Well, Scott and I were hit by the CoVid virus this past week. I had been exposed through a patient who tested positive just before he passed away. I think that was the initiator.
And YUCK! First for both of us, and of course, we do it together! I'm glad we had Hawaii together, so we were relaxed enough to not have freak-outs with us both being down.
Onward!
Morning, I stepped out of my house to get into my car for work, and there was the most stunning sunrise - more beautiful than the remaining leaves on the trees around me. I walked between my office and the hospital, past the pond being drained as four ducks soaked in the remaining water, scraping the bottom for the best tidbits, decorative grasses and trees and the last of the flowers in full regalia, tables silent, with only a couple of people quietly visiting on the bench, and with a shadow of snow on Y mountain and Timp, golds and rusts and browns hanging on below, and a hint of weather in the air. I love November.
The Spring anticipation, the Summer filled with go, absorb, do, celebrate is gone. The month-long Pinktober and Halloween frenzy are over. The lovely last-minute vacation to Hawaii is over - and yet the primer for now as we settle into November - month filled with - nothing - but thanks, a time to pause, relax, cozy and warm-up, eat soup and the last of the tomatoes, prune the shrubs and pull the carrots and turnips, and be. Spending time in November is a luxury, a month that deserves its own space, with no other holidays pushing into it.
November says - be still and know. And what do I know during this month - I know how much I need pause, stop, still, rest.
Introverts - no entertaining, no celebrations, no big events, just being with those I love and relearning to love myself. My home is warm, the seasonal furniture and decor are snuggled in the shed. Exercise becomes gentle yoga, clothes are muted shades and comfortable, toe-nails left unpainted, food is gentler, warmer. This month suits me well.
And then this - gratitude! I adore Thanksgiving; perhaps my favorite holiday - for gathering, for reflection, a time to pause before. November is my month to count my blessings, to share my gratitude, to spend time giving thanks. This, I can do.
I'll look at sunrises and sunsets more, I'll snuggle more, I'll sit with silence more, I'll slow down.
A favorite song of mine is "We Gather Together" guides me, and Tony Elman's "Shaking Down the Acorns" is on constant play. And this - "For the Beauty of the Earth." Simple, warm, clean, basic messages that I live by along with music that speaks to my soul. Music I seldom play other times of the year; it is sacred, kinda like November. This month is for my soul.
Betwixt and Between
Between a rock and a hard space
Pregnancy
Vacation
Summer
Death
Weddings
Illness
Reunions
Building or remodeling a house
Waiting . . . and Waiting
The first year of grieving
My example is this - standing in a door frame with one foot in one room, the other foot in another room - which room are you in? Neither? Both?
These are all Liminal times - and during this time, we live in Liminality, or a liminal space. This is a time out of time - when out-of-the-ordinary things take place and where we enter as one person and come out changed. Liminal times can't last forever, they are an intermission, a pause, a wait-for-it-time. Liminal times are also times of watching and waiting before making major decisions, or they are times of major decision-making - where transformations happen.
As much as I need vacations, summer, breaks, I need routine, and liminality, although I strive for some sense of "normalcy" even when on vacation - meal routines, calling the vacation spot "home." And yet I do things out of the ordinary during this time - music, food, exercise, clothing, purchases (although I always purchase a piece of jewelry and an article of clothing, which makes the routine, kinda).
This has been my summer, and to a large degree, the past 2.5 years. With this explanation - I have craved routine while having no desire for routine. And most of the plans I had made for this summer have dissolved - absolutely no energy or desire to act on them. In many ways I've experienced liminal space in the middle of liminal space - deeper than I've ever been - a hole within a hole, and I've had a difficult time identifying any of this.
My other-daughter, Diana, said this: In life when we experience something that we've invested a lot of time, energy, we push through, and physically and mentally give it all that we have, and often that turns into just getting by or through, and then when that time is over, we are physically and mentally and emotionally exhausted, without necessarily identifying any of this. And - sometimes, after a liminal time that's not terribly rewarding, we are stagnate, numb, and not terribly emotionally available - which can also be described as trauma and the after affects of this event.
And this is where I've found myself - at a loss for words, not wanting to even find words, isolating or preferring solitude over groups of people, needing time to process - which means time with my people/family who are processing similarly.
Yet, interestingly, I've had some time to make some changes, do some things that have been in the way back of my mind - the oddest things that have come to the front of my mind:
No more gel nails (been doing this for 7 years, and I'm over it)
Ingrown toenail fixed
Hearing aids
Financial planning and banking redo
TV on the deck
Sex
Self-enlightenment journey
Purchased e-bikes
Listening to live music
And of course - remodeling our home
I have the feeling this liminality is not finished, and I'm having to be ok with this - different than my cancer journey, yet nonetheless, I'm sitting with these emotions, this solitude, this quirky time when I'm functioning yet not-functioning. Owning my story, but not feeling the need to explain or justify. One foot in one room, the other foot in another room. Or better yet - standing in the threshold, with the opportunity/option to move between two worlds right now -
In the meantime - the clouds have been amazing this spring, summer, fall. And looking up is good!
I am exhausted, emotionally, physically, mentally.
And yet life is grand, and I love everything I'm doing.
However, there is not enough time in most days to do everything I want to do.
I want to sleep; I want to exercise.
I want to sit on the couch and watch Ted Lasso with my crocheting.
What would I change?
A little more umph with a little less grief.
Time to process all that has happened these past few years.
Happy day ya'll.
Typically I use semi-decent searchable titles for my posts, yet for this one, I could not come up with one that fit what I am wanting to say.
Last Saturday, going through all of the cards, notes, photos, and newspaper clippings my mom has saved, I stumbled upon a photo from an employee album and two clippings from the local Rigby Star. The first, a picture of my very first boyfriend, David T at Macks Inn the summer of 1975, and so very very seductive. The second, two short articles and photos of the missionaries serving in Rigby in 1970 and 1971. These missionaries were cute, friendly, and so mature! Scott served in the same mission, during this same time, knowing two of the missionaries.
About eleven years ago, I reconnected with Dave who was living in Alaska at the time, and he and Scott and I had a sweet tender breakfast at the Anchorage Airport. Since then we've kept in semi-touch, seeing each other a few times, particularly at both of my parents' funerals.
After reading this beautiful post on Cup of Jo, I began to wonder if I had met Scott when we were at appropriate ages (time-travel?), would he have been my first boyfriend.
He and Dave actually have many things in common (or at least the Dave I think I know). Very good -looking with just a touch of nonchalance. Troubled - ready to fight at the drop of look, and just a little volatile. Generous - going out of their way to be kind to others, just because. Hard workers - both having jobs in their teens and working every day since. Suave - know how to get the girl, not sure how to keep the woman. Good looking, great hair, athletic build. Romantic - not in the gift-giving, creative way, but in the soft, gentle, tender, care-for-you way. Athletic - their good looks and ability to drink and still stand got in the way of them being team players. Awkward - just enough to be interesting yet also label them as outsiders. Stubborn - living life on their terms with only small adjustments to those around them.
And, like most things in the real world, I married neither at 19. I married someone so unlike my desires - he was safe, conservative, non-confrontational, simple, calm.
I did end up with the love of my life, and yet it hasn't been easy, for all the reasons I'm attracted to him. And for many of those reasons, Dave is alone, again. He came to my mom's burial two months ago. We chatted for only a moment, before I had to be involved in the service. I watched him at the same time as I watched Scott (and for similar reasons - make sure they're ok, safe, feeling appreciated for their efforts). However, Dave stood outside of the crowd, all alone. Sad. Looked unwell. Didn't socialize. And by the time I could step away to visit (and I knew this would be an intense visit), he was gone.
Later I learned that Dave was recently divorced (again, same wife), had moved away from the city he and his wife lived for many years, away from the people he knew and loved, back to "home," where honestly, reliving the past is not the best thing to do, even if living in the past feels safe.
I ended my short stay in Idaho with a little regret that I didn't talk with Dave, that I wasn't able to console him, give him comfort, reassurance, help him feel as if he belonged, let him know he was safe, loved. But I didn't. I could call him, talk, stir up old old wounds and newer wounds, yet, I cannot turn back time, make anything better.
At what point does time-travel become a reality? For me, this happened 19 years ago, when I met Scott, and he was the literal man of my dreams - the one I saw myself growing old with, and the one, interestingly enough, who brought a little touch of Dave with him.
William Somerset Maughan wrote, "We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person."
I certainly have changed, Dave has changed, Scott has changed, and I do, I do love both.
And just like that, the 7 Walker siblings are sitting in the front row at funerals and burials. The image that comes to mind is that of manufacturing with one batch of a product all sold out, no more of it, and a newer, better, glitzier, yet similar, product taking its place; my generation is next - to be sold out, replaced, removed, one at a time.
Sitting in that front row at Mom's service two months ago really brought to the forefront that my generation is now the oldest generation, only one Aunt left of the Walkers, and we're up. Facing our own mortality, and questioning - am I doing all I want to be doing? Is this all there is? How do I want to live "the rest of my life." Time feels much shorter, figuring out connecting, looking for dates to gather, renewing and building relationships with siblings and cousins and old friends. Holy moley -
If staring my own "next" in life isn't enough, a week ago I received a call that my cousin, the 60 year old son of the last Aunt, Gary Walker, had died.
One down, and although he isn't the first (two older cousins passed away several years ago), he is the first of my era, and younger; he was at Mom's burial, he was happy, we were making plans together, looking forward to seeing each other "next year."
Time flies on wings of lightening, we cannot call it back.
