My Analog Life

2024 has arrived. Now what?

I am still (no surprise) figuring out what my life looks like post-medical catastrophe: physically, mentally, emotionally. On the very plus side, as in "wildly positive," I am walking daily (okay, there have been some weather call-offs) with a good pace and increasingly distances (a mile to two plus). Given that my first post-catastrophe walk was .16 miles from our driveway to the end of the block and back, with me hanging onto Warren's arm, I am thrilled.

But I would be kidding myself if I think I am back to my pre-catastrophe self physically because I am not. And will never be in some areas. That's just the reality of age, long-term cancer, and the catastrophe. (And on the mental front, yes, my intellectual capacity took a hit too. Given that dementia runs heavily in my mother's side of the family and I am at significant risk for developing it, I am keeping an eye on when I have blips that are more than just forgetting a name.)

But, back to 2024 and my continuing to shape my new life. As I have shared with close friends, I am learning to create a flow that seems to work best for me now. One huge piece of my life now is that I am spending more of my time in what I will call my analog life.

Here are some things that my life contains.

A jigsaw puzzle that my friend Maike, who knows that Warren and I (especially Warren) are huge admirers of Frank Lloyd Wright) found at a thrift shop and sent our way:

Books, books, books, the old-fashioned way:

Reactivating my sourdough starter, which bit the dirt during the medical catastrophe. I know, I could have asked my next door neighbor to give me some of his starter, but, hey, starting it is no big deal:

And other pieces that were already in place and continue to give me a quiet space to work (head or hands or both): letters to friends (of course) and walking (previously mentioned), washing dishes by hand, taking time to watch the seasons and the skies and the weather and the birds. There is a farm near my father's house where the last two times I have gone to see him, there has been a huge murmuration—starlings, perhaps?—as I am heading back home driving past the farm. "Wow" does not begin to describe the sight.

Back in my earliest days home, my friend Katrina, in response to my comment that I did not have the strength and energy to talk on the phone more than 10-15 minutes, and how some (including my father) would blithely plow past that limitation, sent me a timer. Oh, Katrina! What a gift! I rarely used it on the phone calls, as I could see on my phone how long the call was lasting, but what this timer has done for me is given me controllable time back. I know, I know. Phones have timers and alarms. Our 1970s era stove has a timer clock for the oven. But setting the dial on this timer and letting it run until its distinctive ding, has made my baking and other activities (my now daily nap) so much easier to track. Who knew?

A life changer! 

The catastrophe and some other important matters impact how and whether we will do much (any) traveling this year other than getting to Mayo sometime later in the year. I hope. I am doing telehealth appointments right now; I do not have the physical capacity yet to drive to Rochester and flying, even without factoring in Covid and flu and RSV, takes even longer than driving. I told Warren this weekend that I have made peace (reluctantly) that I will never get back to Maine, a trip we hoped to take last July but scrubbed because of Symphony matters. I realize it is highly unlikely I will make it out to the PDX area this year to see my family. It is what it is.

Fellow blogger Laurie recently wrote about her "football sweet potatoes" and I asked for a photo, which she gladly provided. My interest was prompted by photos from Orlando at Thanksgiving, scrubbing sweet potatoes as big as his head, even adjusting for camera angle. (I called and asked; adult confirmed the sweet potatoes were massive.) My son Ben is making plans, still tentative, to come back here in May, with Orlando (who starts kindergarten this fall!) and I hope that all comes about, whether we are scrubbing massive sweet potatoes, baking a pie, or just hanging out in the sweetness of time (analog, of course).