In a World of My Own (from Alice in Wonderland)

As I was out running errands last Thursday (and by running errands, I mean doing a drive-thru library pick-up of books I had on reserve), I looked in the rearview mirror and realized I resembled The Invisible Man (H. G. Wells' version, not Ralph Ellison's...  😎 )

 I desperately need a haircut (I've actually done some self-snipping a time or two with the problem areas) so, many days, I just throw on a headband that color-coordinates with my outfit and channel my inner Keith Richards.  Who gives a sh*t.  I don't venture out into the world often (except to the aforementioned library), and it's not like any of them know or care what I look like anyway, right?

In the last week, I seem to have made a very conscious decision to not only go down the rabbit hole, but stay there (go ask Alice...  ;-)  Back to feeling blah, weird, roly-poly-ish, and knowing I am not very good company right now, even for phone calls or Zoom or texts.  I honestly don't need cheering up; there is nothing anyone can do to snap me out of this funk.  It's all on me.  Lots of stressors, family and otherwise, that have left me frustrated and helpless.  As is often the case, allowing myself the benefit of the wallow usually works, until I can rise to my better self.  I'll get there, and thanking everyone in advance for their patience and understanding.

What I really need is a massage, which I haven't had since early-March.  I am a member of the Massage Envy wellness program but, because I have been so risk-averse for the last 3+ months, it doesn't make sense to take a chance (even though I totally trust my tried-and-true Karen!).  Despite my tendency to b*tch and shut down on a regular basis, my dear saint of a husband gives me a back rub almost every night.  His picture is next to the phrase "unconditional love" in the dictionary... 💓


SONG:  In a World of My Own from Alice in Wonderland (flip side:  Blink-182's Rabbit Hole)

BOOK:  Through the Rabbit Hole: Explore and Experience the Shamanic Journey and Energy Medicine by Jan Engels-Smith

POEM:  Fog by Alison Luterman

We don’t have snow here
but some mornings the whole world
is white and hushed and soft with fog
and whatever troubles we went to sleep
clutched to our thudding hearts
have loosened overnight and are dissolving
in mist. The regal hills
to the East have been erased
behind a cottony scrim, and people
appear to appear
out of nowhere in the dawn hush.
An old woman in mask and gloves
pushes her shopping cart
full of salvaged empties. A mother hauls
two babies up the street, one in a backpack,
one in a stroller. A man
with dreadlocks and headphones
cruises by on his bike,
no-hands. All of them
whoosh into the frame
and then vanish. Like the future, or the past,
or some other dimension, alive,
but invisible to us.

[Alison Luterman: “I feel a kind of mental fogginess creeping in as we enter week infinity of sheltering-in-place with no certainty about what the future holds—not that we ever had certainty, not really. At times like these it’s helpful for me to remember that there has always been mystery at the heart of life.”]

QUOTE(S):  "I'm a little hibernating animal. Anonymity is one of my favorite things. I mean, that's why I moved to New York when I was like 18, because there, there are just so many people that there's no one and you're just lost. You're completely invisible and I find that very liberating." ~ Ani DiFranco

"Bizarrely, I actually feel safer the older I get, like people will expect less from me, and I can become more and more invisible, yet more and more eccentric." ~ Marian Keyes

"I've always been a very sensitive person, and people tell me that if I'm in a certain mood, and I go into a room, my mood will permeate the room. It's not on purpose - I'd rather be invisible in those moments - but I'm really bad at faking how I feel." ~ Rooney Mara

Silver Hair (Michael McNevin)

From today's TUT: Note from the Universe:

In the end, Susan, all you have are memories, and usually the ones you have with friends are the ones you treasure most.

I got you, babe - The Universe

Not that there's really an "end," Susan. And "usually" means there are indeed exceptions - like dancing in the dark, walking in a park, and some of those really loud sneezes.

Over the weekend, I set up a page for mom on the CaringBridge website (which a few friends had told me about) - I've added a few since my last post here... and you can check there periodically or sign up for e-mail notifications every time I post an update...

How strange to think that today makes four weeks I've been here at mom's - as the days unfold, I'm finding my own routine, as well as ours together. It's been ages since I experienced life in a small town (since our during- and post-college days in Carrollton)... and Flowery Branch brings back such good memories of friendliness, innocence and connection - whether I'm in a store or out in "traffic" or at exercise class, there's just a different, less hurried/harried feeling to my life. The slow Georgia drawl is a metaphor for the stretching out of time - this all seems to have a been another blessing in disguise for me, as my Florida schedule had become exhausting and paralyzing...

I have to talk a minute about the women in the seniors aerobics, which I've been attending fairly regularly (aiming for 3 times a week) since my arrival - all in their 70s and 80s, they've been so friendly and welcoming... and it's comforting to take a break from the illness at home to their light-hearted chatter of grandchildren, gardens and knitting. I've grown quite fond of non-stop-talking Shirley with her knee brace, perpetually-arriving-late Charlotte with her pearl-buttoned cardigan sweater, always-smiling Elsie who is still trying to find a home for her gerbils and immaculately-made-up and manicured Joyce who has suffered some serious health problems and still manages to make it to exercise class - I am in awe of these women, who have become my role models by not just showing up... but by not giving up...

I finally finished Crooked Little Heart by Anne Lamott (which I'd been working on for well over a week, not my reading modus operandi at all!) - I so enjoy her writing... and wanted to share a few passages that hit home:

Charles groaned, shifted. She tried to imagine the effect that their being around for his dying was going to have on her and Rae, and Rosie. She didn't know what that effect would be, because it was like a tiny green shoot whose flower was growing in the dark, but sitting with him today gave her this hard gift: it let her acknowledge one incandescent part of the world that would soon be gone, extinguished.

and...

She heard Rae's footsteps recede, and then Elizabeth felt grief trying to pierce her or trying to get through to her to save her: it was hard to tell. Crying withheld feels sometimes like dying. Finally when she started to cry, she was so deluged with mucus and tears that she didn't think she would ever again get a full breath.

I semi-blogged about this song over at Star Maker Machine - remembered the perfect poem to go with it... so decided to recycle it here... :-)

SONG: Silver Hair by Michael McNevin

BOOK: SWAG: Southern Women Aging Gracefully by Melinda Rainey Thompson

POEM: I Confess by Alison Luterman

I stalked her
in the grocery store: her crown
of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip,
her erect bearing, radiating tenderness,
watching
the way she placed yogurt and avocados in her basket,
beaming peace like the North Star.
I wanted to ask, "What aisle did you find
your serenity in, do you know
how to be married for fifty years or how to live alone,
excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to possess
some knowledge that makes the earth turn and burn on its axis—"
But we don’t request such things from strangers
nowadays. So I said, “I love your hair.”

QUOTE(S): "Women are always beautiful." ~ Ville Valo

"Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. ~ Samuel Ullman

"The great secret that all old people share is that you really haven't changed in seventy or eighty years. Your body changes, but you don't change at all. And that, of course, causes great confusion. ~ Doris Lessing

"It's important to have a twinkle in your wrinkle. ~ Author Unknown

"It is not by the gray of the hair that one knows the age of the heart." ~ Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Stand By Me (Ben E. King)

I am back at my mother's house north of Atlanta, arriving this past Tuesday and intending to stay for two weeks - she has declined substantially (pulmonary fibrosis) since I was last here in late-January...

Internet has been spotty as well as slow and frankly, I am exhausted - the physical I don't mind as it is a joy to help mom in whatever capacity I'm able (make meals, do chores and just generally be the step-n-fetch-it girl by replenishing her ice water, bringing her items from another room of the house, running errands). The emotional drain is another story - it's hard for one's brain to process the inevitable, even if that's where the path is ultimately leading...

Yesterday was most difficult, as I drove mom to her doctor's appointment and we received some honest answers to some hard questions - mom asked about a lung transplant and there is a cut-off age of 65 (mom will be 79 in September). She also asked how long she had and the doctor honestly told her she seems to be at the beginning of the final stage of her illness - right now everything is designed to keep her comfortable. If mom thinks she feels better from the Prednisone, then the doctor was fine with increasing her dosage - she also gave mom "permission" to turn up the level of her oxygen (which she's on 24/7), but that's a terrifying thought for mom, since it's already at 9 (and 10 is the highest)...

Mom told me she's not afraid of dying... but she does fear not knowing what comes next... and whether or not each struggle for breath will be her last - the doctor assured her that, when the time comes, mom will know and we will call in hospice, where medications will be administered to calm her breathing and ease her anxiety. It was always assumed that, as it got closer, mom would move in with my sister - now I'm thinking I will extend my stay, or leave and come back, in order to ensure she is able to transition from her own house. My brother and sister are coming over Monday for a Memorial Day family gathering... and we will have an in-depth, brainstorming conversation at that time - we are retaining hope... but we are definitely at a crossroads. I just ordered (overnighted) the book I reference below... and will receive it tomorrow - I want to do my homework and be as prepared as I possibly can...

As soon as I finish writing this, I will send out the link in an e-mail to various friends who are holding their own vigil for mom... and for me... and for my family - thanks to all for continued thoughts, prayers and purple candles...

P.S. I am trying to take care of myself along the way as well - went to a seniors aerobics class with one of mom's neighbors this morning... which was equally humbling and inspiring (I want to be Frances, 88, when I grow up... still moving, smiling and living life to the fullest... :-)

P.P.S. Thanks to J for the poem...

SONG: Stand By Me By Ben E. King

BOOK: The Needs of the Dying: A Guide for Bringing Hope, Comfort, and Love to Life's Final Chapter by David Kessler

POEM: Invisible Work by Alison Luterman

Because no one could ever praise me enough,

because I don't mean these poems only

but the unseen

unbelievable effort it takes to live

the life that goes on between them,

I think all the time about invisible work

About the young mother on Welfare

I interviewed years ago,who said, "It's hard.

You bring him to the park,

run rings around yourself keeping him safe,

cut hot dogs into bite-sized pieces for dinner,

and there's no one

to say what a good job you're doing,

how you were patient and loving

for the thousandth time even though you had a headache."

And I, who am used to feeling sorry for myself

because I am lonely,

when all the while,

as the Chippewa poem says, I am being carried

by great winds across the sky,

thought of the invisible work that stitches up the world day and night

the slow, unglamorous work of healing,

the way worms in the garden

tunnel ceaselessly so the earth can breathe

and bees ransack this world into being,

while owls and poets stalk shadows,

our loneliest labors under the moon.

There are mothers

for everything, and the sea

is a mother too

whispering and whispering to us

long after we have stopped listening.

I stopped and let myself lean

a moment, against the blue

shoulder of the air. The work

of my heart

is the work of the world's heart.

There is no other art.

QUOTE(S): "My mother is a poem I'll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother." ~ Sharon Doubiago

"A mother understands what a child does not say." ~ Jewish proverb