Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

I am so sick of this country's administration. Every day this administration shows just how corrupt it is, yet every day it is allowed to continue. There are people in powerful places who can make it stop, but they're not. Absolutely sickening. I feel such a deep sadness over what is currently happening to our beautiful country. Last year at this time, with it being my birthday this week, I received a text from a sibling wishing me a happy birthday. My reply was thank you. The next text asked if I had retired yet. I said no, and with this clown show of an administration I might not ever be able to because the world was going to implode. After that, crickets. Which told me my sibling voted for this incredibly corrupt administration.  Not long after that text conversation, I received a text from another sibling. It was a GIF of the clown himself dancing, with happy birthday below. My response was fuck that clown. The ensuing texting conversation showed me another sibling buying i...

This semester I'm fully online again. I'm happy to be. I've become even more of a homebody than I was before going completely online. I thought after being online during COVID that I would never want to be again, but I've truly come to love it. My hope is I can finish out my time and move into retirement by just teaching online.  Being home all the time allows me time to listen to the house. To really see the parts that make up the whole.  *** I wrote the above a week ago, fully intending to write about my house, the dogs, being able to move through my days in a way that brings me peace and joy. I was going to finish the post during the week, but like usual, I got sidetracked and the post was forgotten about. Then yesterday, January 24, happened.  Anyone paying attention knows a man who was trying to help a woman who'd been shoved to the ground in Minneapolis was murdered. After he was surrounded by thugs and pepper sprayed, wrestled to the ground, beaten, kicked, a...

Well, I had the thought of closing the blog. I've not been posting recently, and every time I thought about writing a post, that sinking feeling I get when I really don't want to do something filled the pit of my stomach. I've learned to listen to that feeling. I've learned it's telling me I'm not ready yet. More time needs to pass. More healing has to happen . . . whatever is hurting needs more space, more time. Over the last few months, the hurting has been the incredibly huge, empty space left when I said goodbye to Ado. Even now, the sadness creeps up on me nearly every day. Murphy, too, is still adjusting to being without his best buddy. I try to keep Murphy busy, which keeps me busy, so we both have some respite from missing Ado. But I know I'm not what Murphy really needs.  I realized recently just how much most of my days are filled with silence. I haven't had the stereo on, listening to my albums or my CDs like I used to. I only listened to Chri...

Dear JK, For some time now, really since saying goodbye to Ado, you've seemed a bit off, as if you're mooring line  untethered and you're just drifting about. He was your wharf and you didn't understand this until the vet sat next to you and said in so many words there was no fixing what was wrong with him. That day will stay with you for a long time. As will the day you sat on the floor beside Ado, whispering to him, petting him, watching the light dim then go out entirely. Those moments have played out over and over the last two months. One day they will fade.  And you will find peace. There will come a day the tears won't fall. Instead, you'll smile, thinking of all the wonderful that happened because of that little furry puppy who came into your life and marked out a spot in your heart that was all for him. Just for him.  For now, it's okay to mourn. It's okay to not want to do things. It's okay to miss your beautiful boy.

Yesterday, I had an incredible day. At one point, while I was on my way home from town after going to get a few houseplants to add to the small assembly I already have, I wondered if . . . in a month, a year, five years, ten years . . . I would remember what an incredible day I had. There are moments, and it seems like these moments are happening far more often these days, that I wish I could remember far more from my childhood, my teens, my 20's, 30's, 40's.  I want to remember. Yesterday: Saturday, October 8, 2022 early morning walk with Murphy, frost on the grass a neighbor asking where my German shepherd is and having to tell him I had to say goodbye to my beautiful boy the sadness finding me again as I thought about Ado a roaring fire in the new fireplace feet toasty warm in front of the fireplace as I graded papers sitting in the Adirondack chair and drinking a steaming cup of coffee, looking out over the back field the drive to town, the tree leaves changing colors, ...

I'm right at the edge today, fearing I might step off if the just-right reason shows up. What the just-right reason is, I don't know, but I guess if I end up dissolving into the tears that seem to be threatening, I'll know then. I'm trying to be analytical about the feeling pressing against the back of my eyes and through my nasal passages, hoping that analysis will help the feeling go away. It's not really working. Sleep eluded me most of the night. Once or twice a month I have a night sleep just won't come. I go to bed tired, but after an hour or two of sleep, I'm wide awake. Tossing, mostly onto my back and my left side. I don't sleep on my right side since my vertigo incident. I actually prefer my right but I'm afraid I'll trigger another bout of dizziness. Sleep laughed at me and slithered off to bathe someone else in dreamland. I'm pretty sure lack of sleep is part of today's slipping into sadness. That and thoughts of Ado. I miss h...

Murphy and I have been keeping busy, trying to keep the sadness somewhat at bay. It's been tough. I find myself constantly thinking about Ado. And Murphy basically told me no when I put his dinner in Ado's bowl instead of the little one he'd been eating out of for the last nearly two years. When I put the food in the bowl, then put the bowl in it's wooden holder, Murphy looked at me like, "What in the world, hoomin. That is not where my food goes." He then barked his resistance. It took a bit of cajoling to get him to be okay with eating out of Ado's bowl. Last week we went to the lake I took Ado to for his first longer hike. Murphy and I walked the path, and I remembered so much of being there with Ado. Murphy enjoyed the hike and was one tuckered out pup when we got home. Yesterday, we went to another park I've never been to before. Before we set off on our walk, I pulled out the bag with two donuts and shared them with Murphy. I think he preferred t...

Two weeks ago today, the website for my work was the victim of a cyber attack. That attack came right at midterm and at a time when students were already feeling incredibly overwhelmed. Not being able to get into the site to complete work and to communicate with their instructors sent some students into a tailspin. While our fantastic IT people were able to get some components of the site up and running last week, the damage had already been done. About half of my students in two classes are MIA. I've been posting announcements, trying to entice them to return to class, but so far, I've only heard from three or four. They'll be back, they say. I hope so. 2020 just keeps piling on. I learned ten minutes ago a colleague passed away yesterday. He was the same age I am. 56. Earlier this semester, a member of our Board of Trustees passed away. He was 57. Seems far too young. I know, though, living to see tomorrow is never a given. For anyone. Still . . . Now I'm finding myse...

Angel Baby and I are tired. Exhausted is probably the better word. Between the two of us, we moved a desk that weighs as much as a two-ton truck (really, I know it does) and a china cabinet that's not much less than the two-ton truck. We did the bulk of the move on Tuesday, and every day since has been little stuff followed by cleaning. Today we have one more trip to make -- the unwanted things going to the ReStore and/or Goodwill. We also have the final cleaning. Then done! I've felt the ups and downs all week. Funny Delightful Son no longer comes through the door each afternoon, gives me a salute and says, "Greetings, Commander." My typical response has been, "At ease, Squaddie." I won't get the twenty-minute run-down of his day anymore, and I won't get the jokes and funny comments during dinner. And now that Lovely Beautiful Daughter is in her new place, I won't get my daily fix of hearing about her relationships with the residents where s...

My husband had a heart attack a few days ago. I was sitting here at my computer, working on a new piece I've been tinkering with for a week or so when he called. Do you have a car? he asked. Yes. Why? I think I'm having a heart attack. He described the symptoms further. I'll be there in a few minutes, I said. I drove over then took him to the ER. As soon as they hooked him up to the machine, a code STEMI went out to the rest of the hospital. Lots of people showed up at his room, even the Chaplain. The staff worked quickly and efficiently to prep him to go to the cath lab. One of the nurses explained to me what was going to happen, and the cardiologist came in not long after we arrived to further explain how things were going to go. Right before they wheeled him to the cath lab, Lovely Beautiful Daughter and Angel Baby showed up. The three of us walked with him as far as we were allowed to go; then we went to the waiting room. About an hour later, the cardiol...

Summer is steadily creeping by. Thankfully, the last three weeks have been quiet after several months of lots going on. Now that the kids, Ado, and I are settled into the house, we've all found time to relax and just breathe. We have evenings of cooking together, watching movies together, and sitting on the deck to talk about our days. We have days where we each go our own way, but we find time to catch up sooner or later. I've been cycling with a friend a couple mornings each week, and this same friend and I have been writing then sharing our writing with each other once a week. He's holding me accountable for producing new work, and while it's been a challenge, I'm so happy to have someone push me to create. Most of what I've written has been poetry that will be a part of my sabbatical project, giving me several pieces of the puzzle before I leave for the Pacific Coast ride. I feel like I have a head start, and I actually like what I'm seeing coming ou...

Go to dinner with me this evening, my husband suggests. I am working in the garden behind the house. Where the chickens used to be. Where the empty beehive still stands at the far end. I didn't answer. Think about it for a bit and let me know, he says. I nod. As I pull weeds, shift pavers around, lug cinder blocks to line the fence, I think about the neglect of the space. Life resonated throughout the garden once. Chickens. Bees. Birds. Rabbits. Snakes. Now an emptiness fills the space, and emptiness that began two years ago with the chickens, after a neighbor complained to the city, and a city official showed up one sunny June morning, telling me to remove the chickens from the premises. The emptiness grew when the bees absconded, leaving the hive to follow the queen wherever it was she had decided to go. The sadness I felt then stirs from my heartspace. Dormant for a long time but still residing within. Still a part of me these two years since. Bringing life back, s...

Monday I'm going to look at a house. To rent. In town. For the last fifteen years, I've been dreaming of finding my house in the country. A small farmhouse with just two or three acres. In my dream, I have a cat or two, a dog or two, a Jersey cow for milk, and maybe a sheep or two so I learn to sheer wool, make yarn. A large garden outside the back door supplies me with veggies to can and freeze. The fruit trees I plant give me cherries, apples, and peaches. The red raspberries stain my face red because I eat more straight from the vine than I save for jams. But, some dreams just stay dreams. I know I'm not the only person whose dream won't ever materialize. There are many, many people who move through their days with the hope that maybe, just maybe, one small part of the dream will happen, but know most likely it won't. This is one of the saddest parts of life. I keep going back to at least I'll have my children with me in whatever house we decide to re...

I broke one of the rules I set for myself this year: not to begin a new book until I'm finished with the one I'm already reading. I just couldn't help myself, though. The title reached out and wrapped its warm homeyness around me. I couldn't wrestle free from its hold. I cried, "Uncle!" and hit the buy button just so I could catch my breath. As if that wasn't bad enough, then, when I was about to go back to the book I was already reading, the darn new book worked its way outside the touch screen of my tablet and forced my finger to tap on the cover of the book. It even skipped all the introductory pages and went straight to the first page of chapter 1. I was under some kind of spell because no matter how much I wanted to not read that page, the following page, and right through to chapter 2, I couldn't stop. I could only stop when I reached the end of chapter 2, with the last line, "Preferably on a picnic blanket, with your mother." A melan...

Sometimes life smacks you hard. Really hard. While I'm sitting here wondering how in the world I'm going to manage financing my bike shop dream, I find out a good friend has been dealt a double whammy: first her mom is diagnosed with a brain tumor, and then she finds out the umbilical cord of her unborn child has two vessels instead of the normal three. While this happens and a large percentage of babies with two-vessel umbilical cords are born without any complications, just knowing a chance for complications exists creates fear. My friend is full of fear right now, for her unborn child and for her mom. No words can comfort her. Even a hug seems trivial. Life. Such sadness sometimes.

Before I set out for my cross-country cycling adventure, my dad gave me a cardboard box. We were sitting in the living room of the little cabin he had built, where when we'd go visit, we'd walk in and see Mom sitting on the loveseat, surrounded by her magazines, books, paper, and pens. I opened the box to find several rubberbanded stacks of letters written by my mom to her parents, my grandparents. On top of the first stack was a sticky note, and in Dad's precise engineering handwriting I saw '79, '80, and so on, all the way to '86. He had painstakingly gone through all of the letters, putting them into order by year. Several more rubberbanded stacks of letters were labeled the same way underneath the first stack. As I stared at the letter on top, at Mom's clear and elegant handwriting, I wondered how many tears Dad shed while reading through the hundreds of letters. I closed the lid on the box. I would wait until we got home to begin reading them. The nex...

As I sat at my desk last night, getting into One Mile at a Time by Dwight R. Smith, I heard a song coming from my daughter's room, a song I heard many, many times during the summer. I came to think of it as the ride theme song because two of the young route leaders played it often . I don't know if it was reading Smith's story about getting started on his epic ride of the perimeter of the US or hearing the lyrics of that song, but all of a sudden I was in tears. Maybe it was a combination of the two. This morning I got up a daybreak, pulled on my shorts and BTUSFMS jersey, and headed out for a short ride. The cool air helped wake me up, and though I wanted to just keep going, I turned around at the 6 mile marker and headed home to get ready for work. Twelve miles was better than none. After showering I asked Hubby to check if the Pro Cycling Tour highlights from yesterday were on. I already knew who had crossed the finish line first on Day 1 of the tour, but I wanted to ...

After a great day on the bike yesterday, I sat for awhile and made this video. Though I cried during most of the making of it, being creative and doing something for someone who means so much to me brought about much joy. The juxtaposition of sadness and joy seems to be how most of my days are right now. The song is "Remember Me" by Bella Ruse and is available on Jamendo, under the creative commons license.

How do you write about someone slipping into death? Losing her battle against a foe she could never see but knew was there nonetheless? How do you write about all the fears she voiced? Her worst that of being alone when the time finally arrived? How do you write about the pain she experienced? So intense she curled into a ball and bit her fingers? How do you write about her sadness at not being able to smile any longer? So deep her eyes shone with what little tears remained? How do you write about her strength slowly draining away? Mustering all her energy to nod when asked if she knew she is loved? How do you write about mere seconds of recognition registering in her brown eyes? Fleeting but hopefully giving her solace knowing family was there? How do you write about a family gathered to say goodbye to a loved one slipping into death? Elizabeth Ellen Heath Pauken, December 28, 1934 -- December 21, 2011, you are much loved and will be greatly missed.

With the semester over and me back home today, I had time to get to the gym and put in an hour on the spinner. Since I haven't been cycling long distances for several months now, I wasn't too sure how the legs were going to feel. I found out they were just fine and could have gone longer. There were even moments I was so caught up in what I was thinking about that when I looked at how much time had passed I was surprised. Usually spinning bores me, but not today. Today spinning helped me work out some built up tension. My mind is consumed with Mom's condition and the knowledge that any time I will receive a call saying she has slipped away. When I left yesterday, she was somewhere none of the rest of us could go. This morning, a text from my sister said she is still unresponsive, not eating, not drinking. Right behind all these thoughts are worries about my dad who has been the most wonderful husband and caretaker a wife could ask for. The last words Mom spoke were Friday...