And Here We Are After All

Ramona 2018

Last week we hosted the Dalí Quartet, the featured guest artists for the Symphony's season debut concert, with two of them staying in our home and the other two next door. Our living room became their rehearsal space for the week. My study was serving as a bedroom during that time, so I spent my days (and some evenings) at the kitchen table, reading, writing, baking, and much of the time being serenaded by Chamber Music America's 2024 Ensemble of the Year. (Yes, they are phenomenal.) 

With the quartet rehearsing in our living room daily and my study unavailable, I had to plan what I needed to lay out (books, files, pads to write on) each morning before they started. We had moved the coffee table into the next room, usually our downstairs study but currently an instrument holding pit for Hyer Percussion, but sometimes I came up short on my planning. The musicians would not have minded my walking into the living room to grab something, but I did not want to do that. I could coast and shift gears when needed.

One of the things I found myself doing in odd moments was reading back over old, old blog posts. What did I write about ten years ago? How about 15 years ago, when I started blogging? (15 years ago? Dang.)

In rereading, I came across a post from September, 2018, written after a trip out to Portland and time with Ramona, who was then six. In it, I reference the (still) in-progress MS novel I was writing, which features a 12-year-old Ramona, and then describe to Warren how on that day with Ramona I "met" my granddaughter—the one who was 12 and the one I would never live to see.

That sentiment about never living to see that future Ramona was not me being overly dramatic. In looking at old blog posts, I am more than a bit taken aback at how ever-present the myeloma was, the toll it was taking on me, and the growing sense of time slipping through my fingers. So when I wrote "I will never know Ramona at 12," that was a realistic projection.

After rereading that post this weekend, I shared my thoughts with Warren and read him the lines towards the end about meeting my future Ramona. My voice broke again, just as it did in 2018. When I finished, we both sat quietly for a moment.

Ramona 2024

Ramona turned 12 on September 1. My granddaughter: 12. Like my speculations in 2018, she is amazing and wonderful. And I am here to see that.

What a gift. An absolutely unexpected, marvelous gift.

Where Things Stand

My right wrist repair

Let's just say it's been a wild ride at times.  

Yesterday marked two weeks since I had surgery to repair and reset my right wrist, which I fractured a few days earlier when I took a hard fall on the ice. My orthopedic doctor reset the fracture, pinning it and plating it as needed. When we saw him one week post-surgery, he said that the fracture was far more complicated than the ER x-rays revealed. 

Great.

Surgery brought a pretty stiff cast from my palm to just below my elbow. Its purpose was to keep my wrist totally immobilized for the first two weeks. Let's just say that it fulfilled its duty with flying colors.

Yesterday, I had a two-week check to take off the surgery cast, remove the staples, and recast my wrist.

14 staples marched in a very precise line down my inner arm, from wrist towards elbow.

14.

My doctor wasn't kidding about it being a complicated repair. That was a long incision.

The staples came out quickly and with little effort. The nurse said I could gently wash my fingers, palm, and wrist before the new cast went on.

Heaven is washing your right hand for the first time since the initial break some 17 days earlier.

After the doctor gave the go ahead, the same nurse who had un-stapled me came in to recast my wrist. What color did I want?

I laughed. When I broke my right arm at the age of 10, there was one choice: plaster cast white. Now you had a palette to choose from, although she recommended against choosing white. "It tends to look dirty pretty fast."

Blue. Give me blue. 

I was in a new, blue fiberglass cast in very little time. The new cast is lighter, shorter, and gives me more (a lot more) range of hand movement. While my fingers and thumb have a ways to go (especially my thumb, which is still in shock) before I can use them more easily, life is already opening up. Case in point: I brushed my teeth, albeit awkwardly, with the toothbrush in my right hand, last night. 

Think that is no big deal? You try putting toothpaste on your toothbrush and then brushing your teeth using only your non-dominant hand. No cheating! 

This new cast will be on until the end of March. After everything I have dealt with since the end of August (and still have to deal with on several medical fronts over the next few months), this one has gone well medically and for that I am truly grateful.

Having said that, don't think I am blithely skipping down a sunlit path. I am not a good invalid. I am frustrated by very real limitations on what I can do and sometimes burst into tears when I run into one of them. Warren is doing a magnificent job of taking care of me, but I am not always appreciative. (And I am also all too well aware of the huge stresses on his time right now and, although he truly does not feel this way, I feel I am in the way and adding to his overload.) At my lower moments, I take deep breaths to calm down. At my lowest moments, I restrain myself from throwing something across the room — a bowl of food, a glass. When the immediate reaction (throwing something) passes, I pick my emotions back up and try again. And remind myself that there really is a lot to be grateful.

I am creeping back into writing. I am dictating a lot, doing a little more typing now that I can use one (one) of my fingers — the middle finger — on my right hand to move the process along. (Hmmn. My middle finger. Wonder if that is a reflection of where I am emotionally sometimes or just the easiest and longest finger to use. Yeah, probably that...the easiest one to use.) Handwriting is still a distance away. But closer than it used to be! 

That's where I am at these days. I have lots of time to read. (When don't I have lots to time to read?) Dear friends in the area come over for tea and talk and chuck in where I need help. I follow the exploits of my grandchildren from afar: Ramona just finishing a run in the cast of Newsies through the theater group she is involved with and Orlando about to turn, wait for it, FIVE.  I dictate letters to my friends: not as satisfying as writing by hand (very different process mentally) but we keep the words going.

From friends to books to grandchildren to Warren, I am grateful and rich beyond compare.

My blue cast is just the icing on the cake!

Isn't it pretty?

 

The Bridge

 

This is an image of the very copy I owned way back when!

After over half a century of setting out to read it, I finally read The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder.

I bought a copy of the book way back in either junior high (September 1967-June 1970) or my earliest years in high school, when I spent my babysitting funds on Scholastic Books. I found the above image on Google; that is the Scholastic Books edition and it cost a whopping 45¢ (those were the days).

My copy set on my bookshelf in my bedroom at home until I graduated from high school. I carried it to Chicago, back to Delaware, back to Chicago, out to Portland, back to Delaware, out to California, and back to Delaware. Once I landed back here for good in 1990, I had it at my various addresses until I finally disposed of it, most likely in one of great sell-offs to Half Price books. 

[Note: I just did a quick scan of my now modest collection just to make sure I no longer had my copy. I did not see it, but I did see, to my great delight, my copy of The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail, the 1970 play by J. Lawrence and R. Lee, and yanked it from the shelf to add to my reading pile.]

Don't get me wrong. I tried numerous times, starting from the day I brought The Bridge of San Luis Rey home, to read it. How many times did I read the opening line—"On Friday noon, July the twentieth, 1714, the finest bridge in all Peru broke and precipitated five travelers in the gulf below"—over the years? Numerous. And how many times did I read more than a sentence or two beyond that? 

Maybe once or twice. Okay, maybe three times.

So what brought me back to The Bridge of San Luis Rey at this late date? Ramona, who is wrapping up her elementary years and even at her young age feels the call of the footlights, brought me back. She will be beginning a 7-year program this fall at the Vancouver School of Arts and Academics (part of the public school district there), and I know at some point she will hear of, read, see, or act in (or all of those things) Our Town, Thornton Wilder's great gift to the world. In anticipation of that day, I purchased a copy for her, and sent a note ahead to her explaining the gift.

While doing so, I poked around on YouTube and found a superb documentary on Wilder from 2022: Thornton Wilder It's Time. (Go watch it.) It is an overview of the author, the man, his works, and his lasting impact. What was said in that video about The Bridge of San Luis Rey made such an impression on me that I ordered it from our library that same day.

I picked it up Friday. I read it through yesterday, got to the end, and started crying. 

How powerful is this book, nearing its 100th birthday? This morning I told Warren I know now what I want on my grave marker. I want the last sentence of The Bridge of San Luis Rey: "There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."

The bridge is love.  

Recombobulating

Yes, this is a real sign at the Milwaukee Airport.

Thea Milwaukee Airport has a large terminal sign pointing passengers to the "Recombobulation Area."

I totally get that.

I am recombobulating. And my recent trip to the Emerald City (Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN) added to that feeling.

As I discuss my post-2022 life changes with friends, I continue to realize that I am still working to find the rhythms of the day and the week. I find myself struggling with writing. 

Seriously. 

I do not struggle with writing at least 15 minutes a day. That has become a valued routine. With the exception of this past Wednesday, which was a hard travel day back home (I can't write in a moving car), I have written for at least 15 minutes every day since January 2.

So where do I struggle? In recognizing writing as a valid use of my time. I am still struggling with honoring myself and my need and desire to write.

This is my own internal challenge. Warren is tremendously supportive and encouraging. My friends are supportive. My son Ben is pleased. And while I have not shared my writing regimen with Ramona, I know exactly what she would say if I did. "So what took you so long to finally write, Grandma?" And then roll her eyes for good measure.

One writer I follow, Kaki Okumura, recently wrote about how Japanese culture focuses on imperfection, citing kintsugi, the art of repairing broken ceramic pieces with gold, which both beautifies and emphasizes the cracks. Look at our lives through the lens of continuous progress, she wrote: anything we accomplish is progress.

Maybe I need to look at my writing as repairing the cracks with gold, and give myself the grace to do so.

While Warren and I drove the miles from home to Mayo (about 660 miles), we used some of that time to talk about personal matters that don't always get discussed in the rush of any given week. One topic, no surprise, was time. Even without a progressive, incurable cancer, I would be shortsighted to pretend that at almost 67, I have decades of life left. With an incurable, progressive cancer, and having far outstripped even the most generous post-diagnosis life expectancy, any time I have is pure gravy. (Thank you, Raymond Carver.)

I started this particular post in Rochester, on Monday evening after we arrived. In longhand, in my writing notebook. By midday Wednesday, we started our drive back home with some very positive results on the one hand (the myeloma continuing to be incredibly stable; my oncologist called it "surprisingly stable"), and a new (additional) diagnosis on the other (in the "we need to keep an eye on this" stage).

OTOH, OTOH indeed!

So now as I sit at home finishing this post tonight, I circle back to the writing struggle as I consider this new factor. After spending yesterday recuperating (this was a rocket trip of less than 72 hours from walking out the front door to walking back in, at 12:30 a.m. to boot), I got nine hours of sleep last night and could view my life with far more balance. (Truth be told, I felt a lot like George Bailey after realizing he had a wonderful life after all.) 

When my older brother died in 2015, I was one of his eulogists. I speculated in my talk about what lasting advice he would want us to take from his life. After making a couple of proposals, I said, "Life goes on."

And it does.

Raymond Carver was right: this is pure gravy.

Looking Back

The 2013 book with the box of prompts

I have often chronicled my attempts to get back to and stay in the habit of writing on a daily basis. Writing writing, that is: essays, posts, poetry, that unfinished novel (well, more than one). And, in all honesty, my attempts run in fits and starts, depending on what else I am working on or involved with, what else is going on in the family, the Symphony, the community, the world, and how I feel physically. 

So many excuses, so little time, perhaps, but also so many other passions and commitments that I cannot just set aside.

Back in May of 2013, I blogged about one such attempt to write regularly using prompts. And I actually did it for a short amount of time. A very short amount of time. I don't know what happened to the box of prompts (well, I know they probably got tossed at some point). I do still have that notebook, however, and have dipped into it from time to time, including recently, trying to make sense of writing. Or life. Or both. In doing so, I have been flipping back through it and looking at the prompts I did write those many years ago.

I surely was rereading Dante's Divine Comedy at the time, or at least the first book, Inferno, because references to it and him pop up in a few of my 2013 prompt responses. I was dealing with the resurgence of the myeloma and the impact of new treatment on it. (Well, there's a familiar theme that I managed to tie into several prompts.) I wrote about walking and seeds and time. 

Time. Always time. Time is always threaded through my thoughts and my words. I certainly did not write in 2013 thinking that I would reread those words in 2022. But here I am and here are my words.

Below is a writing from that 2013 era. I allowed myself five minutes only to respond to a prompt; I have not edited it or polished it for today. The prompt was a quote by Alix Kate Shulman, "Amor fati goes the Latin proverb now tacked up over my desk: accept what is—literally, love fate."

***
Love fate? But fate is a wild card dealer. If this were Las Vegas, fate would be sitting in the dealer's seat, dealing the cards, no smile on her face, her hands flicking them silently and precisely to my seat.

No indication in her cold stone green stare what she has sent skimming my way.

So fate deals. Only this is the truth Tim told me years ago: You got one lousy card in your hand—myeloma. The rest look to be pretty good.

So what do I have? My kids, Alise, Ramona. David. Warren above all. A job, family, friends. Food & shelter. Laughter. Writing prompts. Being able to walk to work, to downtown, to the library.

Maybe it is not so hard to accept what fate has dealt. Or rather, what is. Love fate.

Maybe if I stepped away from the card table & opened both hands—stand outside, stand by the ocean, stand under the stars—then I love fate. I love what is.

Back to those stars, Dante's stars. I come out from my rant about loving fate and see the stars above.

****

My, oh my. 

Some things have changed: Alix, fna Alise, is my child-in-law. The grandchild count has gone up, the family has both expanded and contracted. I no longer work, but I still walk everywhere. 

And the sight of the stars still renders me silent and grateful.

And how it looks in 2022

This Year's Newbery

Ever since 2011, when I read all of the Newbery Award winners to date (even the really awful ones), I have made a point of reading each year's winner. I just read the 2021 Newbery Award book: When You Trap a Tiger by Tae Keller.

I finished it yesterday morning, sitting in the parking lot of the nearby Home Depot while Warren went inside. I started crying soon after the start of the 39th chapter (I had teared up a few times just minutes before that) and my tears did not stop until I finished every last word.

Tears all the way to the end. I'm glad we were parked on the far side near the big doors where contractors load so that no one would see me sitting there crying. Not because I am ashamed to cry but because I didn't want anyone knocking on the window to ask me if I was okay. 

Why did I cry? Because Tae Keller writes beautifully. Because she captures lyrically and authentically the emotions of loss, of love, of change. Because it is about a young girl trying to save her beloved grandmother, who is dying of a brain tumor, and finally realizing that she can't save her from physically dying (the granddaughter's magical wish) but that the stories and secrets she unlocks can provide relief to her  grandmother by letting her know how much she meant to them all. (And yes, I cried because I saw myself and my Ramona in those roles and this book reminded me of how hard it is to leave so much love behind and how I have to continue to keep my hands open to death.)

Back in 2011, I declared the book When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead to be the best of the best when it came to Newbery books. It won those honors in 2010. It too is a stunning beautiful book and I was in tears reading part of it. I still love it. (There are a lot of Newbery books I love.)

But When You Trap a Tiger? Oh, Tae Keller, well done. Stunningly well done. 

Thank you. 

Jumpstarted by Two Youths

This is not a post about Millennials or Generation Z. When I wrote "Youths" in the title,  I was referring to individuals under the age of 15, and I'm only hedging on that because I can't remember how old Liam is, although he is still in middle school, so I know I am more than safe with that age range. The other young person is Ramona, who is not yet eight and a half years old.

So, jumpstarted by youths. I could say "inspired," but "jumpstarted" is more accurate. I just had my car battery replaced, and Warren had to jumpstart me on two different occasions just before that, so that sound of turning the ignition key and hearing the power surge on is spot on. 

Ramona first. Ramona my oldest grandchild, Ramona the amazing. After months of irregular video chats,  complicated by busy schedules, online schooling, activities, family matters, and time zone differences, to name a few factors, she and I now chat online on Wednesday afternoons (my time) as Wednesday is the weekday her online school classes are the shortest. As has always been the case with Ramona, she hits the conversational ground running and we never know where that talk will lead. It is a blast.

During our most recent talk, we started off talking books. Ramona reads a lot of fantasy, especially if it features dragons. She is enthralled with the Wings of Fire series and sometimes we explore tangential threads to that series, including dragonflies of the genus Pantala, also known as rainpool gliders, which Ramona immediately connected to the Rainwings in the series and drew comparisons between the characteristics of the dragonfly (I read them aloud) and the dragons.

She then segued to a "chapter book" she is writing. She wanted to read some of it to me, but it is packed away in preparation for her family moving (today, in fact). However, she recited (or pulled up on her iPad) a list of the characters and ran through them quickly. I then shared with her that I was writing a novel, but I had not worked on it in months (well, years).

Ramona bounced straight up. "What? You're writing one? What is it about?" I  told her it was a novel about her completing a quest with the help of Aunties Jenna and her little brother. She beamed when I said it was about her. "Read some of it to me," she demanded. 

Well, what could I do with a command request like that? I got my manuscript (which is always, always setting out) and told her I would read her the prologue, after asking her if she knew what a prologue was. Polite eye roll. Yes, she was very familiar with prologues (and correctly explained it to me) as well as epilogues (the same), adding, patiently, "I know all the logues."

So I read it to her. 

There was a split second of silence, then an outburst. "That's good! Read more."

I read a little more, with Ramona asking questions, then told her I haven't finished it and haven't been working on it. 

Ramona cut me no slack.

"You need to finish it."

After we finished talking, I told Warren about reading some of the novel (which he has not read) to Ramona and her response. Then I added, "I want to go back to it and see it through. I thought it was just a discarded idea, but now I feel ready to tackle it again." 

Ramona jumpstarted me. 

The second jumpstart was with Liam, the middle-school aged son of my friend Cecelia. I have known Liam since before he went to kindergarten. Recently, Liam got both a Facebook page and a new camera, and has been posting photos on his page. 

Liam has a good eye. Several of the adults in his Facebook world have said that to him, including me. It's one of those intangible "I know it when I see it" qualities; Liam has it.

I have written before about my love of photography. When I was Liam's age, I started thinking about whether I could be a photographer; National Geographic was my goal. I set that career path aside long ago, but I still love photography and cameras and seeing what others are doing in the field. I have a great camera; I mean to use it more, but, like the writing (all writing, not just the novel), it gets set aside too easily.

Yesterday Liam posted some of his latest work. It was really, really good. I had my same reaction: Liam has a good eye. (And you bet I told him that on Facebook.) I had a second reaction, which I did not post but came naturally: I miss photography.

Which is why when I saw the morning sun lighting up the kitchen, particularly the pot of beans on the stove, I took this photo, then posted it on Facebook with the comment, "Liam, you are totally responsible for this shot."

Just because

Because he was. Like Ramona, his enthusiasm for photography jumpstarted my too often dormant love of it. Because of that surge of energy, I saw the plain pot and the sun and the day entirely different.

Jumpstarted by the young ones. What a gift.

Observations About February Money

It is March 14 as I type, midafternoon, and looking out the window I see...snow.

I have been late in writing about February expenditures on groceries and eating out because, frankly, COVID-19 has shoved aside a lot of things, especially in the last two weeks. It shoved aside Pi Day (in that I did not even remember it was today!), although, ironically, when my sister-in-law wished me Happy Pi Day, I had just taken one out of the oven for supper with friends tonight.

Our Court is moving to a skeleton staff and most of us are working remotely from home for the indefinite future. Our schools are closed until at least the start of April and will likely be closed further after that. Our library closes Monday night, not to reopen until April 5 at the earliest. Warren is working on COVID-19 plans for our Symphony; the Mansfield Symphony, in which he plays also, cannot put on its concert next week as our governor, Mike DeWine made some sweeping closures (including the schools) when announcing the state of emergency in Ohio, winning admiration from many of us who never voted for him to begin with (me).

Our March Legal Clinic is canceled; our local Hunger Alliance met in this week in a lengthy session to ensure that those without food get it in these times.

The Methodist church two blocks from our house just canceled all services for March, hoping to reopen in time for Palm Sunday.

These are strange times. And to borrow from my judge, who is keeping Court staff and the bar on top of things, by the time he types an email with the latest updates and hits "send," it is already outdated.

And that doesn't even address my personal situation, except for me to note in quick passing that I see Tim, my oncologist, Tuesday for infusion and he is to weigh in on whether I should even be in our Court building, even on a limited basis. Given the infusion drug I am taking and have been taking for two and a half years, a powerful immunosuppressant that every myeloma specialist identified weeks early as putting one at high risk for serious COVID-19 reactions, I'm expecting the answer to be along the lines of "You even have to ask?"

In short, it is not business as usual and it will be months before it is business as usual, if ever.

So what does that have to do with what we spent in February? Quite a lot. Because when I look back at February spending, everything was pretty much on track to keep spending under $180.00 with ONLY SIX DAYS TO GO in the month until I did some stocking up for what was clearly going to be a long haul with the COVID-19 outbreak.

How much stocking up? Well, our grocery expenditures finished the month at $214.49, with almost $67.00 of that in the last two days of February. Add another $17.11 for household purchases (including, yes, toilet paper) and we finished the month at $231.60.

Yowsa.

The only ray of sunshine is that our eating out expenditures continued to be rock bottom low: $3.60 for a hot chocolate with espresso when I joined a dear friend for a long overdue talk.

So here's the thing: March is going to be worse. Because we did some more stocking up this month, based upon my concern that supply lines will be interrupted when the employees of distributors and freight haulers fall ill. It turns out I have a siege mentality in me after all. And, frankly, with my wacky health, I don't want to be stuck at home and out of food. We have already gone past the $180.00 monthly mark (although presumably except for perishables, we don't need to buy any more food). It's not pretty.

But I get it and I don't regret the dollars. I'm grateful we have them to spend. What I worry about is our community: all of us staying as healthy as possible, all of us getting our basic needs met.

I try not to worry about myself, even though I am so high risk. I video-chatted with Ramona last night; her school district (Vancouver, Washington) shut down yesterday until April 25. As a savvy 2nd grader, she knew why. So we talked about staying healthy and then she looked at me and said in a very quiet voice, "I don't want you to get sick, Grandma April."

Oh, sweetheart, I'm trying not to.

Let's get through this.

October Money Review

As we start to wind down the year, I took a long hard look at my food dollars and did some calculating. Based on what we spent in October (keep reading), if we spent $175.00 and no more in the months of November and December, we would finish the year averaging $180.33 a month for all of 2019. That would be just above our goal of $175.00 a month for the year. We would have to spend no more than $140.00 in both November and December to bring the yearly average to $175.00. I'm not sure we will hit that mark.

As I look ahead to next year, one thing I am going to start calculating into our overall food costs is our eating out costs. I have been tracking those dollars for a few years, but do not count them in the $175.00 a month goal. The bulk of our eating out dollars directly relates to travel, especially Mayo and conferences, and performances, especially those in Mansfield when dress rehearsal falls in the afternoon, followed by a mid-evening concert. Yeah, some of our eating out dollars are just us taking the easy way out, and I still very occasionally have tea with a friend, but the bulk of the expenses are related to not being home. I will have to take a long, hard look at what we spent this year (and how much was strictly pleasure versus the travel/concert issue) and come up with some realistic targets for 2020. Just saying.

So what did October look like? In groceries (food), we spent $179.78, which, I am thrilled to say, included the reception we hosted after opening the Symphony's 41st Season. Back in April, I had budgeted $75.00 for the end-of-season reception and wildly overshot that amount, spending double those dollars. For this reception, based not in small part of on my notes of what worked and what didn't back in April, I spent a grand total of $67.38 for a wonderful reception (with a lot of leftovers)! So that revamping of our reception spending made a significant contribution to our overall monthly bottom line.

As for household items, our October expenses were a modest $5.18. Total spent in October? $184.96, $10.00 over the $175.00 goal. Monthly average for the year? $182.06.

As for eating out, our costs were not outrageous, but scaled up towards the end of the month because I had a conference in downtown Pittsburgh and the expenses were higher. (Most of the eating out expenses from Pittsburgh will hit in November and I will be reimbursed for much of my food costs, but it was still expensive.) Our eating out costs in October were $117.41, counting tips. That's pretty high for us.

One of those eating out occasions was due to my not standing firm on not eating out in a training session. Along with some close coworkers, I attended a lengthy training session through our local school district, with the training located in our downtown. As I always do with local training, I frugally packed my lunch. I had it with me. When the lunch break came, everyone started making plans to walk to different places downtown and done together. Everyone. I said "I brought a lunch." I got pushback. Then I said "Lunch is my most difficult meal to eat out because of where I'm at in my health" (a true statement). I got pushback. Loving, friendly, come-join-us pushback, but pushback all the same.

And I folded. I walked to lunch, I ended up sitting with some attendees I did not know well or at all but got to know a little (a positive), I ate very frugally ($6.00 with the tip), I took the planned walk to the library immediately afterwards so I could drop off the library book I had brought with me (a chore accomplished), and I ate the packed lunch the next day (so no waste). Was I better for joining the others? Perhaps. Certainly in the sense of getting to know attendees (all school employees) and sharing stories. That's always a plus. But I am nonetheless embarrassed that I let the peer pressure get to me. I'm 631/2 years old. I should be over this.

So that was October. As I noted in my last review, we did indeed miss Halloween. It snowed lightly in Delaware that night. (It probably snowed in Pittsburgh too, but I was inside.) According to a friend down the street, Halloween foot traffic was light as a result. So yes, I missed Halloween but I also missed sitting outside on a bitter night.

Since I missed Halloween here, I took great pleasure when pictures from the west rolled in:

All three of them, Ramona being the dinosaur posing! 

And in true Halloween fashion, the youngest of the trio didn't even last past the third house:

November is swirling all around us. We just ate the last of the lettuce (which I moved inside before going to Pittsburgh, knowing it would be getting cold while we were gone). And I will eat the very last 2019 tomato tonight. The. Very. Last. Tomato. We are joining Thanksgiving, not hosting it; I already have dibs on the turkey carcass. So we'll see where the dollars fall when we come out the other side.

Some More Thoughts About The Essentials: Unplugging

My last post I  wrote about balancing the essential again the urgent or, really, about my tendency to shove the essential aside for the urgent. I have been thinking about that very concept for days now, trying to be more aware of my actions and activities.

As part of this, I have found within myself the commitment to finally tackle the paperwork clutter that I let pile up in my study. I'm not talking about a small stack on my desk. I am talking about a voluminous stack, which I then shift to the bed, which I then shift to a paper sack, telling myself "I'll get to that soon." And then don't.

For the past several days, I have been dealing with the piles (yes, plural) in 15 minute shifts. I set my alarm for 15, then tell myself to sort through and make three stacks: Keep (and file away at the end of the 15 minutes), Recycle, Shred. I am embarrassed to say the Shred pile has been large, the Recycle pile larger. The Keep pile? Small potatoes.

This morning I tackled the paper pile in two separate sessions (with enough interlude between the two that I did not feel overwhelmed by the task before me). While doing so, I came across some notes, meant to be a blog post, from just after we got back from vacation. Here they are, as they perhaps tell a story related to the essential:

Unplugging

 When we went on vacation, I left behind my Chromebook because it pushed the limits of my minimal packing too far.

12 days without email or Facebook. That was interesting.

And eye opening.

Two things I learned:

1. Despite my protestations to the contrary (and reading books as much as I do), my mindless perusal of social media has steadily increased over time, especially on weekends.
2. Along with that increase, my time to do other things decreases.What other things? Write letters, read, prep zucchini and apples for freezing [remember, this was written in early September], or just sit and luxuriate in the moment.

So now I am looking at all my electronic tethering: the computer, the Chromebook, the phone. I carry a flip phone, not a smart phone, so the temptations are fewer, but there is still texting. And based on that and my vacation experience, I am ready to take a few more steps:

1. I am already not on my computer/Chromebook most evenings after 6:00 (and often earlier). What if I eliminated Saturday and Sunday too? Or only use Word and Numbers for work-related or Clinic purposes? Or only turn it on an hour one of those days for those reasons and also to blog? 
2. When I am at work, I carry my phone. I always have it on me or nearby at home. I always carry it in my car if I am running errands or driving to a school; with a 14+ year old car, I want a way to call someone if I get stranded. But what if I stopped carrying it at all when we (Warren and I) go out? There is no news, good or bad, that the delay in seeing the message would make a difference. 

I am penning these thoughts sitting at a rehearsal an hour away from home. I left my phone at home. I'm not sure of the time because I am not wearing a wristwatch and to wear one again would require a new battery. But with the phone gone, I am also not glancing constantly to see what the time is or whether anyone has texted me or tried to call.

So what if I tried this? What if I tried stepping away even more?

I know there will be exceptions from time to time. We should be reestablishing weekly chats with Ramona soon and those will fall in the early evening because of the time difference between here and there. There will an occasion, most likely related to my writing the Symphony press releases, which will find me on the computer some evening.

It is hard to break the lines of the electronic. One of my favorite minimalists is Anthony Ongaro at Break The Twitch. He came up with that name to describe the mindless clicking of the mouse to make yet another unnecessary purchase, but it fits here as well. My twitch is not to buy, but to click mindlessly across sites.

So what do I hope to get out of breaking my own twitch? I hope to be more mindful. I hope to be more thoughtful. I hope to deepen my personal connections to my work, to my day, to my marriage, to my friends.

To my community.

I hope to be more connected to my self.

*******
That's where my notes ended. They were written about a month ago. In the time since, I have managed to turn off or not even start the computer most (all?) evenings and even some weekend days (this is not one of them, obviously, but it IS going off soon). I have found it even easier to turn down the phone and only check for messages/calls occasionally.

And this goes back to thoughts of the essential. It is essential for me to connect outside of the electronic world. It is essential for me to reclaim that time.

Let's see where this goes.

August Money Review

As predicted when I last wrote about our grocery spending, the food purchases (groceries, not eating out) made while out west pushed our August numbers way past the $175.00 mark.

Way past.

Just before we left for vacation, our combined food/household spending for the month was $197.13, $174.15 of which was food and $22.98 of which represented household items such as toilet paper and cleaning agents. So we were already past our $175.00 goal, but even so, our year-to-date average still came in at $165.80.

While on vacation, we spent another $111.20 at the grocery on food, nudging our year-to-date average to $179.70.

This is what that corn/cheese/bacon pie looks like. 

Why so much?

Because we bought all the food for two meals for nine adults. (I'm not counting the children, one of whom is an infant.) One meal was a variation on a Cuban pork dish my sons' grandmother used to make; the other featured three bacon/onion/corn pies and two roast chickens. Leftovers went to various homes or made reappearances in the days that followed. Another $20.00 or so went to a sundae bar (Ramona's favorite) when seven adults (and the children) gathered on the last evening. My sons (and their partners) provided the main meal and did all the cooking, but we supplied the dessert. (There were also some smaller purchases along the way, some of which we shipped home.)

Our August food expenditures were worth every penny.

I suppose I could take the position that our August food bill should be the lower amount and not count the vacation. But had all these wonderful people been in my home, I would have bought greater quantities of food and counted those amounts. So I'm counting them here. It will be nip-and-tuck to see if I finish 2019 with a monthly average of $175.00, but, ehhhh, I'm okay with that.

Surprisingly, our vacation eating out (just our portion, not the amounts we spent treating others) came in at a cool $93.29. Before we left, we had spent only $43.64 on eating out, which included our share of a lunch for my dad's 86th birthday and a desperately needed bag of food after a very, very late legal clinic. So the month came out at $136.93, with the bulk of that being the vacation, and I'm fine with that.

 When we got home on September 1 (new month, new totals), we did a major shopping to get perishables and restock some basics that had run low during July and August. I'm predicting September comes in around $175.00, especially if I make a point of turning to the freezer and cupboards. Between purchases at a local family-owned farm market and my dad bringing over zucchini from his garden, our freezer is packed heading into the fall and winter.

I'm eager to see what the last four months of this year bring, and where we end up on our food spending.

Back

We have been back for one week, having arrived back in Ohio last Sunday. I just finished catching up my accounts and am wending my way through paperwork I'd shoved aside before leaving. I'll post my August figures in the next day or two, but dollars take a backseat to these short glimpses.

Here are my sons, preparing a meal together, all grown up:

And here is Ramona, running into the ocean, just on the brink of being seven and beginning second grade (school started while we were there and she had her 7th birthday the day we left):

Lyrick will be three at the end of this week:

And this guy? Almost seven months old, almost crawling, and has an opinion on everything:

For the record, he was thoroughly approving of his sister making peanut butter cookies.

It's always good to be back home, but, oh, how I miss them!

Small Moment: Isn't That The Point?

We are packing tonight for an early morning flight to PDX. As I noted recently, there is one grandchild I am eager to meet for the first time, and two others I am anxious to spend time with again.

The bag from three years ago

I am again bound and determined to pack small and light. Three years ago, I managed to pack clothing for a conference and a visit in a bag approximately 9 x 18 x 9 inches. I told Warren to get that one out for me for this trip as well. Sticking to a trimmed list, I packed away.

Okay, I got almost everything in that I wanted to get in. But dang, that bag was heavy. And tight. And...

Too Full.

I am also carrying my go-everywhere bag, and it too was weighted down, mostly with things that did not fit into the bag.

Clearly I had to rethink my approach.I thought about what was in it: a minimal amount of clothing (we will be staying with Alise's parents, so we can do laundry). Some photos that I want to put in Sam and Ben's hands, culled from my parents' thousands of photos. My Chromebook layered in between a skirt and a pair of shorts.

[An aside: Warren is packing a big carryon and a small person bag as well. But I don't want to weigh him down with my stuff. ]

I looked again at my list, looked again at the little bag straining at the seams. What could go? What did I not need to bring?

Or rather, what did I need to bring most?

Once I reframed the question that way, the answer crystallized. Other than clothes, what I needed to bring most was me. Me as in being mindful and focused on enjoying my children and our grandchildren and our family. Me as in leaving behind a basket full of stresses and worries that have dogged me all summer. Me as in "I want to savor this time." 

"I want to savor this time."  Indeed, isn't that the point of my going?

Exactly.

Once I answered that question, I knew exactly what to pull out. Out came the Chromebook. It can stay behind for ten days. My world won't come to an end without access to Facebook and email and headlines. (Warren is bringing his laptop so he can do some Symphony work, but I generally do not get on his machine.)

Once I removed the machine, the bag gave a sigh of relief and zipped easily. I, too, gave a sigh of relief.

And now I am ready to go.

July Money Review

Following the extravagance of May and the parsimony of June, our July grocery bills looked pretty darn normal. When I sat down yesterday to run the totals, I confirmed this: $184.20 for food, $4.00 for household items, total $188.20. Yes, we nudged over the $175.00 I am hoping for each month, but just barely. And our year-to-date monthly average came in at a cool $161.33.

Our eating out expenditures were $80.99, about half of which were meals out with out-of-town friends. (I only count our share of those meals, not the total bill.) That's a huge reduction (about 75%) from our June expenditures.

Clearly the anticipation of meeting us is just overwhelming. 

August is going to be a challenge to come in around $175.00. We will be heading west for time with family, including the long anticipated introduction to Orlando, who will be just past the six month mark when we finally meet.

Last year when we were out west, I counted the groceries I bought, even when buying for the whole family. I will do the same this year. Even shopping at my beloved Winco, which will keep the costs rock bottom low, adds up when buying for ten to twelve people.

The bigger challenge for the August grocery spending will be that, even though it is only August 4 while I write this, we have already spent $142.43 in food ($119.45) and household ($22.98).

No, we did not buy lobster. Or anything remotely resembling lobster. But we did spend money restocking some basics (toilet paper among those items). We also spent some serious bucks on meat: about $10.00 on chicken thighs and $50.00 on salmon (8.5 pounds, but who's counting?). The salmon was a whale of a sale for local salmon prices; I cut it up this morning and wrapped it to freeze in meal portions. In the quantities we eat, that's a whole lot of meals; the final count was 13. (The chicken thighs already met a similar fate.) That comes to $3.85 a salmon meal, incidentally. What with all of our purchases and the items already in the freezer, I said to Warren, "We really only have to buy perishables from now until we leave."

And that simplistic sentiment was not inaccurate until I realized we are buying zucchinis at a locally owned farm market because dad's zucchini plant might get something on it before the first frost. (Let's just say it was a bad season for dad and his garden.) Warren and I eat a lot of zucchini during the winter; we slice and freeze it in quart bags all through the summer and into the fall.

Oh, and the first sweet corn is hitting the local farm market too. We do not eat as much sweet corn (cut off the cob and frozen into quart portions) as we do zucchini, but still, there will be sweet corn purchases.

So who knows what August will look like when all is said and done?

In other financial arenas, July held some major expenditures, chief among them airline tickets (which I had been saving for). It held some unexpected medical costs when an unexplained fever sent me to Urgent Care, at which the doctor took less than five minutes to send me straight on to the ER. I have really good health insurance through my job with Delaware County, but it was still a pricy night. I have a modest amount of money in an account separate from my regular checking account, so I could cover the costs, but it made me acutely aware of the whole issue of financial sustainability.

Financial sustainability is something that is out of reach of about 43% of the US population. It is very roughly defined as having enough income to meet your monthly expenses, ranging from housing and food to transportation, without having to beg, borrow, or go without. While some of those Americans in that 43% are those who live below the poverty line, a large and growing portion of them are what sociologists, United Ways nationwide, and a lot of others of us now refer to as ALICE.

ALICE stands for Asset Limited Income Constrained Employed. ALICE is in every state. ALICE knows no geographic, age, ethnic, or racial boundaries.

ALICE is a topic near and dear to my heart for several reasons. One is that many of the clients who come to our monthly free legal clinic are in the ALICE group. Another is that this fall I will be presenting at a national conference on the topic of ALICE and the legal system: how do we make sure those without means have access to justice?

But the major reason I am so keen on ALICE is that I have been ALICE. If I were not married to Warren, I would be ALICE now. And but for the fact that Warren owns his house without a mortgage, we would likely be ALICE. I have close friends and family members who are ALICE. And they are ALICE not because they are lazy or profligate spenders, but because the reality of today's economy is that financial sustainability is increasingly impossible to attain.

So as I sat there in ER and the very nice staffer informed me that my ER cost would be $150.00 and how would I like to pay that, I was grateful I had the means to take care of it right then and there, without having to calculate wildly how many months I could stretch it out over (as I have had to do in my ALICE past). And it made me think of all those who come through those doors (or through the grocery line or to the landlord) who do not have that ability.

As I mentioned back in January, I knew 2019 would hold challenges. We are both starting to look at retirement "somewhere" in the future. I don't turn 65 until April 2021 and cannot retire until Medicare kicks in (assuming that such a thing even exists in 2021) but am starting to look at that date (assuming I don't die before then). Warren sailed past his 65th birthday, a huge relief for me knowing that if I did die while still employed by the County, he would have medical insurance. While we are just starting to kick around what-might-this-look-like? when we talk, we are aware that our financial situation will change significantly when we both step away from drawing a paycheck. Other friends in our age range are having the same discussions; we compare notes in letters and emails and conversations.

More to come.

But first comes our trip and these little ones:

Lyrick will be turning 3 next month. Ramona is on the cusp of turning 7 and starting 2nd grade. Her school got a whole new building built over the summer. I'm excited because we will be there to tour it at the open house and watch her head off on her first day of school, an experience we missed last year because of the strike.

Wonderful times await.

Numbers

My friend Mark is at 5 years post cancer diagnosis this week.

My new grandson Orlando now weighs 8 (8!) pounds and has finally awake enough to regularly reveal his deep, dark eyes.

And speaking of grandchildren, Orlando just passed the 4 week mark, Lyrick is now 2½ years old, and Ramona hit a whopping 6½ years old on March 1. Wowsers! 

If my grandmother Skatzes were still alive, this would be her 126th St. Patrick's Day. Grandma had a lot of Irish blood in her and always, always wore a shamrock pin, often pinned to the top of her apron, on March 17. I received her last one, a gaudy green rhinestone shamrock pin, decades ago.

I can't tell you how many books I have read so far this year because I'm NOT counting them, but it has already been a lot. Thanks to my library's wonderful practice of putting year-to-date savings on my receipt when I check out, I know I have saved $785.73 this year by using the library.  I also know that more than a dozen (12!) books, some from the library, some from friends, are waiting for me on the coffee table. 

Pie Day is January 21 (or thereabouts) and Pi Day is March 14. (Get it?) I did not observe Pie Day, but did unintentionally observe Pi Day when we had a friend to supper that night and served (what else?) homemade apple pie for dessert.

I'm particularly proud of that whole meal, in fact, because every single item consumed came out of the pantry or freezer, and I did not go to the grocery store for one item. Not one! Given that the (minimal) cost of the food that went into that meal had already been accounted for in earlier monthly food reports or was free, I tallied the cost of that meal at...wait for it...zero.

0! 

And this blog? 10 years old today, when I first opened the door.  For the record, this is my 710th post, all of which, with two exceptions, have been written by me. 

So happy anniversary to me! (And thank you, friend and fellow blogger, Ellen Rosentreter, for reminding me I was reaching this milestone.)

Jumping to the Daylight

For the first time in years (decades?), the switch to Daylight Savings Time last night was seamless for me. Usually I wake groggy and stumble around all day in a fog, cursing the stupidity of moving the clock an hour ahead. But today, smooth sailing.

The difference between this year and all the other years? The myeloma in me. Don't get me wrong. This is not a new announcement about my crappy health. I am stable. But what "stable" means and looks like at 14 years out is very different from what "stable" means in other contexts. The sensation of myeloma, the distinct feel of it, if you will, is something I live with now pretty much around the clock. That feeling typically recedes when I am involved in something, such as a round of attendance mediations, but reasserts itself when times are quiet Accompanied often by fatigue, the myeloma is the reason I have cut back steeply on evening activities, joining friends for coffee, traveling, and the like. It is an increasing reason I read a lot (A LOT) because I can read without having to leave my chair (and my comfort zone) every evening.

There is no quieter fort me than when I go to bed each night, so guess what? The myeloma wakes me up in the deep night, sometime just enough to remind me it is here, sometimes for a long, whiney chat. It is an annoying alarm clock that I cannot set to the time I need.

But this morning it did me a favor. When it went off around old 4:30 a.m., we were already at 5:30 a.m. And it was easier (okay, marginally) to wait out another hour before getting up for the day.

Lots of people comment on my positive attitude as I move through this disease to its inevitable conclusion. I don't know about positive attitude. I think rather than a positive attitude, I am pretty realistic about what this is and what it means. Accepting that I have an incurable, progressive cancer that progresses even when it is stable allows me to savor the time I have and move through my days a little (a lot?) more easily. But today, I will go so far as to say "okay, myeloma, that was a gift."

I take them where I can find them.

And speaking of gifts, Orlando has been in the world and part of our family for a little over three weeks. Three weeks! Time flies. Ramona is very much the big sister, reading to him nightly per reliable reports. That makes me smile extra wide; I was in first grade (like Ramona) when my baby brother Mark was born, and I read to him all the time. (So much so over the years that he jokingly blames me for his being a slow reader because, as he puts it 56 years later, "I didn't have to learn. You read to me all the time!") So here is our Ramona (dressed up for Read Across America as Charlotte's Web; her top half is Wilbur, her bottom half Charlotte), Orlando in arms:

Now that is a gift.

Cultural Identity

Orlando arrived by scheduled C-section, so plans were made ahead of time for Ramona to be at the hospital for part of that day. Papa (Alise's dad, Joe) picked her up from school early last Friday (has it only been since last Friday?), and then he and Nana (Alise's mom Mona) helped her pass the time until she could see her mom and meet her brother.

While waiting, Ramona made the above picture of her family. Ben is easily identifiable on the far left, complete with beard. While sizes are all relative, I'm guessing Alise is next (albeit blond) and Ramona on the far right as the smaller figure. New addition Orlando is in between the two females.

What I especially love about this drawing is that Ramona put Orlando in a cradleboard. This is my Native American grandchild being raised with immersion in her culture. So of course her little brother is in a cradleboard.

That is how my brilliant, assertive, secure-in-who-she-is granddaughter makes sense of her world at age six.

These are difficult times for those of us who are not dominant culture because of race, ethnicity, tribe, gender identity, sexual preference, religion, economic status, language of origin, and so on. Last night our community's newly formed African-American Heritage Council put on a first ever Black History Month Celebration, which Warren and I attended. Students volunteered their talents—oratory and artistic—and many of them made thoughtful and provocative observations about being black in a predominantly white community.

I listened closely and at times got teary. Ramona and Orlando and my far-flung family were foremost in my thoughts. What would Ramona's education and sense of tribal identity look like if she were here in this town in our schools? Not as good as I would want, and that is written by someone who believes in our local schools. And in America at present? Not even that good.

Even in the best of times in this country, we as a nation have a long ways to go to being truly inclusive, whether we are talking about school youth or adult policy makers or just everyday folk. Last night was the right step forward for Delaware.

And way out in Washington last Friday, sitting in a hospital waiting room, a little girl drew her beautiful family, complete with her little brother in his cradleboard.

Ramona, you are amazing.

Look Who's Here!

Back in October, I announced that Ramona was getting a baby brother sometime in the early months of this year.

Orlando James Sanchez entered this world yesterday in the early afternoon. 6 pounds, 3 ounces. When Ben's text came through, I started crying with relief and joy and love.

Alise and Orlando are doing well. Ben and Ramona are doing well. All of us, out there and back here, are doing well.

Lots of pictures are flooding the social media venues, but this one is the one that absolutely melted me:

New Big Sister. New Baby Brother.

Small Moment

We have been clearing out stuff: old stuff, used stuff, discarded stuff, no-longer-needed stuff. Bags of stuff are piling up in my study to go to Goodwill sometime soon. Boxes of stuff are downstairs in the basement to exit to somewhere else.

As part of all this un-stuffing, Warren's son David, about to turn 29, came and went through boxes of his stuff: old toys and such in the basement and the contents of his bedroom closet, which has been packed full since I moved into this house over a decade ago.

David's stuff in his closet spanned from the years from grade school through high school. Old science fair boards, books, Boy Scout pamphlets, camping equipment, drumsticks from high school band, reports, a chemistry book. Stuff.

With his dad's input and my looking on, David sorted through it all, dividing the piles into "keep until later" (one or two boxes neatly packed and slid back into the closet), "take now" (a hefty pile), "give away" (several of the bags sitting on my study floor), and "throw away." It took a few hours, but in the end, the closet was usable and everyone was smiling.

I rescued a few items from the "give away" pile: two small stuffed animals to head west to Lyrick and Ramona. And I grabbed the Literature textbook from high school (from which year I do not know) because I love high school Lit texts (and still wish I could get my hands on the ones from my high schools years).

David pointed to the textbook and said there was a poem he used to sit and read over and over during class when he was bored (which he indicated was most of the time).

Really? Which one?

"Eldorado" by Edgar Allan Poe.

I flipped to the Poetry section of the book and found it. "Go ahead," I commanded.

David closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then quoted the first of the four stanzas:

Gaily bedight,
     A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
     Had journeyed long,
     Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

I applauded. "Well done, David!" I exclaimed. "Well done!"

Well done, indeed. This is, after all, someone who has never once indicated that he ever read, much less memorized, anything smacking of literature. Science, history, that kind of stuff? Absolutely. But poetry? I figured David was not unlike his father, who once searched on the map for Proof Rock in order to surprise me by traveling there (which still remains one of the all-time greatest acts of love my husband, who is a most romantic man, ever undertook, albeit unsuccessfully).

A lot of stuff exited that day. Afterwards, David exhaled loudly. "It felt good to get rid of all that stuff."

All that stuff and "Eldorado" too. Some days are made for keeping.

These Historic Days

Representatives Haaland and Davids embracing afterwards

On the 3rd of January, the 116th Congress was sworn in. This body has already received much attention as being the most diverse (in so many ways) Congress ever and there were many hand-to-my-heart moments fas I read about the new Representatives, especially the women elected to Congress.

Nothing moved me more deeply than the swearing in of two Native American women: Deb Haaland, New Mexico, a member of the Pueblo tribe, and Sharice Davids, Kansas, a member of the Ho-Chunk tribe. Haaland wore her regalia to her swearing in, signaling visually that the times they are a changin' indeed. I cried as stories popped up about them, about their swearing in, about the Native color guard present in D.C., about the hug (and tears) the two of them exchanged immediately afterwards.

On the same day, these photos popped up in my email from Mona, Alise's mother. She and Ramona were out shopping.

Here is Ramona with her beloved Nana:

And her is our granddaughter showing off her new hoops:

Ramona is a force to be reckoned with: bright, confident, full of energy. My father is a huge fan of hers. "That girl is going to be our first Native American president!" he will often exclaim.

He and I talked about the two new congresswomen and what it meant for this nation and what it meant to the tribes to have this representation. He repeated his prediction that Ramona will go far.

As the grandmother of two, soon to be three, Native children, I am grateful this moment has happened. I know that Ramona, Lyrick, and Orlando will face challenges in this country because of their ethnicities (all of them) and tribal connections (Montana Little Shell Chippewa tribe).

But I also know that a BIG door opened on January 3. 

Here's to their futures.