It was a cold, dark New Year’s day. The end of another holiday season. I took the tree down a few days ago, and stashed all the decorations away in the attic. I was ready for life to rev up and begin again. Over the years I’d come to feel that Christmas was just another dull holiday that had lost its meaning amidst our human need for more, more, more.
It was way back when personal computers were just beginning to flood the market. My kids were playing on the “Trash-80,” we’d picked up as a family Christmas gift at Radio Shack. I wasn’t taken with this new Thing that would soon begin consuming our lives. Yet I sat behind Mark and Lisa watching them giggle and shout as they took each other out in whatever silly game they were playing. It was fun watching for a while, but I was tired and ready to get away from such nonsense.
I had just proclaimed that New Year’s Day was the most boring day of the year when I looked up and out the window into the pasture just beyond our driveway. Our dogs, Chippy and Mildred, were fighting and looking as though they were trying to kill each other.
I popped out of my chair and ran outside to break them up. As I sprinted down the driveway I could hear and see the seriousness of what was happening, Both dogs were snarling and beginning to draw a bit of blood. I picked up speed, forgetting that there was a cattle guard between us.
Before I could stop myself, I landed with my right leg caught between two of the steel bars of the guard. I heard a snap as I went down, and began shouting for help. The dogs immediately stopped fighting and Bill came to my rescue. He carried me to the car when I told him I thought my leg was broken.
I spent the next few days having a pity party all by myself, going through the list of why this was the most unfair thing that had ever happened to me. I would spend the next four months recuperating, as both my tibia and fibula healed.
I didn’t know that those months would be a time of learning or that sometimes the universe interrupts our insane, shake-a-leg world so that we can learn the importance of slowing down and enjoying life. I’d been rushing around in a workaholic kind of way, raising two kids, teaching natural dying and spinning, cooking, cleaning, and going to bed each night totally exhausted.
Then a few friends came to visit, bringing books, flowers, and chocolates. I began to rethink my situation. I couldn’t rush around experiencing overwhelm because I had too many things to do and not enough time to do them. I’d forgotten about the simple things in life that we all need in order to live happily.
Reading good books took over my time. I remembered being a ravenous reader when I was a kid, but since then books and reading had taken a back seat to being a wife, mother, teacher, and housekeeper. I missed the feel of holding a book, turning its pages, and the flow of words that so often had filled my heart.
I started to keep a journal. Along with my leg bones, I wanted to heal my thinking and the anger I was carrying around with me. I’ve kept a journal ever since. It’s a place where I explore my thoughts and feelings, and eventually led me to write and publish my instruction book on Australian Locker Hooking, and then to my memoir, Scattering Ashes.
I learned that slowing down and being mindful was the best medicine for any kind of healing, whether it be physical or mental. The Universe had whacked me over the head with a 2” by 4”, reminding me that I was on a downhill course and out of control.
Since then that merciless piece of lumber has been following me around, and when I see it approaching out of the corner of my eye, I hastily slam on my brakes.
Over the past two years pain began developing in my shoulders, especially the right one. My husband has been diagnosed with Mild Cognitive Impairment, which means he might or might not develop dementia. Uncertainty has become the watchword of our lives.
As a result, we decided to downsize and find a place where we might be more comfortable and less responsible for things like shoveling snow, keeping the garden looking as beautiful as it was, and mowing the grass. The move took a lot out of us, but for the time being at least, we’re happy and comfortable where we are and continue to explore our options as our bodies and minds continue to age.
After having the rotator cuff in my right shoulder surgically repaired in mid January, I spent six weeks in a sling unable to do much other than sit and relax. It has now been put away on a high shelf in my closet. I still must take it easy, using my right arm very carefully and have about six more weeks until I’m able to drive.
I’m once again reminded of the most important and simple things in my life. I’m using this time as a retreat as I nourish my body and mind. That in itself will help me to be a good caretaker for my husband of fifty-three years should it become necessary. It is also inspiring me to be think creatively. I continue writing, reading, making art, and simply enjoying life.
We all live in a world filled with uncertainty. Take care of yourself. Give yourself time and love all of the little things that make you happy. If we’re not careful that 2″ by 4″ could be headed your way!
I imagine constructing this thoughtful post was a therapeutic exercise; at least that was how it came across to me. You are self-aware and vigilant, first steps toward noticing when our lives go out of balance.
Your meptaphor of the 2 X 4 piece of lumber is on point. I notice it coming at me when I’m going too fast, losing (misplacing) things, or feeling out of sorts. I’m glad to hear you are mending nicely. And art and reading are helping you cruise down the road to recovery.
It was very therapeutic to write this post especially remembering a difficult time and comparing it to the now. It’s the going too fast that gets me when I go out into the world. Put me on a roadway with a bunch of people who are late for something and I join right in. And that’s not good.
Thanks for your kind words, Marian!
Again, you capture the everyday moments of life that echo across the miles. Ah, the feel of those books – if only the eyesight will hold up. And the memory and the body. Times are a changing and the only thing we can do is the slow downs that you so thoughtfully discuss. Hope you are healing well.
Thanks, Sharon. Yes, the memory, the eyesite, and the body. It’s that time to love life, ourselves, and those we love no matter the changes that begin to slow us down. I’m healing well and hope you are too. I send lots of love your way!
Hi Joan, thanks for a thoughtful post on the importance of slowing down, the value in being mindful, and the power of knowing ourselves better. I was struck by your tiny little comment, nearly an aside, about Bill’s cognitive impairment diagnosis. Woody got his a few years ago. It was my impetus for going back to work at 70; he won’t be able to teach much longer we fear. But as I learn more and more about how the brain works (or doesn’t, as the case may be), I have come to appreciate the good days more than ever. I trust you have found good support where you live. I’ve found that to be a vital part of my mental health. My best to you both.