Braving up for yoga

Just a note to calm myself down – two months after joining the gym, I'm finally going to actually go there! It seems silly when I say it that way but it's true; every time I've thought about going, I've felt too shy. What if someone sees me?!?!?!

I'll have to do some thinking about this phobia I have of acquaintances. I'm not afraid of my friends, or of strangers either. Only of people I just sort of know. Enough to have to talk to them, but not enough to have a feel for what kind of person they are – which for me basically boils down to, are they kind, or not? Certain people who go to that gym are known to me to be ... well, I've seen them behave in really unkind ways. Normally I can handle that but when I'm in the state of mind I've been in all winter I find it really helps if I make an effort to have my personal interactions with others feel safe and good as much as possible.

Actually it's just one person I'm thinking of, who I really hope I never see or have to talk to again. It's not even someone who's been especially mean to me personally – but I've seen them deliberately exclude others, and speak really harshly behind people's backs so many times that I don't trust them, even when they seem to be nice. I just don't really need to be around people I don't trust right now.

Anyway, I'm going. My friend L is meeting me there for a yoga class. It's nice to have a friend I can tell about this weird glitch of mine, without having to worry that she'll think I'm a freak and write me off. Because it's actually not so weird, I think ... and not that disabling, either. I just have to make a point of walking through it.

So now that I've put off leaving as long as I possibly can without making myself late, I am going to yoga. It's supposed to be good for you, right?

Can't keep a good puddle down

It appears my beloved puddle has not been annihilated after all – only transformed. Check it out.

Maybe I should've expected this. The whole reason it stayed full of water for such a long time when it was a puddle, was because of the soil's inability to drain in that spot. Why I thought paving it over would change that, I'm not sure ... just very glad I was wrong. How often do I get to say that?

So – lesson learned. You can pave paradise, but that doesn't change its basic nature.

Also, about apologies. Several bloggers I like to read have apologized lately that their writing isn't interesting enough, their photos not compelling enough, their direction and focus changed or no longer quite what it was when they first started writing – and have felt sort of outraged that anybody should feel that way, even though I've felt that way myself sometimes and have certainly made the same apologies often enough.

I decided I'm not doing that anymore. For me, blogging is a way to record my experience for myself, for my own use – now, as a form of therapy, and later, as a way to access what I was really thinking and feeling when I wrote each post, instead of having to rely on what I can remember about what I was thinking and feeling. That's pretty much it. I post it online because there are a few people who care about me that I like to share my life with, and because I've gotten so much out of reading other people's blogs, and want to pass on the favor. Every once in awhile I'll get a comment or email from someone I haven't met in person, telling me they appreciate something I've said, and that's always great.

Mainly though, the whole purpose of this blog from the beginning has been to serve as a wellness tool for me. I'm still happy with that definition, and there's really no room in it for apology – no need for it. This is good to remember. If every post seems wistful, melancholy or afraid, it's because that's where I'm at when I'm writing. Maybe it would be good to write more often when I feel good – and I do feel good sometimes, really! – but just as a way to make a more complete and thus more useful record. Not because I'm worried other people will think I'm boring and stop reading.

The return of the puddle in its new form made me really happy today. Also, a walk with the Taterman this morning, in which I took a grainy little camera-phone video of his legs and feet walking on our road. That walk is one of my favorite things ever and the fact that I get to do it every single day without ever having to hurry or cut it short is something about Now that I am really grateful for.

Happy d-day to me

Yesterday was the anniversary of my diagnosis as a diabetic. Three years into it, I can confirm that the people who told me the first part would be easy, were right. As it turns out, it really was easier, way back in the beginning when I was still terrified of instant amputation and/or death, to do all the things I should be doing to stay healthy. The hard part is sticking to the changes over the long haul.

That's the part I'm starting to face up to now. Most days I still do OK. I exercise every day, though not always as intensely as I could. I eat OK, except when I don't. My habits are still light years better than they were at diagnosis, but I have to admit – I've kind of slacked off. Mostly, I've been so occupied with anxiety control that I haven't paid as much attention to some of the other things I need to be doing. On the other hand, all of these activities work together, and when my anxiety is under control my blood sugars are always better too.

Today was the first time in as long as I can remember that I had absolutely no anxiety first thing in the morning. I actually felt pretty good – calm, alert, looking forward to the day. The fact that this is noteworthy says a lot about what's come to feel "normal" for me. Blood sugar was 109 – a bit high, but not terrible.

I'm not sure when this blog started turning into a chronicle of my illnesses, and I'm not sure I like it. That's kind of what chronic illness is like for me, though. It makes my life feel very small, in comparison to the immensity of the symptoms that define it. Yeah, define. I'm all in favor of the empowering language promoted by support communities that proclaim "I am not my illness!" – but sometimes it seems like a pointless thing to say. A person standing in the middle of a burning building can remind herself all day long that she is a woman, an artist, a writer, a friend, a bicycle rider, a gardener – "I am not this burning building!" – and who would argue? Of course she's still all of those things. But it's pretty hard to develop or enjoy any of those other facets of your personality until you've gotten yourself out of that building. Or put the fire out.

The other side of it is that spiritual metaphor having to do with learning to sit in the midst of the flames without trying to escape ... or dance in them, or whatever. Practice like your hair's on fire, et cetera. There are different versions.

In any case, right now, in many various ways, I'm still dealing with the burning building situation. I haven't forgotten who I am though, and I hope someday to have something interesting to say again.

Requiem for a puddle /continuing on

This is a picture of the puddle at the end of our driveway – the puddle that used to be there. It was a natural tank (according to Mr. A, who speaks the language of water) formed by a soil structure so compacted that water could not drain from it at all, so any time it rained it would fill up and remain a happy spot for birds and creatures to come bathe, play, and drink, until all the water evaporated. It was placed perfectly for watching from the living room window and we spent hours enjoying all the wildlife that came by to use it. In warm weather we would sometimes fill it from the hose, as a larger-scale addition to the other watering holes we maintain around the property.

I don't remember if I've mentioned that someone is building a huge new house on the next lot over but one. Well, they are. Not to go into it ... and they seem like nice enough people ... but I can't say I really appreciate what they're doing with the space, and now the road crew they hired to regrade and repave a section of road in front of their house (kind of a weird thing to do, don't you think?) has destroyed our little natural bird pond.

They'd been driving heavy equipment up and down the road for several days, and parking various tractors and graders and backhoes all on top of the wildflowers we planted along the road in front of the house. The night before it happened, Mr. A and I were talking about how clumsy and destructive they were being, and hoping they wouldn't break the edges of the puddle by driving their heavy wheels over it. Before we went to bed, he went out and set up a ring of orange traffic cones around it (he has stuff like that around the house, for his work) and connected them with a long piece of rope, as a way of tactfully reminding them to steer clear.

The next afternoon I got home from an appointment and found the entire area patched over with a big slab of shiny black asphalt.

My heart just dropped when I saw it. It isn't even connected to the rest of the project – the section they were working on starts ten feet or more away from it. All I can imagine is that they must have thought they were doing something nice for us by repairing what they saw as an enormous pothole at the end of our driveway.

I know a hole full of water might seem like a stupid thing to want to keep, but to us it was beautiful. I hadn't noticed how often I used to look out the window to see what kinds of creatures might be there, or just to look at the reflection of the sky and clouds, until I found myself looking out the window and seeing only a big ugly slab. I've taken countless pictures of it over the last six years and loved looking at it in all kinds of weather and light conditions ... walked in it barefoot and in my rubber boots, played with Tater in it ... ridden my bike through it and enjoyed the water whooshing up around my tires ....

And now, just like that, it's gone forever. We may make another pond somewhere but it won't be the same, and I suppose in the greater scheme of things this is all really just fine, totally OK. A reminder of impermanence – a useful experience to practice on. Still, I wanted to acknowledge it as a loss. And more than that, acknowledge that I really did love it while it was here, and remember to be grateful for the ability I have to see beauty where others may not. I get a lot of enjoyment out of life that way.

Other than that, what else? We are still having lots of birds and animals moving in for the spring and summer. We don't feed them, because they stay healthier if they eat the foods they forage for on their own, the foods they're evolved to eat, but we do keep water out for them and from any part of the house or yard you can pretty much always see some bird splashing or drinking from one of the water features. The bluebird boxes we built on Valentine's day are attracting a good amount of attention, though no bluebirds seem to have actually started nesting in them yet. It may be that the wood is still too new, or the boxes too close to the other bluebird boxes, and we'll end up with some other kind of birds living in them this year.

Easter came and went and the "morning mile" has remained a daily practice for the Taterman and me. I should have known that would happen; now that he's in the habit of doing it every day, he looks forward to it even more than I do and looks at me like I'm crazy if I try to do anything around the house before leashing up and heading out. Yesterday when we got back he was astonished to be loaded directly into the car and taken to the vet for his spring tune-up – teeth cleaned, feet shaved for foxtail season, and various other doggie details taken care of. His feet look super tiny and weird now that they're all shaved and clipped, but I'll be shaving him down all over for the summer pretty soon anyway and it'll all look much more proportional then.

I took my first stats midterm last week. Haven't got the grade back yet but I left feeling like I'd done really well. We'll see.

A few weeks ago I was given my first hospice volunteer assignment, and then got a call a few days before my first scheduled visit, letting me know my patient had already died. So I'm back on the list, to be called next time someone starts service who could use me.

What else? There must be something interesting to report ... or maybe there isn't. I have been having the strangest sensation in the mornings lately, when I first wake up, that every day is the same as the day before ... sort of that Groundhog Day kind of feeling. On the up side, my anxiety is mostly pretty much under control and my blood sugar has come back down again too, for which I'm grateful. It was really getting up there for awhile there – not to truly dangerous levels, but higher than I like to see it – and I finally figured out that it was because I really and truly do need to exercise for 60-90 minutes every day, no matter how carefully I'm eating. Good to know, and I'm glad it still works, at least for now. I saw a woman with double amputations at the nursing home recently and that really motivated me to step it up a bit, while I still can.

Man, does everything that comes out of my mouth today seem really maudlin and depressing and negative? I don't mean it to be. It's true that I still haven't totally recovered the energy and joie de vivre I've felt at other times in my life ... but that's OK, isn't it? I still do love my life and the beauty of the world, even if I'm not as aggressively spunky and perky as the adorably gravel-voiced 28-year-old blonde spokeswomen with the choppy short haircuts on commercial tv. Do you know the ones I mean?

Maybe this is one of those times I just need to exercise some faith. I read this passage this morning in a book on that topic, by Sharon Salzberg. About a walk in the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco she writes:

I stepped onto the pathway and happily began to follow its twists and turns. I could see that I was very close to the goal – the rosette at the center – when strangely, I found the path taking me back out to the edge again, away from, not toward the rosette. Puzzled, I stopped, wondering if I had made a mistake. But as there was only the one path to follow, I kept going. After circumambulating the center several times – moving closer, then once again away, then very near the rosette, and back to the edge – all at once I found myself there in the very center. I had attained the goal, not by knowing precisely where I was going, but simply by continuing on.

Anyway! I did love having that puddle in my life, that's mainly what I checked in to say. Happily, the world is full of countless quiet lovely little pleasures like that, all just waiting to be discovered.