Life of Wry

Did I mention this? This hip thing?

This is me this morning at Kaiser, waiting to be called in to have my aching hip x-rayed. I’m not expecting an x-ray will turn up anything, and if it does it’s not something I want (arthritis). I’m hoping the next step in this diagnostic process is an MRI to see what part of my muscle (iliopsoas, quad, adductor, all of the above) I abused and how badly. But I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself here.. first things first.

Meanwhile, not walking too well and wincing a lot. It’s like injuring your thumb; you never realize how much you use it ’til it’s effed up.

These expressions seem to say loyal, weary, smug. Not too far off, huh?

These things really bring out the cynic in me.. States of the Union, I mean. I thought Obama did a good job tonight.  I always feel optimistic after hearing him speak, and it lasts as long as I don’t listen to any rebuttals or commentary. But I did.

Sigh.

Replace one letter and do a tiny bit of rearranging and SOTU (State of the Union) becomes STFU, which was what I wanted to say to the knee jerks immediately critical of Obama’s comments.  Did you even hear his words? Have you read a[n unbiased] newspaper lately?

Ugh.

If I ruled the world, I’d put Pope Francis in charge. I’m really, really liking that guy. Kindness, respect, a reverence for animals and nature… that’s about all we really need, right?

I learned a lesson today. I’ve learned it many times, but it’s become more resonant in recent years.

It’s not enough to think good thoughts. It’s great, but it’s not enough. It’s movement in the right direction, but it’s not all there is. It’s comforting and peaceful to know your heart and to feel, genuinely, humane and loving thoughts–toward people, toward the planet, toward social justice movements. But true passion and compassion require action. I know this. I’ve read gorgeous and compelling words that say just that. David Breaux speaks about it. I know this.

You gotta show up. Being there counts. Being counted counts. Symbols matter. Action matters.

Here’s a very moving picture I saw a bit ago, taken this morning at the Martin Luther King, Jr. celebration in downtown Davis:

Beautiful (photo credit goes to Jacqueline Clemens who posted this a few minutes ago on Facebook; thanks, Jacqueline).

I use this photo, and not dozens of other stirring photos of MLK floating around the internet this morning, because it was taken at an event I’d planned to attend, and then didn’t. I’d have loved being in a theater full of people honoring a fellow human being who stood up. I’d have loved hearing the above-pictured guy, because I have never been so enthusiastic about a city council candidate, ever, and I think he brings heart, soul and true compassion to the job of running our city, for which I am ecstatic.. and it would have been inspiring to hear him, and others on the program, speak. I’d have loved showing up and being that part of our community, among those people who care.  I like those people.

I didn’t go… because..

…My hip hurt and I knew I couldn’t march at the end of the program; I’d decided this was a weekend of rest and healing and I didn’t want to aggravate my stupid injury; I did want, however, to do my Monday morning workout and work the body parts that don’t hurt; I was cozy in my chair drinking coffee and reading at the very moment I knew I needed to get up if I was going to make it; I needed to wash my hair and it was going to be wet if I went; I was unsuccessful last night in motivating Peter to go with me and he was still asleep anyway; I wanted to avoid somebody I thought might be there.  Those were the reasons.

Not great reasons. Especially that last one. Jesus. (Maybe the wrong guy to evoke.)

Instead, I scanned through Facebook stuff–quotes, pictures. I thought about his life, his work, our country, how far we’ve come, how un-far we’ve come, about the movie Selma. I said to myself as part of my rationale, it’s okay, you know your heart.

Well… I wish I’d gone.

Not wanting to dwell in beat-self-up land, just wanting to learn and do better. There is a lot to do. 

I can’t let another day go by without a photo, but I don’t want to post yet another of my living room, even though that is where i spent the day.

So, I decided on this one. I’ll tell you why in a minute.

For the last two days, I’ve done nothing but sit. At least I’m in a chair by the fire with a cuppa tea going the whole time. But still, sitting. I am trying to heal what I believe is a torn ligament or maybe a tendon. So.. resting my hip, applying heat and ice alternately, and hoping it will resolve quickly. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done to my hip (or something in that region). I don’t want to go into it right now, just hoping I’ve made some progress in the right direction.

While down for the count, I’ve been blogging the missing eight days of Life of Wry 2014–the eight days that we were in Yosemite over the summer. It’s been a productive, if somewhat tedious, process: I have done five of the eight days and have only three to go before I can call 2014 a wrap. THEN I can do that Blog-to-Print thing which turns your blog into a nice, hardbound book, and then really be done with the year.

So, I’ve been deep into the photo archive, scrolling through hundreds and hundreds of photos taken over eight days of hiking–you must know, I take a lot of pictures–trying to choose the best ones to accompany my detailed narrative (sometimes overly detailed, I realize). I’ve also had my nose in my little hiking journal from the trip, as well as numerous of our hiking books, topo maps, and various online sources so that when I talk about a hike I get the distances and elevations and backstories all correct. Because I must. That’s why it’s a bit tedious to do eight days at once. And why it took about two and half years to finish the 21-day trek in Nepal (found in Life of Wry 2011).  (She takes her accounts seriously.)

Anyway… so.. it seemed appropriate or maybe a little twisted, to post a whispery cluster of summer clouds that gentled by while I lay on my back next to Peter in a high Sierra meadow along a wending fork of the Tuolumne River. It sure doesn’t get any nicer than that. Definitely lovely to think about on this foggy winter afternoon.

So yesterday, with not a shred of fanfare, I announced what my intention was for my blog in 2015. I said then–a whole day ago–that I planned to continue to write a blog a day but that this year, it would be okay to write nothing on a given day, if, in fact, I had nothing to say. I emphasized that my default would be to write daily, but there may be a day here or there when, absent a theme or topic or event or something/anything, it was okay to forgo writing.

I have rethought this.

All the writing people tell you that in order to write you have to write. Daily. It’s all about the discipline. I know me; if I am not bound by a big fat rule to write daily, I won’t, which is why I didn’t write but a few times in 2012 and 2013. I’d done a daily blog in 2011 and never missed a day. Even if I had the occasional nothing-to-say day and rambled stream-of-conscious-style until something materialized. For the next two years, I said to myself write when you really have something to say. So I never did; it was easier not to. Duh.

So, this year? Nothing to say? Sit down anyway, put fingers to keys and tease something out. I decided that writing daily is not only the default, it’s the requirement. I decided that if I truly have nothing, I will write on the discipline of writing, or some other aspect of writing. For example.

And why is writing a daily blog important? I think it’s because for me writing a blog is kind of a placeholder until such time as I decide exactly what I really want to write. I am not really sure.. just yet.. maybe it’s a short story, or maybe it’s a set of character studies in preparation for a novel, maybe it’s a novel (how novel), maybe it’s a memoir.  Or maybe it’s an ongoing family journal (with awesome photos, if I do say so myself) that gets handsomely bound, sits with the other handsomely bound editions on the shelf, and ultimately gets passed down to Peter and his future family.

Let me go back to that last one: so maybe this blog IS my writing. I mean, I’m writing, right? And I mostly love it. This kind of writing happens not to be too hard because it’s simply what happened on a given day or on a given vacation. It doesn’t require any creativity–not book writing creativity, that is–I don’t have to think about plots or do research or become an expert in some aspect of my main character’s life.. or whatever. Glorified journaling, it turns out, is easy peasy. And it’s writing. And I think I’m reasonably okay at it. I know I’m happy with the way I tell our family story.

And, it also satisfies my other love (some might call it an obsession): documentation. I have this need to leave a record of my life, to provide a record for Peter, something of myself to live on in some small way. It’s about the only legacy I’m likely to have since I’m not going to invent something, or win an Oscar, or set an amazing sports record, or be famous in any obvious way. (Not becoming famous is fine, by the way. I don’t need that in the least; I quite enjoy living my sweet little life under the radar. I’m not egoless, I’m just not Mitt Romney, who, in case you haven’t heard, has all but announced a third bid for President.. poor guy.. Just.Can’t.Let.It.Go. Mitt Ijustwannabepresident Romney apparently has legacy issues. Wonder if he’s thought about a daily blog.)

Anyway..where was I?  Ah, right, the discipline of daily writing….

Yes.

Oh, and there was no picture today…which… that is okay. They’re making me write, but if I haven’t got a photo, that’ll have to be okay. That will be my nod to mixing it up in 2015.

Now that the year 2015 is a couple weeks in, I thought I’d bring up a couple of housekeeping items.

1)  The blog plan for the year.

I’m going to continue a daily photo journalistic blog, but there may be a day when I don’t have anything to write about and that’s okay. But, while the plan is to write daily, I’m not going to jail if I come up dry on a given day. It’s okay; we’ll just move on to the next day.

This is very different than saying I’ll write when I’ve got something to say, which, when I said that in 2012 and 2013, I wrote next to nothing. Do you see the difference? The default is daily.

Along the same lines, if I have no picture, I have no picture. To wit, I have no picture today. No jail.

2)  8-8-8-8. 

And as long as I’m sharing my plans for the year, I thought I’d go public with my new year’s resolution. I’m big on resolutions… blah blah blah… you know that. Love the opportunity to look back on the year and reflect on high points, low points, milestones. I love the opportunity to reassess and rethink priorities. The beginning of the year is a perfect time to realign, reset the compass, recommit to what’s important, drill down on what is most fulfilling, nurturing and soul-feeding… and recommit to that.

That is a load of re’s.

That said, I’m cruising along on a fine enough path right now, and not wanting for much in the way of reinvention. So, instead of big wholesale changes, I decided to look at what could benefit from some minor tweeking.

And came up with the 8-8-8-8 plan.

Eight glasses of water a day.

Eight hours of sleep a night.

Eight different fruits and vegetables a day.. not servings.. just different fruits and veggies. Going for variety and feel like the servings, if I get that variety, will take care of themselves. 

Eight books.

A habit reboot, if you will.

Because, god almighty, I need more sleep and I have not been drinking anywhere near enough water. I am someone who eats a ton, which I’ll probably keep doing, but I’ve got to get more fruits and vegetables into the mix. And, damnit, this is the year I’m going to set aside more time to read. I picked eight books because 8-8-8-12 doesn’t have much of a ring to it.

We’ll see where this goes. Starting, I guess, tomorrow.

Ah, sweet mysteries..

So.. yesterday, I’m just standing in the living room, putting my hair up in a clip, as you do, and, looking up, I happen to notice what look like irregular dark smudges along one of our ceiling beams.

Huh, I think, what is that?

I get closer and still can’t quite make it out, but start thinking, are those termites? Is it maybe mold? I yell down the hall to Jim, who yells back to get some binoculars, which I do, but still can’t quite make it out. I, of course, think the beam’s going to fall down and the ceiling collapse, so I leave the room and go back to my office. Jim not wanting to hassle with a ladder right then, decides he’s going to wait until today to check it out.

Here is Jim, today, checking it out (he’s taking a picture and he also collected a sample):

He actually can’t quite tell what it is. The maybe good news is that it doesn’t appear to be either termites or mold. He thinks it sorta looks like something the wind may have brought in. Something maybe in the last storm.

I know. I don’t really understand that either.

I’m not even sure what his plan is for figuring it out. His department, though. I’m staying out of it.

Stay tuned.

May I talk about volunteering without sounding like I’m trolling for kudos?

Today was a heavier volunteer day than most, and it also turns out, the only picture I took today was this one:

That’s the Anderson Road Shell station this very foggy morning at about 5:45. I was getting gas before heading over to the United Methodist Church–just a couple blocks away–where the Interfaith Rotating Winter Shelter is this week. I am a driver–someone who picks up guests at the shelter and takes them back to intake. Guests are homeless folks. Intake is the Quaker Friends Meetinghouse at 4th & L. In other words, in the morning, after a good night’s sleep and a couple of meals, guests are required to vacate the church (each week a different church or synagogue hosts the shelter) and return to where they registered the night before… and then to wherever they are going to hang out for the day. And I am the person who drives them there (usually there are two or three of us making three or four trips each). I take four people on each trip.  If they don’t have anything to pick up at intake–strollers, large items, weapons (mostly knives, and there is a specific procedure for this), they can be taken to the downtown Jack-In-The-Box, which they are allowing this year again after disallowing it last year.

Anyway, lots of driving back and forth…it would have been a bad time to run out of gas.

I drive for the IRWS because it’s a regular, discreet and useful task, and I wanted to contribute some of my considerable time to something outside my day-to-day world. Mostly I wanted to get a little closer to the human part of the homeless story. I end up meeting a lot of Davis’ homeless population this way and having conversations, albeit brief. I can’t not see homelessness in Davis anymore, or anywhere, really. I feel connected to it…in a pretty small way… but it’s a big reminder, nonetheless.

This is my second winter of driving and I usually do it once a week.

So the day started with that.

Then I took a quiche (a pretty good quiche, actually), that I had made last night, over to the high school for a teacher breakfast meeting. This is a totally different kind of volunteer gig. I signed up to be part of a large hospitality group that makes or contributes items for various teacher appreciation events. Totally unsung. It’s largely anonymous, as typically they call for items (via a general email blast), you add your name and item online (via Signup Genius), bring said item to the teacher’s lounge at the appointed time (long before any teachers show up and usually before any of the set-up people even arrive), drop off your dish, and leave. That’s it. You get an automated thank you sometime later.

I think I do this one because I feel like everyone’s gotta do their part to make the whole school thing work, and I’m happy enough to be an anonymous cog in the wheel, making my occasional dish for the cause.

Then I came home and spent a few hours revising the general overview document for the Compassion Tour. That was actually work work–a lot of real writing and editing. Actually had to use my brain. Shipped it off to my planning team compadres this afternoon, which was enormously satisfying. For the time being, ball’s in someone else’s court. I love that.

Anyway, not singling myself out here, like I said. Everybody does stuff in the community and that’s the way it’s supposed to be. It just seemed like a good blog subject today since just about everything I spent time on seemed to be about volunteer work. Yay me.

When life hands you a coffee crisis, you make tea.

At first I was a little put out by the empty jar of beans (like I somehow did not see this coming?). But we have a shelf-full of teas (something one drinks in the afternoons only, I might add, never as that first cuppa in the morning, unless you’re desperate), so got the idea to prepare myself a Swedish-style smorgasbord to go with that tea, because tea is actually something you might drink in the morning in Sweden and I had most of what I’d need for a typiskt svenskt frukost (typical Swedish breakfast), all organized around and perfectly complemented by the tea.

So that’s what I did.

From left to right: 1) ginger, orange butter that we got from Bill and Sabrina this year (not really a typical Swedish thing, but nice); 2) knackebrod (rye crispbread); 3) pastej lax (salmon spread); 4) smorgaskaviar (fish roe spread); 5) lingon sylt (lingonberry jam); 6) swiss cheese (now, this would have been a lot better if I’d had some havarti with dill or, better yet, some mesmor (sweet brown spreadable goat cheese) or gjetost (hard brown goat cheese), but at the moment, swiss, cheddar and parmesan were all we had (how Amurican); 7) organic, fair trade, peach ginger black tea, which should have been English Breakfast tea or Earl Grey or something simpler, but was great. 

Doesn’t everybody have this stuff around? In fact, we do because Jim’s Uncle Dean, knowing of my having lived in Sweden, gives us a big basket of IKEA stuff every year, which I get such a kick out of, especially at times like this.

This is the caviar:

And this is what it looks like on your knackebrod:

Immediately transported.

This is absolutely the way they eat. At breakfast or dinner (because the big meal is at lunch), they haul out and put on the table (bord) a variety of breads (hard and soft), cheeses (hards, that you self-slice, and spreadables), vegetables (in particular, cucumber or tomato), spreads in a tube (shrimp, salmon, caviar) and jams.  Oh, and herring! I forgot the pickled herring this morning, which I had… darn. And other things like hard boiled eggs, dill, and I can’t remember what else. Then people just make smorgas after smorgas, whatever appeals, and eat them with tea. Then they put it all away until the next day. And haul it all out again. And again.

At least that’s the way it was in 1976-1978.

Completely unrelated to the impromptu Swedish smorgasbord this morning, I bought Swedish filjmolk (like kefir or buttermilk) and currants yesterday because I’d already planned to have my favorite Swedish snack (of… currants in filjmolk, definitely not a typical Swedish combo, but something I ate a lot of while there, not sure why)… so that’s on tap for this afternoon.

Mycket glad.

(Very happy.)

Feeling blessed by connections with sweet friends old and.. less old.  Some read LOW, some don’t (which is OKAY!), but if you’re reading this, know that you are loved and appreciated.

This guy sits on my desk, a small reminder to be present. He’s just under 2″ tall. (See? Small.)

If I’ve learned anything in the last few years (in particular), it’s to appreciate the preciousness of small moments, the peace that order and simplicity bring, the pleasure of focusing on things that most matter.

Time spent with friends is one of those things.

So… thanks buddies!