life lessons

What Are You Doing?

Hi my friend,

Well, here I sit – as overwhelmed and stymied, nudgy and confused as are we all. I should be maximizing this time – pouring over the classics that I have sworn to read again (not to mention the number of books I have downloaded to my Kindle), writing you far more frequently than I have been, organizing the pantry…

…instead I’m looking at puppies on Instagram.

Hardly a coping mechanism.

I’m trying to FaceTime with my kids and granddaughters, fretting that the proximity matters little. I’m cooking for the family of a neighbor who is in the hospital right now, baking…walking out on the deck and feeling grateful that I’ve got a deck to walk out on. Honestly, what I’m doing is seeking the mundane, searching for the every day that was every day before our lexicon moved from the politics of the day to the health of the world. I know there will be an after. There will be an after.

Our supermarkets opens early for the over-60 crowd, and I neglect to acknowledge that I am in that cohort, so I keep missing this window of senior opportunity. My kids are worried because I’m one of those over-60, who’s also immuno-compromised and enthusiastically in denial about both. “I don’t believe in aging. I believe in forever altering one’s aspect to the sun” – Virginia Woolf

I bought a half roller so I can practice my balance (Christy, I miss you), I’m going to dance to whatever Alexa selects, I’m going to keep checking on those I love so I can remain connected to the crux of my heart. And I’m going to send up prayers and hope and energy and love to the world. It may not be much, but it’ll make me feel a bit more productive than I do when looking at puppy pictures. And yes, I’ll keep looking at those too – for after. Take good care my friend.

life lessons

Postcard from Pilates Reformer

Hi again,

I’ll tell you something – I wear Nikes and have found that I can’t ‘just do it’ – it’s a bit awkward frankly. After searching vigorously for the one pair of sneakers that would magically allow me to jump higher, cardio longer, dance with the intent that everyone watches…um, not happening.

Methinks I can’t blame the sneakers.

And as much as I would love to do my best Scarlett O’Hara impression, shake my fist at the sky and drawl a commitment to never be clumsy or compromised again, I’m not sure I’d be able to get up from my knees. I’m getting to a point here –

I’m beginning to think it just doesn’t matter.

There’s a guy – a gentleman really – who claims time with she-who-has powerfully-impacted-my-life Christy (it’s her studio, her heart, her humor, etc) before me. He’s got a degenerative neurological order similar in cruelty to ALS. And the point isn’t what he can’t do, for he has the good sense to celebrate what he can. I listen to the lightness in his voice, relish the smile that seems to generate more from his eyes than his lips, yet I can ‘hear’ from the waiting area. He works hard while he is there, not stinting one minute and enjoying it all. When he says goodbye, I feel the air change.

I have no doubt that he has days when he curses the fates, attends a pity party with or without guests. I’m sure he has daily discomfort and disquiet. It would be insulting to him to suggest otherwise.

The point is, I think he wears Nikes. And he just does it. Maybe I’ll keep my pair too.