and what a tough life he had to get where he is now. Knitting while watching movies, with a huge TV and thousands of options, of which I chose two really bad movies: The Foreigner, with Pierce Brosnan and Jackie Chan, two actors I really like who should have passed on that script; and Ticket to Paradise, which I knew would be utterly ridiculous but, knowing the basic plot, I was curious how it played out. (Side note: Julia Roberts’ costumer should find another line of work. Suits, vests, jumpsuits, long-sleeved pajamas–in Bali? The pièce de résistance, for the boat trip off the island: a black puff-sleeved romper!)
My reflection and reprioritizing: it has recently hit me that I have been managing households, taking care of people, working and generally not prioritizing myself since I was 19! It’s time for me! Especially for art! I have been drawing and painting since I could hold a pencil or a brush, but art has always been what I do after everything/everyone else is taken care of.
Now it’s what I do first, or at least after the basic essentials of eating and walking the dog are taken care of. I have a mini-studio setup in a closet, plus a guestroom/craft room, and I go there as soon as I can. I break projects up into small pieces and have many projects going at once. (I will update my art blog, jillybeanswiggins.wordpress.com, soon.) I’m drawing, doing collage, stitching, and planning future projects.
I have some volunteer obligations that feel like burdens, and I have to decide whether to muscle through and get ’em done, or bail (politely). The single word I need to get better at pronouncing, without preceding it with, “I’m sorry, but…” is “No.”
The complex where we stayed was beautifully landscaped and had two very nice pools. Since it was off-season, we had them mostly to ourselves.
Full Heart
My first morning back from a trip to Ohio for my high school reunion and visits with friends and family, as Junior and I headed for our first trip to the dog park in a week, I had a funny feeling in my chest. It wasn’t unpleasant or scary, and soon I realized that my heart was full.
Traveling can be very stressful, and I took this trip with a lot of anxiety, especially leaving my granddaughter and the dog. But her grandfather took care of everything so that I left with peace of mind.
I spent time with my sister-in-law, visited with several nieces, grand-nieces, and even met a two-month-old great-grand niece I didn’t even know about.
Me with my niece Allison, who was thoughtful enough to suggest a restaurant with a patio so I could enjoy the beautiful day. (I failed to get pics of my other niece, her daughter and the new grandbaby.)
Even though I began my life in the U.S. in northern Ohio (after we arrived from England when I was eight), I had forgotten after so many years how beautiful it is in summer, especially compared to our drought-ridden, 100+ degree weather here in Texas. Everything was so lush and green, and there were ponds around every turn on the country roads. Fields were bursting with crops, and flower beds were everywhere.
The reunion was better than I expected. The venue, a re-purposed old store on Main Street, just steps from the county courthouse, was perfect, with exposed brick walls and polished wood floors.
A beautiful old Main Street building, probably a store at some time, now an event venue. (When I get caught up in something, I forget to take photos, so this is the only one I have.)
Of course there was the shock of seeing all these “old people,” but I was even more surprised at how short some people were. I’m only 5’1″, and there were many women much shorter than I am.
But the best thing is how much nicer 78-year-olds are than 18-year-olds. There was a lot of hugging, trying to recognize people not seen for years (although there were several people, mostly women, who looked just as I remembered them, just a bit older). The Emcee, Terry A., did a wonderful job, as did the committee of local folks who organized the event.
The best part was some great conversations with people I hadn’t known well. Few of my closest friends were there, but I enjoyed getting to know people who were barely more than acquaintences at school.
Our school has an “all class reunion” the following day at the “new” high school. Opened in 2001, it replaced the eary 20th Century classic red brick building we attended. Fewer classmates were there, but it was still good. One woman from another class spoke to me of memories of me, soon after we arrived from England, about which I had no recall, including who she was! One spouse and I had a lively and congenial discussion about our unapologetic liberal politics. As we approached the building, her husband had introduced me as one of those “Commie pinko liberals,” and I thought, “Uh oh,” until he added, “Like us!” I was shocked and delighted, especially since he had been one of the class bad boys.
Also on Sunday, I visited the person I have known longer than anyone else on Earth, except for my own relatives. K. was a baby when her father was stationed in England, and she was six months old when I first met her. Her mother and grandfather were responsible for us moving to the U.S. She and her husband have the most spectacular property I have ever seen. There are multiple flower gardens, produce gardens, “theme” gardens (Beethoven, Handel, Mozart–they are both musicians), orchards, a pond, a beehive, and all this bounty is available at their cute farm stand (which has an honor system box for payment).
The honor garden for their chldren who are in the military.
The pond with a flower “bed.”
K. asked around and waited till someone gave her an unusable boat. Not only are they great gardeners, they are very creative!
These little things are in the eggplant family but they’re not edible. They turn orange in the fall and can be used as mini-pumpkins.
Multi-color peppers
Apples nearly ready for picking. They have a several different varieties of apples, as well as melons, tomatoes greens, even honey, that they sell in their farm stand.
K. told me that when her husband bought the six-acres, there was one tree on the property. Everything else was planted by “him or by God,” as she put it. They both put so much love and time into this endeavor (while being involved in their community and their extended families), but when I commented on how much work it was, they said “it’s not work if you love it.”
As you can see from the photos, I was blessed with perfect weather, with lows in the 50s and 60s at night and highs nudging into the low 80s.
I spent the rest of the time visiting my sister-in-law, C., and we mostly hung out, watched movies, visited the cemetery where her parents and my brother are interred, and ate wonderful meals with friends and family.
C. and I never run out of things to talk about, especially our kids, grandkids and other family, my brother (her late husband), the challenges and joys of getting older, and mostly books, books, books! She was an English professor so it was an endless conversation of “have you read…” and “you must read…”. We both epanded out “to read” lists!
I always think travel is transformative. So much has bubbled up from this trip: appreciation for old friends and family, being able to travel, the incredible weather and beauty of Ohio in August, gratitude for what I have here at home.
Junior was hysterically happy when I walked in the door. He got his swim in the river the next morning.
Not sure who missed whom more, but I’m happy to be back with my doggie and the river.
Spiritual Path
As I approach the first anniversary of Gary’s death, I find myself being more introspective (and introverted) than ever. This year has been a sacred time of remembering, honoring his life, and finding a new way forward as a single “mom,” aka grandma raising a teen. (Side note: parenting and grandparenting are mutually exclusive roles, and I have concluded it’s best to err on the side of grandma. My granddaughter is an amazing, beautiful young person, and she’s doing fine without sternness and tough rules.)
Back to the spiritual quest. I’ve been an agnostic all my adult life, but in the past few years I’ve questioned my agnosticism (if it’s possible to “question” what is already “questioning.”) One need only look at a starry sky, a newborn baby, an egg, or a seed, and think there must be a force, an intelligence, that made this incredible, unknowable Universe. I usually speak to the “Goddess” or the “Universe.”
Lately I have been reading poetry (Mary Oliver, Naomi Shihab Nye) and spiritual books, including Marianne Williamson’s “A Year of Miracles,” John O’Donahue’s “Walking in Wonder,” and a delightful book by Rob Walker, “The Art of Noticing.” One of his suggestions is to take specific types of walks: noticing colors, or smells, or looking for patterns. I decided to look for signs of the divine.
I wanted to feel a presence, a tangible aid to belief. For example, soon after Gary died, I was walking down a street and thrust my arm out as a small white feather landed in my palm. That was a sign.
Walking Junior at my sacred place, the off-leash dog park on the Guadalupe River, I got to wondering if maybe I’m trying too hard, wanting too much. As a recent commercial goes: “The signs are everywhere.” Maybe it’s all signs: those hawks circling, that tiny purple flower in the grass, geese and ducks and turtles in the flowing river; cooing doves; fluffy clouds and Wedgwood-blue sky; black and gold widow-skimmer dragonflies; other dogs running and playing and sniffing with Junior. “Dog” is a palindrome of “god.” Junior is my comfort: he makes me laugh, he gets me up every morning, and he keeps me moving.
Maybe it’s just that beautiful tail.
Sniffing the good smells.
Half My Life a Texan?
Turning 78 recently, I got to thinking about how much I’ve moved around. I’ve had 27 addresses and lived in two countries and six states, plus the District of Columbia. But I’m coming up on 41 years in Texas, which is difficult to believe. When the 40-year-mark came last year, I was too preoccupied with my husband’s health and the aftermath of his death to observe that milestone.
Nearly a year later, my life has calmed down and I have time for introspection, interesting conversations with my 16-year-old granddaughter, get-togethers with art friends, singing in the community chorale, and going to shows and concerts. It’s a huge relief to have time for reading, working on creative projects, playing with the dog, and just relaxing.
Last week I had occasion to drive through some of the prettiest, and hilliest, part of the Texas Hill Country. As I negotiated the up and down twists and turns of the road between Kerrville and Medina, I thought about what an adventure my life is. If someone had told me 70 years ago, while I watched Queen Elizabeth’s coronation on a grainy black-and-white TV at a neighbor’s in Newmarket, England, that in 2023 I could watch her son’s coronation on a big-screen color TV in my living room–in Texas, USA. (I actually didn’t watch the coronation, but picked up clips on the news later.)
From small Newmarket, Suffolk, England (one of the centers of thoroughbred racing) to a slightly larger, but still smallish Kerrville, with mostly city living in between (including 35 years in Austin), I feel really settled in this home, in this beautiful area and its riches of things to do, including water activities on the Guadalupe River, fine arts at several art centers, live music from country to classical and everything in between at several beautiful venues, theater, rodeos, outdoor festivals (including the most famous Kerrville Folk Festival, which is celebrating its 51st anniversary this year), there is never a shortage of things to do here. (Long-term fans of the festival, who come from near and far, call themselves “Kerrverts.” In addition to their contributions to the local economy, they add a nice ’70s hippie vibe to an otherwise conservative town.)
So what’s not to like in Texas? Where to begin? Despite its ethnic diversity, it is politically conservative, starting with the governor, leutenant governor, the legislature and many local governments. The state’s economy has depended on agriculture and oil and gas for so long that it has attracted people who put high value on wealth and capitalism. In the meantime, while the oil and tech magnates enjoy their mansions and private jets, millions work on low-paying jobs and struggle to get by. Kerrville is among the very wealthiest communities in the state. I’ve noticed when I’m at the dog park, just a few miles from the airport, I hear and see private jets circling in on Friday afternoon, and reversing the route leaving on Sunday. Many rich people retire or vacation here. Upsides of this are philanthropic organizations, great cultural institutions, including a world-class concert hall, and excellent medical care and a beautiful hospital. If higher level care is needed it’s available only an hour away in San Antononio.
What gives me hope? The healthy economy attracts major companies, most of whom do not cotton to anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, decimation of women’s reproductive rights, dumbing down of the educational system, and attacks on libraries.Of course guns are an enormous problem throughout the U.S., no less here. But I think the increase in ethnic diversity, athough it scares many of the old (and young) white men out of their tighty-whities, will eventually liberalize the social and political landscape.
Sometimes I get so discouraged I think about leaving Texas, moving back East or even back to England. But when I walk the dog along the river, attend a fabulous concert, eat lunch with friends on a riverside deck, or just sit on my porch (as I’m doing now), I realize I’m settled in here, and grateful that my husband, a native Texan, possibly knowing his years were short when we came from Austin, left me comfortably settled.
So yeah, I guess I’m a Texan, y’all.
The view from where I sit while writing this. Of course there’s a pickup in the picture! It wouldn’t be Texas without it. I love to sit here and watch the hummingbirds at the feeder, the neighbors going by and listen to kids at recess in the nearby elementary school.
If I Keep Turning Corners…
…am I just going around the block?
This spring I am making a conscious effort to emerge from hibernation. It’s so easy to be solitary–and a bit lazy. I happily putter around home, doing art, stitching, knitting, while watching movies or listening to podcasts: The History of the English Language, Way with Words podcast, History of Jeopardy, TED talks, and random stuff on YouTube. Netflix provides movies and series: The Good Place, The Diplomat, Somebody Feed Phil, and more movies than I could watch in a lifetime. Then there is my daily fix of Jeopardy!
A friend at church goes to the San Antonio airport and greets immigrants who are moving on to other parts of the country. They get backpacks with clothes and other essentials, and she knits hats for those going to colder climates. So I knitted a bunch of hats for her. This is a small sample. I give most of my knitting away, a lot of it with donated yarn, so it’s a win-win.
My Thursday morning art group is a must, and I go to church most Sundays, so I have those communities. I’ve been consciously getting out and doing other things I enjoy. I went with a friend to a play (“Dead Man’s Cell Phone) and, having been married to an actor and director, I notice I watch theater from a different perspective (directing, staging, casting, blocking)–another gift Gary gave me. The friend and I sat on my patio with glasses of wine afterwards and talked about how surreal and thought-provoking the play had been.
Friday another friend invited me to go to a Cinco de Mayo celebration at a local community center, which is the site of the former Black school, before integration. The Doyle Center has events that provide a beautiful mix of people, music, food and fun. I had a lovely conversation with a Black lady during which we discovered things we had in common: she’s raising two grandsons, whilel I’m raising my granddaughter; we both retired from working for the state of Texas. My only regret is that I didn’t dance, but it’s probably just as well because I’d had minor foot surgery a few days before and the doctor would probably have advised against dancing. (The unofficial “mayor” of the Black community, a former coach, story-teller and teacher, gives dance lessons, and I was tempted to go up to him and say, “Clifton, my husband died last year and I haven’t danced in a very long time. Would you do me the honor of a spin around the dance floor?” Maybe next time I’ll get up the nerve!
My Cinco de Mayo crown, which I keep as a talisman of my “coming out” time.
This weekend there is a Dave Brubeck jazz concert and an art walk in nearby Boerne. I’m hoping to see Guardians of the Galaxy soon in an actual movie theater! I continue to volunteer at church and at the Hill Country Arts Foundation gallery. The community chorale is finished for the season, and we had a full house for our final concert, all pops, that had people singing along. I have completed my cards for the current ihanna postcard swap and will mail them soon. (They will be posted on my other blog soon.)
Instead of turning corners, I think it’s more about a balance: between “being” and “doing,” spending time with my granddaughter and my friends, even planning travel, a high school reunion in Ohio this summer. Also taking care of my increasingly challenging health, from the feet all the way up. Keeping moving, staying grateful.
It’s a cool morning, the doors and windows are open, and I had coffee on the porch and listened to the birds while Junior kept watch over the neighborhood. Later we’ll go to the dog park for a run and swim (him) and deep breathing (me).
Wiggins Words and Images 