It's a Good Life

In the tangle, still some tomatoes! 

"It's a good life," my dad said as he and I parted today, Dad to go up to lunch in the dining room and me to walk home.

I about fell over when he said that, but recovered quickly enough to say, "It is indeed. See you soon." My surprise was that I had never ever heard him say anything even remotely resembling that thought. But he clearly meant it and today I needed to hear that message. 

My morning emotions started out grayer than they have been as of late (and they have not been bright and sunny in recent days). How gray? I got ready to walk out the door to run an early morning errand, then came to a standstill in our living room. I took the car keys out of my pocket and took off my jacket. I plopped down on a chair and called up to Warren, "I'm not going to Kroger." "Are you okay?" "No." Warren came down the stairs with concern. "What's wrong?" "I feel like I'm ready to cry."

No specific reason. I was just ready to cry.

I did not cry. I "pulled myself together" and did some small chores: collecting all the fans we had used during the summer (five total) to ready them for their winter hiatus in our attic; collecting, folding, and putting away the fabric we use on our east and west windows in the summer to cut down on the direct heat from the bright sun (nine pieces total). Then I walked to Dad's apartment and spent time with him until, as I got ready to leave, he surprised me with his comment about this being a good life.

I thought about my dad's words as I walked home. The sun was out, the temperature was cool, fall is definitely setting in.  Just being outside in the sun lifted some of the grayness. I ran into one of my long-ago DI kids, now on the edge of 40 (40? How did these kids get to be 40?) and we hugged one another. "Tell Ben I said hi," she said as we parted.

Warren was getting ready to leave for class when I walked through the door, so talk was brief and most of it would have to wait. I did manage to tell him what Dad said about it being a good life, and Warren smiled. "Sure is."

After Warren drove off, I could feel the grayness starting to gather again. So after a quick lunch, I focused on concrete tasks, some inside and some outside. After starting a load of towels, I retreated to the kitchen garden and spent time in bee therapy. There were not a lot of bees in the basil today, but the ones that were there were hard at work. As for me, after sitting on the bee stool for a bit, I turned to my own outside tasks. Okay, I was not collecting pollen, but I did trim and clear out overgrown tomato vines, as well as repair the bee stool (it had come into our life broken). Will the duct tape hold it until the bees are gone for the season? Probably.

Somewhere between cutting and cleaning out many of the overgrown tomato vines (and finding more tomatoes within) and folding the now dry laundry, the grayness lifted a little more.

It is late in the evening as I type these words. Other obligations and events filled the rest of the afternoon and early evening. I have stayed steady. The big event was a community gathering to discuss food, food security, food insecurity. It was an emotional discussion for those of us in the room (some representing local non-profits, others there because of their own passion and commitment to help others). It is a topic close to my heart. In many ways, it was the absolute best way for me to spend an hour, talking with others (we broke into groups) about how this community (our city, Delaware) both sees and does not see the hurdles and issues for making sure all have access to food and, in a larger sense, all are welcome at the table. Warren was there beside me, adding his observations about the greater community and its needs. I saw familiar faces, I saw new faces, and it was a welcome and needed affirmation that giving my time and heart to this community is what sustains and feeds me.

Afterwards, we ran that Kroger errand I had set aside this morning. It was cold, it was rainy, we were both chilled and exhausted. "Turn into KFC," I said. "We need something warm and ready to eat." [Note: Yes, KFC is a guilty pleasure that we very occasionally indulge in.] Once home, we hurried into the house, turned on the furnace for the first time this fall, and ate our supper quietly, grateful for the heat, the warm food, and, most important, one another.

It IS a good life. 

Bee Therapy

My basil patch in full flower

I have been writing a lot (A. Lot.) lately about focusing on small things to center myself. There is a lot of noise and overload on many fronts, and some large family matters (my side of the family) that have really hit hard and, in my case, triggered my PTSD. Warren has been giving me support and comfort; we earlier this month passed our 17th wedding anniversary and I am daily aware of how much light and joy and love and strength he gives me. 

Even without a wedding anniversary, I am so grateful for what he has given me; he lifts me up. All the same, and this is one of those times, I sometimes stumble and fall back into those outside matters. So I think I caught him a little off guard yesterday when I said that I had thought of maybe going back to therapy.

After saying that out loud (as things sound different when spoken outside of our head), I thought back to the things I had learned 22+ years ago with my brilliant therapist. Can I do this, "this" being work through where I am, using those lessons? 

Later that afternoon, as I turned over the therapy question in my mind, I said to Warren, "I have an idea of how to move forward." 

Warren looked at me. "And...?"

"Bee therapy."

Bee therapy? Yes, bee therapy. 

I always let the basil patch go to flower in the fall and this year is no exception. As we move deeper into the fall, the bees take over the basil flowers.

So after announcing that, I grabbed a garden stool (thank you, Amanda!) and set it in the garden in the recently cleared lettuce patch, which is right next to the basil patch. I then sat down and waited.

But not for long. 

A Sunday bee

At this time of year, in the basil patch, bees fly in, bees fly out. Bees burrow their heads deep in the basil flowers then pull out, go sideways or up or down to another. Repeat.

I repeated therapy again today, albeit early afternoon when the sun was on the patch and it was considerably warmer. Yesterday in the cooling air there were perhaps a half-dozen bees. Today, in the full sun, I counted over two dozen. 

A bee today

Bee therapy.

As I watch them and their singular focus, my mind slows down. My body relaxes. Bit by bit, I find myself letting go of the emotional bundle I am holding.

I hope we are in for a very long autumn. As I mentioned in my last post, we just had our first frost. It was a light one, but frost is frost. I know at some point the bees will disappear for the year. Some of them are already showing their lifespan is growing short.  I even petted a bee yesterday. It had landed on a stem before I got out there and was clearly too tired and worn to lift off. I touched it very gently and it wiggled, slowly, one antenna, but did not move.  

Bee therapy. Who knew? 

"I'm ready for my closeup..."

Taking Stock

The zinnias are still in bloom; this was earlier this summer

Last October 1st, I wrote about inventorying the food in our freezer, thinking, smugly, "well, of course I know what we have in our freezer. Sheesh." And, as I confessed in that post, I clearly had no idea of what was in our freezer.

As September wore down and I started looking ahead to the coming winter, I thought maybe I should take a look in our downstairs freezer and see where we stood. It was only by pure serendipity that I came so close in time to the 2024 inventory (which was, admittedly, spurred in no small part as a result of emptying out my father's house when he moved in Assisted Living  and I came to see just how much STUFF he had in the house). So I blithely went down to the basement freezer and started moving, reorganizing, and counting up what it held. And, no surprise, I was just as stunned this year as I was last year. 

I dictated into my Notes on my phone and even a few weeks later, my discoveries crack me up:

Freezer notes

Other than 6 quart bags of historic apples, no apples.

7 quart bags of sliced onions.

Two bags of frozen turkey for justice bus.

Eight bags of hamburger buns for justice bus.

10 quarts of corn kernels; two additional bags of what looks to be corn kernels, frozen and smaller quantity probably for corn bacon quiche.

22 quart bags of zucchini and squash. Wow!! Far more than I hoped for!

6 quart bags of chopped sweet peppers, plus a gallon bag holding five individual small baggies of chopped sweet peppers.

11 Packages of chicken thighs, two each. Three packages of sliced turkey for sandwiches.

3 quart containers of already made navy bean soup. 

In frozen quartz containers: black bean soup, turkey/vegetable stock with note great for dumplings, lentil/onion soup, chicken stew (that would be from Boysel’s) chicken stew (small container, same source) 2 quart containers of meat stock/broth: maybe chicken?. Plus another quart of turkey broth in a quart container.

One pack of boneless chops.

Stopped inventorying all the ham slices packages, because arm started bleeding and I need to stop! [Note: I have fragile skin. A prior skin tear opened up while I was moving packages and containers around. All is well.]

But certainly far more than I did hope and feeling much more optimistic about getting through the winter for, truly, pretty cheaply while eating well. And we are still looking at local harvest: I have a lot of peppers in the garden, apples are coming into season. With luck, I can buy a lot of markdowns those at Kroger so the pies I make for Jaime and everyone else won't break us. [End of notes]

And since that inventory, we indeed have added apples (marked down, of course), 10 pounds of butter (a stunning sale that came out to $2.85/pound after applying a coupon to the sale price), homemade chicken broth, and more chicken thighs. We have FAR more zucchini stashed away than I had dreamed, which pleases me to no end. So I am not worried about what the fall and winter hold for us. Taking (some) stock of our food was productive and gives us both an idea of where we are. (And following up on the freezer, I did a partial inventorying of our pantry of foods: dried beans, rices, cereal, and so on. All is pretty solid there too.)

Taking stock of our freezer made me think about myself and about taking stock of where I am. As I have noted, the last several months have been overloaded, not always in bad ways, mind you, but overly full. At times, I feel as if Warren (who is also very busy given his business, his playing, and his new teaching duties) and I see each other in quick passings, and both of us are making an effort to find time each day to shut out everything else and just connect. 

As to the issues and demands personal to my time, I am still sifting through them. I even made a very, very rough "diagram" with categories such as "HAVE TO," "Do B/C Important," "SHOULD/NEED," and "Important/WANT TO." There are some items I cannot change, primarily that I am the sole adult child responsible for my father (HAVE TO). He is thriving in Assisted Living, which is great and a huge relief for all of us. But I am the one running the errands, handling his needs, and while I do not resent any of it, it can be exhausting. I am still recovering from the unexpected June hospitalization, doing well, but watching my health issues (SHOULD/NEED) and having to accept that the likelihood of my ever regaining my pre-hospitalization strength and energy is slim to none. (Probably none.) I am walking regularly, albeit not at my pre-hospitalization speeds (again, gone) and that is a plus. You get the idea.

I even noted I wanted to write more, bake more, do more photography, spend more time with Warren (Important/WANT TO). I even wrote "Travel??????????" 

In my last post, written as Yom Kippur came to an end, I wrote about how to move into the New Year with my putting more focus on repairing the broken threads of the world: "world" being this community and pieces of my life that I could do better at threading together. And maybe that's where I am in taking stock. 

We had our first light frost of the season last night. Warren and I covered the tomatoes, the peppers, and the deck planters with sheets. I am glad we did; there are still vegetables to ripen. There are still flowers to sit outside and marvel at. There is still time to watch the bees mine the flowers, the butterflies dance, and the small birds fly in and our of the garden. 

Small moments, little bits. All precious. 

A Small Moment

Headed for the Justice Bus

Small interactions. Sometimes that is all it takes.

I dictated this into Notes on my phone (one app I do use sometimes) this morning and thought I'd send it out into the world tonight.

I was at the Law Library early this morning because it was our monthly Justice Bus (a family law Clinic) and Judy, our librarian, had to go to the dentist. I wanted to be there to make sure we were ready for clients and our volunteer attorneys in another hour.  While I was waiting and walking around, the employee who cleans the building came through and I offered her a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie that I had baked last night to go with our hot sandwiches.

She was delighted. She took the cookie, did her work in the library, and started to leave. I was just walking into the main library lobby when she turned, came back, and asked me if she could ask me a question.

I told her I didn’t know if I could answer it, but I would do my best. Her question turned out to be one I could answer. A close friend had just lost her husband and the woman asked me about local probate attorneys. 

I lit up. Probate! We have a Probate Help Desk in this county, run through Andrews House and funded by our Probate Court. I told her how to reach the program (call Andrews House) and that the Probate Help Desk would allow her friend to get a free one-hour consultation by a vetted probate attorney. That consultation would give the friend information to make some decisions, including whether she needed an attorney. I wrote down the phone number for Andrews House and handed it over,  As she left, she thanked me. Her face was lit up with how she could help her friend.

After she left, I thought: this is what community is about. This is what mending the broken world, Tikkun olam, is all about. This is what we do here at the local level to help our community, regardless of faith, politics, income, race, gender identification, or primary language, to help our community.

Yom Kippur is ending here in Ohio in about, oh, guessing by looking our my west study window, about 30 minutes. That brings to a close the High Holy Days, during which Jews often focus on how they can be better going forward into the New Year. I did not observe Yom Kippur in more traditional ways (and I am exempt from fasting because of my health), but this felt to me like a superb way to bring the High Holy Days to a close.

It was a great start to my day.