Safety Net

Lying awake a few nights ago, bracing for the next day’s stress with the grandchild, I fretted over my very long, color-coded to-do list. Why did I have so much going on, so much I felt I needed to do?

In my last post I briefly shared the challenges of raising a 12-year-old. If you think raising a grandchild is difficult, multiply that by 10 and you might be close. Every morning is a battle just to get her to school. I am incredibly grateful to the counselor, nurse and other staff at her school, who tell me to “Just GO,” they’ll take care of things.

Musing about the to-do list, I realized I NEED it. It’s my safety net. No matter what else is going on, no matter how worn down I feel after the drop-off, there are a dozen things I can turn to that will feed my soul, or at least get an onerous chore done.

The color-coding works, too. Orange is for top priority, deadline items; yellow is second; green, third; blue is creative stuff; pink is self-care. Sometimes they’re combined and orange overlays yellow; pink and blue (i.e. purple) are special–creative self-care!

Is the list too long when you have to tape another piece to the bottom?

Just a sample of my recent/current list: minutes of the church board meeting (I’m board secretary); drain, clean and refill the hot tub; find a therapist for myself; several sewing, knitting and art projects; practice my music for the Hill Country Chorale… etc. I even have sub-lists on separate sheets (gardening and household projects, specific art ideas, sewing and knitting projects).

 

Fun art prompts.

I’ve never been much of a shopper, but since I’ve been retired I’ve found I enjoy browsing thrift shops with nothing particular in mind. Yesterday, between knitting group and picking up granddaughter at school, I popped into Finds and picked up a stack of books and this gorgeous silk jewelry travel case, which was a whopping 50 cents! I don’t really have much use for it but it’s so gorgeous I may just hang it on the wall. What’s funny is that the piping was white. When I washed it the water looked like Big Red, and the piping turned pink, which now matches the lining!

Jewel case folded for travel.

Open with various size zipper pockets. Isn’t it gorgeous, for 50 cents?

I also stopped in Home Town Crafts for canvases (yes, I have an urge to paint) and picked up some yarn to make chemo caps.

Soft yarn and colors for chemo caps, which I donate.

A few weeks ago I went with a friend to The Tinsmith’s Wife, a yarn shop in Comfort, and got some gorgeous yarn for a shawl, which I’m excited about starting soon.

I’m excited about the challenge of knitting a shawl.

Years ago I was talking to a poet friend. We had just moved and I was overwhelmed with having too much to do. She said, “Be glad you have too much to do. You will never be bored.” She was right, and that lady has since passed away. I still think of her when I wonder if I have too much to do.*

I needed to bring a little sunshine into the house today.

*In memory of Peggy Zuleika Lynch

Winter, discontent

We thought 2016 was bad.

I try not to whine and complain. I’m a grownup and I do what needs to be done. But this is ridiculous. The state of the world and the country is absolutely terrifying, and I feel obligated to call my representatives daily, and if asked what issue I’m calling about I’m like Marlon Brando in “The Wild Bunch”: “Wadda you got?” Today it’s the crazy immigration policy, last week it was the inauguration of the most unqualified, certifiably insane substitute-for-human ever to occupy the White House. Tomorrow it will be the Supreme Court nominee, and every day it’s women’s issues, education, the environment and climate change–and on and on.

But to add to the misery, I am stretched to the limit. Not to share too much, my husband and granddaughter both need a lot of care and attention right now. My therapist said I sound like a harried mom. I told her I am, except it didn’t seem this hard 40 years ago. Of course I was 40 years younger!

Hubby has been sleeping in the zero-gravity chair for his back. This is the living room.

 

This is also the living room. Doesn’t everyone want an aqua llama named Francis as part of the decor?

Everywhere I turn there is something that needs doing. Appointments to be made, prescriptions to refill, a messy yard, laundry, clutter, meals, errands. The garage door opener quit and needs replacing. I wanted a haircut two weeks ago, couldn’t get in so let it go, and now I kind of like it longer, except for the bangs. (I usually trim them myself but I keep thinking I’ll get an appointment soon.)

Need a trim

I consider a long pee to be a break. Meditation is when I walk the dog, except when I’m trying to call my Congresspeople. I have “Art Day” popups on my phone calendar on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and they mock me. My to-read pile beckons, as do all my unfinished knitting projects. I made a pink hat for the march, but didn’t quite finish in time to wear it. But I did march!

Pink hats and ugly effigy

I can thank the drump for making me an activist! I’m more engaged than I was during the Viet Nam protests.

However, I will close with gratitude:

• clear starry skies when I walk the dog at 5:45 a.m., sunny afternoons and beautiful parks
• my relatively good health, and abatement of sinus headaches (partly, I believe, thanks to a month of acupuncture treatments)
• despite many challenges, granddaughter is mostly doing well in school
• my sweet soft dog curling up against me when I nap

My sweet baby boy

• enough: we are not rich, but we have a comfortable home, enough to eat and a nice life
• health insurance and good medical care
• my being able to take care of those who need it right now
• pedicures: I took my husband along yesterday because his back prevents him from cutting his toenails. He’s a convert!
• friends and family to back me up if I need help, and a loving church community
• living in a city with liberal values that cares about immigrants and minorities (to quote former governor and presidential candidate Rick Perry, Austin is the “blueberry in the tomato soup.”)

I realize that I live a life of middle-class privilege. But I’m still exhausted.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to pee, walk the dog and try to call my senators and congressman.

 

The Wolf

More than one person is wondering, if not saying aloud, why did I wait so long to go to the doctor after two weeks of coughing?

The short and easy answer is I kept thinking it would be better the next day. Magical thinking. It was just a tickly drainage cough and I didn’t really feel bad, except for interrupted sleep.

It’s not about money. Medicare and our Humana Medicare Advantage Plan (thank you, Government, for working well) mean that’s not an issue.

The other reason, as I told someone in an apology email after twiddling around with an RSVP for much too long: Grandmas just soldier on. It’s not conscious self-sacrifice; it’s just what we do.

Mostly, it’s time. Every day seems to get eaten up with errands, appointments, meal prep, shopping, child care, and my one essential nap. If I have one activity in the morning, it breaks up the day sufficiently that I don’t get to my own things: art, writing, knitting, reading. It’s more efficient to use those broken-up moments do a load of laundry, unload the dishwasher or walk the dog.

I should have gone to the doctor late last week, after a week of coughing. My Friday was totally open, but I just couldn’t give up my only free day that week. So I enjoyed a day of painting and futzing around doing what I wanted.

A few days ago I wrote:

If I am not the shepherd of my hours,

the Wolf of Time will steal them like helpless lambs. 

Interesting I should use that analogy, since Chloe is in a “wolf” phase right now.

By Monday I decided I needed to see a doctor, and the earliest appointment with the ENT was Thursday. I could have tried my primary doc, but again that magical thinking had me believing I’d be better by then and I could cancel the appointment.I ended up seeing a P.A. She did a thorough exam and workup and prescribed a steroid, antibiotic and cough relief. 

What started as a tickly drainage cough morphed into a respiratory infection. I skipped allergy shots for this week, which the P.A. agreed was probably a good idea.

Relief!

After a year and a half of shots I’m wondering when this will get better in this sopping, humid, never-gets-cold-enough-to-kill-off-the-allergens environment. A move to the desert? But I’m English! I couldn’t live in the desert. Last time I was in New Mexico, the mountains outside Albuquerque were on fire, the humidity was in the single digits and I woke up every morning with a nosebleed.

 

And My Little Dog Too?

I’ve been over-committed much of my life. When my kids were small I did room mother, PTA, neighborhood association, League of Women Voters and sang in the Springfield (VA) Community Chorale, now known as the Northern Virginia Chorale.

Now that I have a school-age grandchild, guess what: PTA and school events, condo board, church board, and I sing in Texas Choral Consort (however, for only one program this year, the Mozart Requiem Undead on September 16.)

Yet I consider myself an introvert and crave time for my art and craft work–painting, making postcards, knitting, stitching, as well as always being behind on my desired reading, journaling and movie-watching.

But if I have more than a day or two of unexpected “free” time I get restless. Obviously I need to find a balance between “doing” and “being.”

The last couple of weeks of the school year are especially nutty. There are a several occasions that I need to be two or three places at once and I’ll have to split the time in order to cover everything. Oh, and my birthday is this week and one of the busiest days. This is what it looks like:

 

Chloe added the birthday greeting to the dry-erase board.

I’m working with a therapist to figure out this apparent need to be needed, to lower my stress and increase satisfaction with my life.

Our dog Junior is so sweet and gentle that someone recently suggested he’d make a great therapy dog. And he would–he never barks, never shows aggression and senses when someone needs to sit quietly and stroke him. He’s the most loving and well-behaved dog I’ve ever had.

So I looked into therapy dog certification, which takes both time and money just to get certified, not to mention the commitment to provide the service (as a volunteer) once he’s certified.

Then I decided not to turn Junior into a furry version of me, and just let him be his sweet self.

He’s perfect just as he is.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Fallow

Has it been only four weeks since Labor Day? It feels like six months.

September was jam-packed with projects and activities, after a summer of mostly grand-kid stuff.

I finished the infinity scarf (it’s wet and blocking at the moment). Sixty inches (an actual pattern, the cartridge belt rib, not straight garter stitch) in less than a month is probably a record for me, but about eight or 10 hours of it was done in a two-day racism workshop at church (which was enlightening and possibly fodder for a future blog).

finished but not blocked

But I have some hand pain from too much knitting and should rest a bit. (Hah. I have a sampler blanket going for the granddaughter.)

I kept up pretty well with jillybeans and mail swaps.

My husband needed post cards and a poster for his upcoming show at Paradox Players, so that was a quick turnaround project, and we now have cards in hand.

Play poster

post card

Several plays and concerts took up some evenings, including the surprisingly funny “Urinetown,” a terrific one-man production of “Henry V,” a terrible puppet show, a Gilbert & Sullivan musicale/parody of Downton Abbey, and a wonderful recital by our dear neighbor and fantastic pianist, Rick Rowley, at UT’s Bates Recital Hall. Seven other evenings were well spent on Ken Burns’ excellent series, “The Roosevelts.”

The courtyard and patio are cleaned up and freshened with new plants and pottery. I turned Chloe’s abandoned sand table into a small writing/drawing table so I can get out of the garret on pleasant fall days.

before

after

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

collapsed sand table, before

 

after, a needed bit of color 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I also got the garret (studio) reorganized once again, and went through years’ worth of writing, organizing it for rewriting and finalizing. I shouldn’t start a new piece until I’ve cleaned up that huge backlog. (Hah, once more. That’s like having only one knitting project going.)

Clear art space

A couple of weekends with the granddaughter (including one with her friend from next door) ran me ragged, so I gave myself this weekend off. I did go to a Texas Choral Consort retreat yesterday, but I was so tired from Friday’s hauling concrete blocks and bags of pea pebbles the notes swam before my eyes.

I was feeling at loose ends for a little while, wondering what to do next. Then I decided “fallow” is a good concept, and it’s nice to take some time off, watch a movie, read.

October will fill up quickly, starting with a long-overdue condo newsletter. Now I’m going to finish reading the Sunday paper and have leftovers for dinner.

School’s In

All summer I have been compiling a list of things I wanted to do when school started and the grandchild schedule eased up.

I’m finishing up tasks that have dragged on for some time, one of which was scanning old photo albums. The photos are fantastic–many were taken when my dad was in the Royal Air Force in Karachi (then India) from 1928–but the scanning was tedious, and I still have to organize the scanned images to share with family.

Dad’s albums, dating back to the 1920s

Sample page, with Dad’s inscription in white ink

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The summer was fun with the kids, going to the beach and spending time at our condo pool. But having a kid (or two) every other week meant I spent the other week recovering. I’ll have Chloe some weekends, and I have to get used to the idea of having this week free, next week free…

… to fill up with appointments, to start with. Dentist, gynecologist, eye and so on. Lunches with neglected friends.

We closed out a bank safe deposit box, which contained only our wills, so we’re going to update the wills and powers of attorney, financial records etc. and provide to my older daughter. It’s so much easier to do it now, when we don’t actually need it. I’m also going to take pictures throughout the house for an inventory of our worldly goods.

Chloe hasn’t played in the sand area in the courtyard for many months, so when we get some cooler mornings I’m going to clean it up (again).

Saggy sand table

Too hot to sit out here anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s way past time for a condo newsletter. There is lots of news and many new neighbors.

I’ve created a template for Christmas cards. This year I’m going to do a small piece of original art on each one, similar to my Jillybeans postcards.

I have several craft, knitting, sewing and other projects hanging.

An infinity scarf, a gift

I want to refinish my old desk, which I had as a child. It’s too precious to neglect, and Chloe has put permanent marker and wite-out marks on it.

My beautiful old desk.

I can work on poems, journals and book ideas(and read books) any time.

There is always postcard art, which feeds my soul. That’s my default, every day.

Workouts. Errands. Household chores.

A neighbor recently described me as “driven.” I know I am incredibly blessed. Soon after we moved into the condo and I was feeling overwhelmed, I told an elderly friend I had too much to do. She said, “Be glad you have too much to do.” She has since passed on. I am glad I have too much to do.

 

Reviving Terri’s Garden

Since I mentioned I’d be posting less until the Mozart Undead project is over, I’m using a piece I wrote more than 20 years ago. A friend recently dug it up. My editing skills have improved enough that I’ve cut it by at least a third. I hesitated to post it because I didn’t have any images. This weekend, my granddaughter played “paper store” in my office, and when I tidied up afterwards I ran across a painting done around the same time–Terri’s Garden!

Our little duplex garden.

Terri’s Garden

My friend Terri taught me that sometimes it’s better to do something half-assed than not do it at all.

Terri lived in a rural community outside Austin. To be nearer her friends and activities, she spent many weekends at our house.

I enjoyed having her around because she’s one of the sunniest people I’ve ever met. She made me laugh in a way I didn’t with my own children. She also cooked, cleaned up and did more than her share. I kept hoping her habits would rub off on my daughter.

Terri was an early riser with lots of energy, so she started messing around in the back yard. She weeded the flower beds and bought seed packages, six-for-a-dollar, planting sweet peas and zinnias, reminding me to water them.

I did little in our rented duplex’s yard other than hanging a couple of planters. I didn’t think I had time to take care of a garden. It loomed as a major commitment, eating up my evenings and weekends.

I even tried to discourage Terri. The landscaping timbers were rotting. The beds were a breeding ground for hackberry seedlings. I told Terri if I were going to put in a garden I’d want the timbers replaced and a load of topsoil brought in, neither of which I could afford.

She blithely ignored me. One April Saturday morning, as she checked to see if the seeds were sprouting, I paused in my housecleaning and said, “Come on Terri, let’s to go the nursery and get some tomatoes. I’ll buy ’em if you’ll plant ’em.”

We returned with eight tomato plants, one bell pepper, four jalapeños, Portulaca flowers and 40 lb. of potting soil. Not the truckload I’d envisioned, but considering the depth of my commitment, it was a start.

Terri planted everything, checking with me for placement and light needs.

Later that afternoon, when Terri had gone off with friends, I went out to get some fresh air. I noticed how weedy and ragged the yard looked beyond Terri’s little garden. So with gloves and my few tools I went out and hacked at the hackberries.

I also picked up trash and doggie-do, and after a sweaty hour the overgrown yard looked much better. I hosed down the patio and went in to take a shower.

Each time I looked out I was amazed at how nice it looked, with hanging begonias, geraniums, the tomatoes and peppers and promise of more flowers, and the neater lawn. I had invested about an hour-and-a-half of my weekend.

If I can’t do something just right I usually don’t do it at all. I’m intimidated by the big blank canvas, the recipe with too many ingredients. It’s false economy; the saved time isn’t necessarily put to better use.

Terri’s garden still had a few weeds. Twenty-two years later I don’t even remember if it thrived or shriveled. For a little while we had a garden.

Of course some activities do require precision, care and commitment: surgery, pilot-training, bridge-building come to mind. But if it’s a choice between a weed patch and a weedy garden, I’ll share the weeding, watering and (if we’re lucky) the harvesting with Terri.

 

 

 

The Burning Bowl and the Dead Bird

We had a burning bowl ceremony the last church service of 2013, writing things to be rid of in the New Year on slips of paper and burning them. Afterwards I told the minister, “I think I wrote the same thing last year.”

My paper said “Struggling with time.”

Starting my fifth year of retirement, I’m finding a rhythm. Despite wanting to sleep late every day at first, now I find I’m more productive waking to soft classical music at a reasonable 7:30 (I rose at 5 when I was working). It’s nice to putter around making coffee, writing morning pages or meditating, rather than racing to make up for time spent in bed.

But there never will be enough hours in the day, and I’m still frustrated by my lack of focus. In addition to all I’m already doing—poetry, writing, knitting, time with grandchildren, household projects—there are other pursuits I want to try.

Quilting has long attracted me, but sitting at a sewing machine seems too much like work. I considered hand quilting, which has more appeal. But one day I was trying to figure a way to repurpose a pair of guest towels given to me years ago, and realized I want to try hand appliqué! Found one book at the library but have only flipped through it.

Would they make tiny pillows?

One day on a walk I was puzzling through this dilemma of too many interests and too little time. Encountering a dead bird—or its parts, the head being separated from the body—

 

Already works of art

I thought about an artist who paints dead animals, tiny bird bones and the like. That reminded me of a blogger who highlights cutting-edge embroiderers, one of whom stitches birds.

Embroidery by Chloe Giordano from The Smallest Forest blog.

All this came together in my mind, saying “Go back to the beginning. Go back to drawing. Just draw for a while, and don’t plan what to do after that.” I took many drawing classes toward my art degree. The teachers said “Draw every day.”

When I cleaned up my studio/office in last month I joked that someone in this house ought to take up art, because we have supplies: pencil, charcoal, pastel, oil pastel, markers, water-color pencils, paint, ink, and appropriate paper. My husband gave me a book, “The Yoga of Drawing,” that I’ve barely cracked. That would be a start, maybe with the dead bird.

So that is my “plan.” But: there are knitting and sewing projects pending; always newspapers, books and magazines to read; a Netflix movie growing mold; poems needing revision, and I should be submitting poems for publication. A stack of old family albums to scan and return to my niece. Book ideas. Recipes to try. Most important, grand-kid time.

An elderly friend once said, when I told her I was overwhelmed during a move, “Be thankful you have too much to do.” She is gone now.

I’m not Giada De Laurentiis

I’ve written children’s books since my own children were little, about as long as Giada De Laurentiis has been alive. While she actually publishes cookbooks and children’s books, mine are still mostly in my head or sketched out as drafts.

I cook, sew, knit and crochet, paint, condo garden, sing in two choruses, take care of my granddaughter at least three times a week, and I have published poems and books of poetry.

I would love to garden like they do in Scotland!

I also do laundry, errands and grocery shopping, car washing and general household management. I’m still working my way through editing photos from this summer’s travels for printing and sharing. And did I mention three or four days a week with a turbo-charged nearly seven-year-old?

Yet Giada (if I may be familiar) is not unique. Celebrities from Madonna, Jamie Lee Curtis, Sarah, the Duchess of York, Jenna Bush, Bill Cosby, to name a few, have published children’s books.

It’s not just multi-talented celebrities who make me feel like a creative slouch. I follow several blogs–the Blue Brick and the Smallest Forest are two–in which these ladies create the most amazing work on a nearly daily basis in ceramics, paint, fabric, yarn, spinning, bound books, photography, while holding down jobs! (I’m retired.)

I’ll wager Giada doesn’t do laundry, but I don’t know about others who evidently sleep way less than I do. And/or their partners provide a lot of support. My husband is directing a play right now, so he gets my support in the form of a well-stocked fridge and clean underwear.

Our minister reminds us, when comparing ourselves to others, that we’re comparing our insides to their outsides. Maybe people who know me wonder how I manage all that I do, and I’m grateful that I’m never bored (or idle).

For my granddaughter’s November birthday my goal is to have at least a mock-up copy of a book I have drafted but still need to illustrate and design. I’m not saying which birthday.