Poetry always, in all the ways…

***

This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

–Walt Whitman

It’s about time…

***

Word on the street growing up was that as you get older time accelerates, and it’s utterly true. Weekends now arrive every three days, and seasons are but a blip on the calendar. A short while ago I was whining about the cockamamie time change and now it’s settled into my DNA again. Life simply rolls on. Case in point, David and Darlene Dove, who are back for another round of babies, making our crusty old hearts glad.

**

The other unmistakable sign of full-on spring here is Farmers Market, whose busy Opening Day 2024 was last Saturday. Through our open door the sounds of conversation and laughter made it almost as good as putting on my sandals and going down there, which I didn’t do, although I have intentions, so check me on it.

**

As you might surmise, we’re back to balcony afternoons here, which are vital for health and wellbeing. I sit within a few inches of whichever parent is on the nest, they never move a feather in protest, and that feels sweet. So glad for the sunshine and the sounds of life. So glad for benevolent walking weather. So glad we stay continually educated by living until it’s done.

At this point, after 76 years of it, life in the U.S. has never felt more threatened, nor more tenuous to me, even through the debacle and angst that was Viet Nam. We’re on the precipice of losing everything democracy has afforded us, and that’s for real. And yet HOPE is still my first go-to. We can get through this. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. Check me on it.

Sound off…

***

My abject apologies, boys and girls, I failed to check back after the Big Dark, possibly because our eclipse experience consisted of a few moments of pale gray sky. Did e’erbody make it through, feet still on the ground, life continuing as usual? We are one amazing country, with never a shortage of drama. Who’d a’ thunk a strip of darkness across a fraction of the continent could arouse such inventive theories? Alas, it was simply the universe doing its thing again, some more, without any help from us. That’s good, ’cause we are, generally speaking, dumb as rocks.

Growing up, a farm girl with a big imagination, I’d often have a feeling come over me that said I’d see hard times before I die. Not just hard times but unique events we hadn’t witnessed before. In June of 2015 I realized the “voices” hadn’t lied to me, and we were in it. My heart hasn’t known true peace since because everything I’ve held dear in my life is under threat.

Growing up, I was part of a big family clan. Many of those people are gone, and the ones still here have sorted ourselves into factions according to our personal moral codes. The first casualty of that scenario is trust, followed immediately by communication. And without communication, relationships die.

Growing up is optional, you know, but a dash of maturity along with the years is a good thing. And as age and a seasoned mindset take center stage, we start to understand that throughout our lives, from womb to tomb, nothing is what we think it is at the time. In fact, it takes hindsight to evaluate most of what happens to us in life because we’re too caught up in trying to survive it.

It isn’t just family relationships that suffer, friendships take a big hit, too. Our move to Lawrence ten years ago turned out to be part of a small exodus from our former town. Unfortunately, the enterprise we were part of fell apart not far in, and when it went the friends went with it, something I hadn’t foreseen. Good thing I’m such an introvert.

Maybe the eclipse was a BFD after all… exposing the top of my head to it seems to have given me brain damage, not that anyone would know for sure.

I’ll be glad when the world laughs again, true happy laughter from a deep source. When we rediscover our sense of humor and start looking for the fun twist, the sudden right-hand turn, the laugh line instead of a barb… that’s when we’ll know things are getting better.

Life rolls on…

***

Good news! A second egg showed up in the nest over the weekend and Dave and Dar are faithfully incubating their first brood of 2024. According to the interwebs, David Dove is the one who dozes in the nest during the day while Darlene hangs out with her girlfriends at their favorite watering hole having chips and salsa. Then she returns home while David goes out with the boys, eating and drinking all night. Not sayin’ a thing, it works for THEM. And they’ve made quite a decent nest this time – we’re proud of them. It looks like they found a piece of dental floss somewhere… but whatever floats your nest.

**

Since spring is all about change and renewal we’re now surrounded by it, beyond the daily enjoyment the Dove family provides. Not all change is wonderful and positive, but stagnation runs counter to human desire, so since change for its own sake is an exercise in futility, maybe pick the things that bring light and life in greater quantities. A forward trajectory, if you will. That was a note to self.

Several of the lofts in our building have changed hands recently, so the sounds of construction have been a daily presence for a while as everyone revamps according to personal taste. I don’t mind… I just slip my hearing aids out ’til the racket stops… and a full building is a happy building. Or some such. A lot of people are under the impression that this is a retirement community, probably because of all the danged OLD people around. It’s true that likely everyone currently living here is over 50 but I don’t think there’s a requirement in the covenants & restrictions.

There are enough people from the Hill here, either retired or still employed, to give us a reputation as “The KU Faculty Dorm,” and that makes for an interesting environment with fascinating people who’ve lived full and challenging lives. We have neighbors who are moving to assisted living this month, a reality of life… change and lots of it.

So that’s the view from four stories up on a blue-sky sunshiny April morning. The News of the World this morning is as cockamamie crazy as our most cryptic bad dreams, so I’ll just stick around here where somebody knows me.

Oh, and there’s an eclipse happening pretty soon here, something that occurs around the world every little whipstitch. For some reason this one’s causing a stir and I understand there may be select individuals “raptured out” at some point. One governor has even declared a 3-day state of emergency, advising people to lock their doors and gather in prayer circles to stop the evil effects of the eclipse. It may be helpful to consider the following:

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I’ll be back later to take roll call…

An update…

***

As you know if you hang out here much, spring has been slow to find purchase this year. We’ve had pleasant days interspersed with cold ones, sometimes snow, often rain which we’ll take any time. But my body’s ready for warmth, benevolence, comfort, and energy. I’m ready for the mornings when I can open the balcony door and sit outside half-dressed (arms and legs totally soaking up the sunshine) with my coffee. I’m ready for the walks I’ll take, and I see that by next weekend we might be looking at temps in the 80s, high 70s, so clear the streets and sidewalks, people, she’s going out into the greater world.

Speaking of the balcony, open doors, and spring sunshine, look at THIS tiny harbinger! David and Darlene finally decided to move into their dove house yesterday morning, and by evening there was a new arrival. It will likely be joined by a second one soon, if not already, but Darlene’s a constant presence now so our view is blocked. She and David will be fattening themselves up for the long haul, so we’ll try to peek into the birthing chamber when they’re both out for a bit. As you can see, mourning doves are haphazard nest-builders at best, although they did add some dried grass before the egg dropped. Darlene must have been crossing her legs while procrastinating until the last second, but she’s an old pro now and all should be well.

**

So… despite the lingering chill in the air it’s officially spring at last. (No more frosts/freezes, please.)

Stay tuned for progress reports if you can stand it.

Happy Winds Day…

***

Hello on a chilly spring HumpDay. Good news: the sun’s shining and breaking up the clouds. Bad news: the wind’s blowing and it’s 42°. My bones are ready for warmth. For sunny days. For good news all ’round. Here’s a little piece of it: Dave & Dar have apparently decided to make us their spring and summer birthing center once again and the little dove house is no longer empty. We’ll be providing fern-y protection once we’re past our frost-free date. Meanwhile, here we are again and the continuity is comforting.

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I may have a hat made that says “DOVE HOVERER.” It would go well with others I wear, including these:

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And most of all…

First this, then that…

***

This morning it’s in the low 40s and raining intermittently out of gray skies, so winter is proving to be like many of us when it comes to letting go. Spring will gradually assert herself, however, until we’re finally in it for another cycle. Meanwhile, the yard people have been here all morning in the drizzle, mowing, raking, trimming, covering all the flower beds in rich black soil, creating the ideal environment for all those new little seeds that are just bursting to… burst forth.

Remember David and Darlene Dove, our faithful renters from last season? They’re back, big and round as robins, and in a rush to find housing. They scoped us out for several days running but we weren’t sure they’d stick around. The baskets of asparagus ferns they lived in last year aren’t planted and hung from the railing yet. Our frost-free date is still at least a couple of weeks out, so we provided temporary accommodations, anchored to the rail, and finally this morning they’ve been making themselves comfy. And when the baskets do go out, they’ll have a yard with its own canopy, lucky ducks!

**

We hope they stay. They’re no muss, no fuss, the babies are cute, and they add to the general sense of peace, with their soft cooing and their willingness to share the space with us.

Now the sun’s shining and I’ve written myself happy. Hope your day has been just as sweet.

The Art of the Dull

***

A heartwarming thing happened last week. While speed-romping through social media I caught sight of a page called Dull Women’s Club, halted in my tracks, read far enough to confirm what I was seeing, applied for membership, passed muster, and just like that… women and stories I identify with like a lost tribeswoman. Both misery and joy love company. These poor dull fascinating creatures are joy-filled rather than miserable and they showed up just in time for a needed reset on my part.

First off, it gives me a great sense of relief to put an accurate name to my persona. I’m a bona fide citizen of Dullsville and it’s time to own it. Signs of dullness include but are not limited to: A deep satisfaction in one’s home environment; quiet hours for uninterrupted reading and/or writing; enjoyment found in gazing at the same intersection every morning, the cars, the people, watching the neighborhood wake up; the joys of a walk to nowhere, at one’s own pace, absorbing the sights and sounds of spring, inhaling the fresh air. So dull. So life-giving.

Non-Dulls are the ones who leave the house at 9pm primed to party all night. For a lot of Dulls, on the other hand, 9pm turns out to be the perfect bed time. Non-Dulls thrive on activity and excitement. Dulls thrive on peace, simplicity, and not feeling rushed or pushed.

The so-called Dull Women I’m meeting in “the club” are anything BUT that. They do all the things, they simply do most of them on their own or with a select few people, and they take unmitigated joy in the little things. Same here. It takes a lot of energy to be FUN if you’re faking it. It feels more copacetic to stay quiet and enjoy the things I love, and let the Funs manage the social calendar.

Schematic for a Dull day:

• Get up at 6am and drink coffee in silence until awake enough to communicate nicely. Can take four or more hours
• Look at the internet. Yes, ALL of it
• Do that well-known list of mundane tasks inherent in every 24hr time slot
• Read things
• Write things
• Eat things, wonderful things, from the best kitchen in town
• On a good day there will be napping involved (gasp!!)
• Watch TV with the cook while we sip nightcaps
• Give in to coma-mode no later than 10pm

See? Dull. Kimmers isn’t a Dull. He leaves the house several times a day, he knows people all over town, he has an idea a minute for keeping life NOT dull. In short, he’s a fun guy, so keep a good thought for him… he didn’t realize he was hooking up with a Dull since I was still in shock when he found me.

The past couple of years have been rife with learning opportunities, always a good thing whatever the process. The Dull Women’s Club is a microcosm of daily living, including the inevitable petty squabbles, and it’s affirming, freeing, and comforting to know “I’m not the only one.” That may be one of the greatest needs tied up with being human. “It isn’t just me, so maybe I’m doing okay.”

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Whether you’re a Fun, a Dull, or a Hybrid, be your best you, you’re the nearest one to the subject, therefore the obvious choice.

Wake-up call…

***

Where all my morning people at? And how you faring with the recent time change? Word on the street is that it could be one of the last times we do this… but I’ll buy that line when I see it in action since the wheels move at a glacial pace on most anything we care about.

Adjusting to change is a skill I don’t want to lose, especially since life is all ABOUT it and ya’ gotta keep up. That makes certain things unavoidable, at which point I tend to disappear for a while, a great luxury that is mine in this third trimester of living. Deep rest for mind and body adds to quality (and maybe length) of life. Worth a shot anyway.

And if one day is good, how can four or five not be BETTER? Why invite needless risk?!

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The week ahead looks promising in terms of inner peace. Only two appointments scheduled so far and both on the same day, a twofer. I’m allowing myself one last day… today… for being utterly useless in the world. Tomorrow I’ll hit it again, with intention. Meanwhile I’ll watch the wind blow as spring and winter battle it out.

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I made a very interesting discovery last week. Details soonest.

Such an oddball planet…

***

Good morning from the heartland. I’ve accidentally fallen off the blog wagon lately… so who’s still here and how’s it going?

It’s been a month since I last published a post and that’s crazy because every day during that time I’ve opened a blank page, sipped my coffee, and stared out the windows while words and thoughts played around in my brain cavity. Sadly, that’s ALL they did, though, so I’ve discarded several insipid drafts and stopped in the middle of a few others but saved them for the one sentence that may hold water sometime.

So… I’m still here and hoping for your peace and happiness today.

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Winter was disappointingly brief, although I realize as I speak that she could whip back around and bite us hard at any moment. It was 80° two days ago… what will THAT ultimately cost us? Nice, though, and we’ve already been haunting the balcony at every opportunity.

With my winter project basically finished, I’m at loose ends again. It’s always good in wild times to have something worthwhile to focus on because although that doesn’t change the situation, it does redirect our attention enough to filter some of the impact of what comes at us nonstop. Goals are good. They help keep anxiety at bay, herd my thoughts toward the positive, prevent existential loneliness from devouring me from the inside, ad infinitum. Better look for another project…

The daily realities of human existence are too ridiculous to be taken seriously… and too serious to ridicule. The maelstrom of emotions that accompanies every day’s load of happenings… it takes all we’ve got to stand up against its effects on us. And since we have no power over any of it the little things truly matter. A Monday morning bagel. A leisurely drive with time to rubberneck at all the progress around us. A just-for-the-hell-of-it Mickey D’s breakfast, shared at our table. Weekend breakfasts into infinity. All the Life-Is-Good vibe we can pack into a day because we do have a finite amount of time in which to do that.

And now we all see why I haven’t been writing… I don’t seem to have a whole lot to say. Except for this: You’ve helped me this morning and I thank you. Thoughts fill my head during every waking hour but by the time I get here to write they’ve faded like mist. Highly frustrating, but ya’ gotta get back on the horse at some point and ride, so instead of a cry morning this is feeling more like a git ‘er done day. Thx for muddling through it with me.

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To the cross-country sister of my heart who messaged me to say “I miss your blog posts” … thank you for saddling my horse for me.

Thoughts from a guest…

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NO ONE EVER TOLD ME
(Of the Glory of Growing Older)

No one told me 

it would be like this— 

how growing older

is another passage

of discovery

and that aging is one

grand transformation,

and if some things become torn apart

lost along the way,

many other means show up 

to bring me closer 

to the center of my heart.

No one ever told me

if whatever wonder 

waits ahead

is in another realm

and outside of time.

But the amazement, I found,

is that the disconcerting things 

within the here and now 

that I stumble 

and trip my way 

through, also

lead me 

gracefully

home.

And no one told me 

that I would ever see

an earth so strong 

and fragile, or

a world so sad 

and beautiful.

And I surely

didn’t know 

I’d have

all this life 

yet in me

or such fire

inside my 

bones.

~Susan Frybort

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About Susan

Is this the bleak mid-winter?

***

We’re in mid-winter thaw here, false spring, whatever description fits. It’s a gray rainy morning in the 50s, all our snow gone, a few people actually walking around in shirtsleeves. We’ll no doubt pay for this nice little hiatus but it’s sweet for now.

We have Jayhawk men’s basketball in the Fieldhouse this afternoon. Houston, new to the Big 12, is favored over us by a hair, so we’ll hope DaJuan, KJ, Kevin, Johnny, Hunter, Elmarko, and the rest of the force have more than a hair’s worth of difference in reserve today.

It’s been a good week here, in spite of a few mitigating circumstances. Monday was stitch-removal for the Mohs surgery on my nose and I walked out no homelier than when I walked in last week so I’m counting that as a win.

Speaking of wins, we got another one in the Fieldhouse on Tuesday night against OSU. Needed that.

Wednesday I had a consult with a doctor Kim sees and for whom he has tremendous respect. The medical part of the visit turned out to be a mere sideline, but what struck me all over again is how fortunate we are to live in the midst of the KU Med Center community. The professional level of care we’ve received here and the innate kindness we encounter in every office can’t be acknowledged enough. The dedicated and talented medical personnel we deal with month by month add a crucial layer to our quality of life that can’t be bought.

Wednesday evening brought something I’ve waited years to see… my husband not just playing guitar with other people, but singing with them. Out loud. I’ve been a little mouse behind the amp over the years as he’s steadily gotten better through hours of playing every day… but he’s always said he can’t sing. Welp, as God is my witness, if you pair his voice with one or two others that hit the right marks, I’ll listen all night. He can sing. On his own terms. It was a sweet evening.

The interesting thing about the foregoing is that it all took place under a blanket of depression that dropped onto me before I woke up Monday morning. Happens often enough that I’m used to the drill: cry first thing and get it over with; set that soul-suck package back and to the left where I can’t see it; proceed with living. I’ve learned that there’s no way to explain depression to people who’ve never really been there. They want it to be ABOUT something because that sounds fixable. There are contributing factors, but mostly depression just IS and for me the best cure is to wait it out and never let it win. I like a challenge, so don’t tell the person doing it that it can’t be done.

Three hours until game time and I’m seeing the overflow from Mass Street. Lots of cars, more than the usual number of people coming in on foot from East Lawrence dressed in KU colors, a certain buzz you can feel here even on overcast days. I love it so much, and what I tell depression is “But look how happy I feel underneath all the unwelcome angst. Look how grateful I am for life. You can go away now and save us both a lot of time and trouble.”

And if you think that incantation works like magic I still have a little bit of swampland left to sell.

Happy Weekend, my friends. I appreciate you.

Mid-Winter Thaw

***

Thaw sounds a lot like thoughts and here we are. It’s been gray for days, nudging even Mrs. Pollyanna toward the ledge, but after all the snow, rain, sleet, fog, and plain ol’ gray skies, look what the weather gods are telling us this morning. Well, um, still quite a bit of gray, I see that now, but look at the temps! Spring Break, people! Keep a good thought.

**

Some of this morning’s thoughts have been about love/hate relationships, of which there have been many along the way, the concept of hate being a relative thing and used almost benignly here.

• I love the quiet of winter. I don’t love the bone-chilling cold nor the relentless gray overhead. Even a dedicated recluse feels it after about so many days.
• I’m loving the insights I’ve picked up over seven-plus decades of daily living. However, I abhor some of the fallout those years rained down upon myself and others. Learning the hard way is hard.
• I love the freedom inherent in having made it past 75, with license to tell most anyone “You’re not the boss of me.” Or as a little girl in the restaurant booth behind me shouted “I don’t have to! You’re not my REAL daddy!” On the flip side, I’m genuinely not thrilled about how suddenly everything stops and there you are. Whatcha’ gonna do with yourself ’til you die, anyway?
• I love having survived this long against all odds (yes, there are stories) and having had time to absorb and use a lot of what my grandparents imparted to me. But it’s fairly crushing to realize how little the basics of human community have altered for the better since the 1950s and 60s. Three-quarters of a century on, we’re still fighting all the same battles.
• I love that at this age I care very little about the accoutrements. Give me some comfy leggings and a sweatshirt and life is golden. On the other hand, my lack of caring stems primarily from the fact that basically nobody (except long-suffering Kimmers) sees me, which is either not good or the healthiest thing possible, I haven’t figured it out yet. My spidey senses tell me the world is grateful.
• I love life, all of it, the good, the bad, the ugly. I don’t love how brief it all is. On the other hand, maybe I love that it isn’t even LONGER. And now I’m out of hand(s), but what I truly love this morning is that I AM NOT IN CHARGE, not of my world or anyone else’s. What a relief. What a grace.

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Great advice I stole from a friend today:

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Speaking of whack. I didn’t do this, but I would have.

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Have a day you’ll feel good about as you’re falling asleep tonight…

Pick a lane…

***

Kudos this morning to all the people who wake up ready for the day. And hugs to all who immediately feel seen because we don’t do that. I wasn’t a sleepyhead as a child, rarely even slept late during high school or college, was up before daylight most mornings as a farmer’s wife, packing lunches and/or getting ready to run some piece of heavy equipment for the next ten or twelve hours. I was awake and tracking from the second my feet hit the floor. But ya’ know, life changes things, becomes a pain (literally), and our bodies compensate by letting us off the hook here and there… let somebody else worry about (whatever) for a while. Sleep patterns change, leaving us less on point when wake time arrives, thus creating a sort of purgatory, a sometimes hellish way station where we try to simultaneously ignore the world around us and get ourselves ready to meet it in whatever ways fate has in store. I’m very spoiled… quiet is what allows me to be a functioning adult and I have a lot of it. I don’t book morning appointments unless there’s no option, and I usually have the luxury of a few hours’ grace before noon, alone, before I absolutely have to get it together. Mornings are some of my favorite writing times because writing it down is how I think things out and how I keep myself company. Thank you, my mama, for showing me the necessity for solitude and how to use it.

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Wow, check out all the coffee mugs! Must be something to it.

The word for 2024:

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And hold onto this thought, too…

Checking in…

***

Hello, and how’s your year going so far? Does it still feel “new” to you, or have the same-ol’ same-ol’s set in? I hope your intentions for 2024 are holding and that you’re encouraged. I boldly set five Intentions this year, not to be confused with Resolutions. Broke one before the holiday weekend was over, but I swear it wasn’t entirely my fault and the other four are maintaining… so far. The little oops still teeters precipitously, but don’t we all need that one thing that kicks us in the butt and keeps us on our toes? Motivated? Moving forward? Okay… so on we go.

How’s your weather? I ask because we’re part of Operation Deep Freeze 2024 here, and it’s exactly what we requested … a true winter. The reality is, of course, that after a certain number of single-digit days and subzero nights the cold permeates our concrete, steel, brick, and glass building, giving it an ill-tempered vibe that isn’t present any other time of year. This month’s electric bill will leave a mark because even with the fireplace switched on during all waking hours, the furnace can’t keep up and my little under-desk heater has no effect unless it’s close enough to set my socks on fire. Not complaining. Let me say that again, I’M NOT COMPLAINING. I have the sweet option of NOT GOING OUT THERE, but whatsoever gods there may be, those entities need to protect all living creatures whose home is open-air right now, s’all I’m sayin’. Wind chills in the -30 range are the real deal, and #lfk’s homeless population is in no way prepared for this. AND, sometimes I see a bundled-up citizen walking a dog that has no protection on its feet from the frozen sidewalks. I worry, I fret…

… and it’s snowing again. I love it. Try not to use those words against me, thx. It’s very cold out there. I went with Kim on a dead-battery mercy mission after lunch, and then to the grocery store, and was instantly reminded how we dress around here in the winter, and why. Layers, you need layers, insulated layers, because the shocking cold penetrates very quickly, all the way to the bone. There are too many human beings right around us without adequate clothing or shelter for this kind of weather. I worry, I fret.

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And speaking of worries… the things we fret over…

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