Change Is In The Air

September 6, 2016 By

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It’s September, that time of year when I breathe deeply and am especially happy that the days ahead will be cooler. The dog wood trees are the first to begin turning their foliage from a verdant green to a rusty red and their berries are ready for picking by hungry birds.

Today when I took my morning walk a strong breeze out of the north began shaking tree limbs and old, dried out yellow leaves at the end of their life span fell all around me.  It was lovely.

Here is a poem I wrote a while back to to honor this special month.

September

That yellow bus is back
all shiny and clean
beeping ‘round the circle
every morning at eight
then again in afternoon
Monday through Friday

I recall chalk dust days
blue gingham stained with chocolate
climbing trees and jump rope
books whispering dreams

Hours slip away
dropped stitches
in a Christmas sweater
I’ve been knitting for years
return to every fall
rows of raveled days
purled again to perfection

JZR
9/7/91

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Filed Under: Poetry, The Seasons, Time

Revisiting Days Gone By

August 30, 2016 By
An old family photo of me with my brothers, Reid and Zed. That my mother in the background.

An old family photo of me with my brothers, Reid and Zed. That is my mother in the background.

I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve been looking back through old blog posts lately. The main reason was because I have a very busy writing schedule for the next month or so doing some guest posts along with keeping up with my weekly posts here and my monthly newsletter. I thought going way back in time would bring up an interesting post or two that I could reblog. It would save me time and and the effort of coming up with new idea to write about.

Well, it kind of backfired. It’s been at least a year or two since I looked through those ancient posts. I’m in a very different place than I was when I wrote them and even when I last perused them. I believe that it has to do with aging and the changes occurring within and without my mind and body. I’ve become fascinated with the way I used to think and how the aging process brings about those changes.

One of those changes is my reaction to places I go to or have been to. A year or two ago I noticed that whenever I went to our local multiplex movie theater and walked through the doors, I felt as though I’m on another planet. The the high ceilings from which loud rock music bounces, and the larger than life posters advertising headache inducing, sci-fi, fantasy, shoot em up bang-bang, car chase, and dystopian themes are gut wrenching for me. And the game room off to the side often exudes the sound of gun violence, making it even worse. Even when I go to see something quiet and dramatic or funny, the million trailer’s they show are for movies I’d never go to see in a million years.The turned up volume of those trailers has forced me to remove my hearing aids and plug my ears with my fingers. When I go there now to catch a flick that is not playing elsewhere, I feel that if this is my beloved, blue planet, Earth, then I’d best be getting off as soon as possible. Needless to say I don’t go there often.

Fortunately, we have a much smaller multiplex theater with large, comfortable, cushioned seats, and much smaller viewing rooms. Some have only six rows, seating as few as thirty people. And all of the smaller rooms have wonderful recliners where you can put your feet up, lean back, and be really comfy. Fortunately, I have not yet fallen asleep in them. You can also order a salad, pizza, beer, or wine to take in with you. Along with a few noisy, pop culture films, they show a great selection of independent and foreign films which are my cup of tea. They show only a few trailers and they are similar in nature to the film I’ve come to see, and though a tad louder than the feature film  the sound level is manageable for me.

I’ve found that journeying into past blog posts isn’t saving me any time at all. I get all caught up in what I wrote ten years ago and what it all meant at the time. Then I think about what more I can add from a different perspective. It’s huge fun and I’m delighting in learning more about myself and where I’ve been and where I am now. I will continue to revisit old posts from time to time and share my observations with you.

I suddenly understand what the older folks in my young life used to tell me, when they said, “I don’t understand this younger generation. I’m too old for this stuff.”

Filed Under: Uncategorized

An Excerpt From My Book, SCATTERING ASHES

August 25, 2016 By

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Care Givers Space has featured an excerpt from my book, Scattering Ashes, A Memoir of Letting Go.  Read it here.

Also:

Check out my guest blog post over at Dorothy Sander’s Aging Abundantly, where I talk about Wisdom.

Filed Under: Caring for an aging parent, Wisdom

Starting Over

August 23, 2016 By
Frog Yogi looks after me in my studio.

Frog Yogi looks after me in my studio.

I rarely get as much exercise in the summer as I do in the winter. This summer was no exception. WhenVirginia dog days set in and the temperatures and humidity rise, I get lazy. And even though I have a vintage cross-trainer in my studio along with air conditioning, I regularly avoid movement as much as possible. Of course, it could have something to do with aging, but still the longer I go without taking a good long walk or spend at least 30 minutes on my machine and another 30 minutes stretching, the more my body aches. My joints continue to stiffen as I promise that tomorrow I will get on the cross-trainer. But even crossing my heart and hoping to die, doesn’t change a thing. Even doing it once or twice a week during a heat wave, and feeling better for it, doesn’t change my attitude. I keep telling myself that I’ll do it tomorrow along with the million and half other things I’ve been promising to do. Hah! Sure!

I walk Sam and Max early every morning before I have breakfast and though it isn’t more than a ten or fifteen minute walk around the block with stops at every interesting smelling shrub, it helps me wake up. Later if I walk by myself and get some speed going or get on that gadget that takes up too much room in my studio, I do feel great. And for those like me who hold tension and anxiety in their bodies, movement helps me relax. I think of walking as my morning meditation. There is nothing but me moving. If I get sidetracked I simply go back to my breath and the one-two-three pattern of walking that helps to keep me physically balanced.

Over the last month or so, I’ve been kicking myself in the butt most days because I haven’t been keeping my promises to myself. I still do Pilates on Monday afternoon and Yoga on Friday morning, but the solo, out-of-breath work went down the tubes.

When the Olympics started two weeks ago, I was delighted spending my evenings being inspired by all of the athletes. I was especially moved by those who didn’t win, knew they wouldn’t, but did it anyway. Just like them, in my dreams I flew through the air,  twisted around, and landed perfectly upright on my feet.  I swam fast,  as though a shark was after me,  and dove into the pool, as gracefully as a any diving bird. I thought about all of the work it took to train and the passion one must have in order to participate in such an event.

My inner critic piped up every now and then to say, “Hey what’s wrong with you? You’re just a rotten couch potato.” Then pointing her finger at me, she’d say, “Well you are getting old. It’s time to quit that exercise stuff. It’s a waste of time. I’m sure that rocking chair in the window down at the furniture store is looking pretty good to you, huh?”

All I need is a challenge. So I’ve started over. It’s still mighty hot. The air is hazy and humid. But I’ve worked out on my cross trainer every day this past week. Yesterday a cold front came through. The morning was deliciously cool. I took  a good long walk in the morning chill and finished the day with my Pilates session.  No more excuses like I don’t have time, so I’ll do it tomorrow. I don’t need or want a medal. All I want and need is for my mind and body to feel good and the time to take care of myself. I suppose there may come a day when I can no longer walk, so as long as I can, I will.

Life is all about starting over again. Each morning we wake up to a new day and have an opportunity to keep the promises we made to ourselves. There will be days when we really don’t have time to do what we said we would do. There will be days when good or bad things happen and it just isn’t possible to cross things off our to-do lists. The point is that every moment, every hour, every day, we have the chance to  start over.

My use of sugar has been rising and as a sugar addict, I’m only hurting myself and possibly bringing on something that will cause other problems. So that will be my next restart. No more kicking myself in the butt.  I may slip once in a while but I will keep in mind I can start over again at any time!

What are you starting over?

Look for me tomorrow over at Dorothy Sander’s Voices of Wisdom series.

On Friday you will find me over at The Care Giver Space, where they are featuring an excerpt from my memoir, SCATTERING ASHES,
A Memoir of Letting Go.

Filed Under: Exercising, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Self-Care Tagged With: , , ,

Time Play, Act III

August 16, 2016 By

clockface2Like last week’s post, this is another I wrote in 2006. My mother had been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer a year earlier. She spent most of her time denying she was nearing the end of her life. My head was filled with thoughts of aging and mortality, both Mom’s and my own. The poem below slipped out onto paper in response to a prompt on a poetry site I was following at the time.

My attitude toward aging and death has changed since then. I love being in my seventies. For the most part it is a very comfortable and peaceful time. I’ve enjoyed being able to slow down, to do more of what I really want to do, and taking all the time in the world to do it. I see things very differently now. Wisdom has overshadowed my ignorance and in many ways I’m more patient with myself and others, as well.

It’s fascinating to me that my fears of aging and death no longer haunt me as they once did. Back then I wanted time to pass quickly so that I could get on with my life. Since then I have developed a great appreciation for this moment … right now … the in breath … the out breath … even if what is happening isn’t the most pleasant thing in world. By allowing myself to live with what is before me, the sting of life is not as severe, and I see things more clearly.

This is what I wrote on August 24, 2006.

Time has never been my best friend. There is never enough or there is too much. I look for quality time, end up with no time. At times I’ve been able to stretch time, but that skill is elusive. It’s either rush, rush, rush, or are we there yet? I waste time, I buy time. I’ve even killed time. Time is a mystery. I’ve written a notebook full of poems about it. I don’t know any more about it now, than I did before I took the time for this exploration.

Time Play, Act III

Instead of rising the curtain falls
on a revolving stage numerals tick
tossing seconds back and forth
the orchestra marks each hour
with silver chimes

In the fly-space heavenly doors
swing open spilling light
revealing angels robed in red
feathered wings propel
cogged wheels around the clock

Beyond the flicker of footlights
tiers of aging faces line the dark
fear the cuckoo’s wooden call
a chorus of fingers points to the dial
weeping candles hail the fractured moon

There is one part of the aging process that is not at all pleasant and that is the loss of friends.  In the last 24 hours one has passed away and another is in the ICU at a nearby hospital.  My prayers reach out to both of them and their families.

Filed Under: Aging and Mortality, Poetry, Theatre, Time
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