Regaining Rhythm

My work station earlier today

Rhythm.

What an appropriate word, let alone concept, for me to use. After all, I am married to a percussionist. Trust me, percussionists are all about rhythm. It makes me smile just writing that word.

Rhythm.

My rhythm? I am still regaining it.

As I have shared, we had a long siege getting Dad's house ready for market. That finally got done in late September. So we are not out there every day clearing, cleaning, hauling, groaning, or any combination thereof. But because I am the lawyer in the family, and the child living only seven blocks away, all of the real estate matters related to the sale of the house are in my lap. They are not onerous. Dad has a superb realtor and the title company that will hold the closing is excellent. All the same, it falls to me to review documents, answer Dad's questions, provide information for closing, and so on. I will be present when Dad does his side of the closing, about a week before the Buyer closes (because I am out of town that week). None of this is overwhelming (unlike the 25 cubic yards of trash that we had removed by the dumpster company), but it is nonetheless something that is still on my calendar and in my head.

So, back to rhythms. 

As I write this (By hand! I'm actually using a pen and paper!), I think of ways I am regaining the rhythm that works for me for my life.

Apparently, baking is a part of my rhythm. Two weekends ago, I made an apple pie (Jaime had a recital at Miami University (Ohio), where teaches) and sourdough peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, last weekend I baked an apple-bread pudding to take next door to a shared meal, the pumpkin cardamon muffins were yesterday, and, right now, a loaf of rustic no-knead bread is baking. And, with the Symphony season opening this weekend, there will be more cookies and another pie. 

It feels good to be baking again. 

Walking is definitely part of my rhythm. And that one took a huge hit even before the job of emptying out the house, starting with Dad's hospitalization and lengthy rehab from early June until late July. Other than walking to and from Dad's place, there was not a lot of time or energy for more. I am not yet back to where I can walk as far or as often as I want, but I am getting there. (And how come no one ever told me about compression socks?! Talk about a game changer for someone with neuropathy!)

Even my reading, which disappeared only during the worst times of last year's medical mayhem, has picked up as I work on regaining my rhythm.

All the same, I'm not there yet, whatever "there" may mean. There are some skipped beats, some unexpected jumps and cuts, and sometimes I wonder whether I am ever going to feel I am in rhythm with myself again.

Warren and close friends gently remind me that this summer's events and the weight they placed on me need to be seen in the broader context. A year ago today I was still in the hospital and still over a week (a week!) away from being released to rehab to build enough strength to go home. Once I got home in late October, I was confined to the first floor for several more weeks while I worked on gaining enough strength to climb the stairs to our bedroom, the bathroom with the shower, and my study. Add the shattered wrist in the winter, a major (planned) surgery on its heels, some more medical issues in the spring and, well, yeah. 

When I stand back and look at what not just the last four months have held, but the last 14, small wonder I am out of rhythm.

One of the books I have is been rereading is Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May. It is a powerful, moving account of May's own difficult time and an examination of regrouping when at a low point (medical, emotional, physical, familial), not feeling put upon to "make the best of it!" or "soldier on!" but instead recognizing there is a space in that low place to restore oneself in an authentic and meaningful way.

Reading Wintering is a reminder to myself that finding my rhythm is a journey to be taken at a pace that fits me.  

One step at a time.