Dreams

     I was kept busy in my dream (the one I remember) last night. It's a vague and foggy memory now, but it was all about Hope dog losing parts of herself. My job was trying to locate and reattach the lost parts. The strangest thing? When I shared with N and learned he had a similar dream. Which is a BIG deal, because N rarely remembers dreams--if ever.

     What's it all about? Most likely her age--she's the oldest of the two. But so bizarre to dream about her snout falling off unexpectedly and me believing all I had to do was put it back. But I was fine with the falling, flying, warring dreams? LOL Maybe there ought to be a chapter on dreams in the book we ought to be handed at the age of 10ish. "Here are some types of dreams you might experience at certain times of your life"  Yeah, that oughta do it!

The Couch on 21st Street

The Couch on 21st Street

Old enough to shave our legs
     but not everyday.
Her head at one end
     and mine at the other.
"You're supposed to be sleeping"
     my older sister warned.
We giggle, we chatter, we whisper
     feeling each other's prickly forests
     on our young limbs.
~KGM 2020

Writing On Paper With Ink

How long has it been now, Roni? Weeks? Months? Years? When I peer back, it seems like close to a year, but to my 'heart-brain' our letter exchanging still feels recent. I don't know how else to describe that, other than it's comfortable mailing words to her--sharing mundane, ordinary scraps of our lives. And somehow, reading those bits, those sweet fragments, you start to feel that old familial connection again. Which is fitting, because what I knew about her and the rest of their family, was listening to Mom read their Mother's letters out loud.

I don't know where I might have planned on taking this, but wanted to share a small piece of the interesting process of writing regular letters back and forth. How sometimes the letters seem to write themselves (whoa Nelly!) and others are more of a narration on the past week's highlights. But there's no reason to despair when they don't flow like the ink. Think of it more as a way to gauge a mood or energy level. And some brain benefits might be nice--yeah, I'd like that. All the more reason to trade those letters.

Smugly Speaking

Way, way, back--back when my eldest sister was married with 2 small tots, I slammed a car door on my right thumb. I have a vague recollection of Mom not having time to deal with my situation and dropping me off at the house of my aforementioned sister.

(To be honest, I could be intertwining two memories. I'd forgotten about burning my upper arm on their wood stove's interior chimney pipe, but I'm carrying on to where my memory leads me.)

Sister iced that thumb of mine, as I sobbed myself to sleep on her couch. My present day self would've used that bumpy thumbnail as often as possible for 'show and tell' opportunities, but young me did not want to be different or odd.

When I worked with the wee folk, they would often discover my bumpy thumb and want all the details. And then they'd share their own painful stories. A handy tool, when you're hoping to distract them from the situation they're struggling with.

I've had strangers tell me what I needed to fix that thumb. One energetic mall worker, asked if she might smooth it for me, but that definitely wasn't the right idea. The smoothing had thinned it to such a degree, that I had to find a temporary way of keeping it from further damage and to keep the bumpy bits from snagging on everything.

Using superglue, nail stickers and Barielle ridge filler, I've been able to grow out the top layer of the nail. My fantasy, was that growing it out would help the layers become one. Either it will never happen, without removing the nail, or it's going to take another year of growth. Whatever the deal is, I now have a new annoyance--debris has gotten between the layers of keratin, making my nail appear bruised.

I could add color to my nails--though I hate the fussiness of worrying about the condition of polish. Or I could laugh at myself. That's my usual MO.
To sum up: small problems keep me entertained for hours. And who doesn't enjoy personal entertainment?

What Chapter is This?

A couple evenings ago, I began to reflect on our daily activities. This reflection illuminated something I've been vaguely aware of for the past couple of years: short outings/activities can be a result of your pets becoming elderly. But what had not occurred to me before--are we currently living in a pet hospice?

Our sweet (to us) Izzy, seems to become more anxious every month. Electronic dings and pings, rile her up, and lately she no longer stays sleeping in the same room with us during the night. Her reluctance to drink water on her own, means we feed her 3 times during the day (nearly 2 cups of water added to prescription food)--which keeps us close to home.

And then there's cantankerous Hope, who has become friendlier to strangers in her old age, but it's obvious she's losing strength and agility. She's 3-4 years older than Izzy, but seems more active.

And during this chapter, I'm thankful for N. He's a better pet parent than I. He notices things I don't and is awesome at getting us out for dog walks. {full disclosure: walking may be the wrong term--it's more of a sniff and stop and mosey}

Social Media Feels

I have weeks when I feel the weight
     of all the words I add to social media.
The words occupy active space in my brain:
     I replay my posts/comments repeatedly,
          I edit, I delete, it even bothers my sleep.
And often I don't just ponder deleting.
     Once I start deleting, on fb particularly, I find it difficult to stop.

But then I wonder . . .
    if I delete fb completely . . . will I feel worse?

A New Year, A New Post

After reading Carolyn Hax all these years, I've become more aware of personal boundaries, how numerous they are and why it's important to respect other folks'. And then, over a year ago, I lose a bunch of weight. The questions began to be asked--questions about the weight of my body.

My first thought:
"No one would be asking these questions if I'd gained weight."

I tried to deflect curious folks I don't know as well and soon-- I began to get irritated when asked.

Do I have all this boundary stuff wrong?

Looking back, I wish I had been less concerned with the boundaries being crossed and realized those asking the questions thought we were close enough to broach the subject of my weight. AND I wish I'd understood it all (okay, most) came from concern and love.

Perhaps this is a lesson in: One Size Does Not Fit All?