At Last, Thankfulness in Walking

An extraordinary thing has happened to me in the last month.  My walking has improved.  It is as if a switch was flipped in my nervous system.  My legs are getting the messages I am sending them through my muscles, and they are responding.

This started spontaneously about a month ago.  I do not know why.  Later, I went on a long trip and a few days into it, they started failing again.  But, after I got home and settled in, my walking improved again.

I am so excited.  I am able to once again go for walks with my dog.  I tend to go out at night.  I am not deterred by cold or rain.  Fortunately, neither is the dog.  I love the outdoor privacy when it is dark and damp.  Sheba and I have the world to ourselves.

As for me, I feel so blessed and honored to get to walk freely again.  Many people do not know what it is like to lose the ability to freely walk.  Others lose the ability and are not so lucky to get it back even if it is intermittent.

I haven’t been able to walk in the woods with my dog since last May.  Getting to do that again is better than birthdays, special celebrations, or getting an unexpected refund from some purchase.  

When I can’t walk well, I spend most of my time being very mindful.  I notice what I pass by.  I am moving so slowly there is nothing to do but notice what is around me.  I call it “The Smelling the Roses Syndrome.”  I have to accept that I can’t move any faster or any better.  I focus my energies on just noticing.  It includes cars, people, buildings, trees, or anything that stimulates my interest.

I find myself in buildings examining the ceiling.  Where do those pipes come from?  Why is that beam designed like that?  For what purpose?  Is this the original wall?  This kind of thinking stimulates my sense of myself as an observant person.  What could be wrong with that?

It also causes me to observe people more closely.  What does his posture say about his thoughts or intention?  Hmm, she is standing with her arms crossed.  Is she aware of that?  Could she be merely cold?

Watching people makes me more aware of my own body language.  If I’m moving slowly, I could at least stand straighter.  Why are MY arms crossed?  Are my hands above the table or below the table?  Do I seem impatient?  Is it okay to be impatient when I am uncomfortable?

People often hold doors open for me at work.  As I am moving slow, I often say, “Oh, that’s okay, it’ll be a week before I get there.”  

Many times, people say, “Take your time, I have no where I have to be right now.”  They go out of their way to make me feel like I am not imposing.  As we have time to watch each other as I get to the door, sometimes there are other incidental comments shared.  “It’s okay the evening can start without me.”  “Where are you going after work?”

I can respond with, “Ah, it gives you time to check your phone?”  Followed by, “Thank you.  I hope you have a good evening.”  I guess the point of these exchanges is that they cause a certain civility.  A moment of connection out of our busy or seemingly busy lives.  I appreciate these moments.  They make my loss of quickness far more bearable.

But, for now, I can walk even without a cane.  I recall when I was a teenager.  I would sit on the front steps of my grandparents’ beach house reading or looking out at the beach and the water.  All at once, I would launch off the steps, run through the yard, jump off the bulkhead, and run down the beach as fast as I could until I ran out of breath just for the sheer joy of it.  I wonder now what my grandparents thought.

I have to find sheer joy other ways now.  But, right now, this moment, I can walk.  I don’t know why or for how long.  I may have theories that may or may not be proven right as more time passes.  But, for this moment, for this instant, on this night, I can walk, and I’m grateful.

I say a lot, “Use it while you’ve got it.”  I know that life can turn on a dime.  I also know it can be a positive turn as well as not.  I am looking for the positive as often as I can.  It’s there somewhere.  I know it.

To Life.  L’Chaim.

Joceile

11.23.16

For more stories, go to joceile7.blogspot.com

My "Aunt" Edith

I have a woman in my life who is going to turn 99 on November 14th.  Her name is Edith.  I call her my aunt, because it is so much easier than outlining the convoluted way we are related.  There is no blood relation.  She is my Granny's sister-in-law by Granny's first husband who passed away.  Granny was married to Edith's husband's brother.

Then, as if that isn't enough, my Granny and Grandpa (Granny's second husband) went into business with Edith and her husband, Wave.  They bought a service station in downtown Des Moines, Washington, in the early 50's.  So, really, to just say my Aunt Edith makes so much more sense.

Edith and Wave were my brother's god-parents.  This status was very important once upon a time.  She's been in my life since before I was born.  Growing up, she lived two houses down from me.  She is a seamstress and taught my mother to sew.  She is what one might call a "good Christian woman."  Her husband, Wave, was a preacher and a healer after he phased out his work at the gas station.

Edith has endured some big hardships.  She had three children.  Her oldest son went to Vietnam.  He was never the same after he came back with PTSD.  He died a few years ago of respiratory complications due to agent orange.  Her daughter died of leukemia in the 80's leaving two granddaughters.  Her younger son went to Germany when he was drafted.  He currently struggles with health issues.

In 1998 when my Granny was dying, Edith took her in.  My Granny was unhappy in the Masonic Home which was a retirement home in Des Moines.  Edith invited her to live with her and Wave.  My Granny was so happy to be living with Edith.  Edith bathed her and cared for her.  Their cultural upbringing was to care for members of the family.  Unfortunately, Granny only lived with Edith and Wave for three days before going into the hospital and passing away.

Since Granny lived with Edith, I reconnected with Edith.  I checked in with her regularly.  Wave's health issues became more severe, and he passed away in 2002.

I always call Edith and say, "Hi, Edith, it's Joceile."  She doesn't have caller ID.  It is a childhood habit that is hard to break, even though, I figure she knows my voice.  I just feel better if I follow the etiquette from the "old" days.

Edith tells me she never expected to live alone.  Her youngest son and wife live three doors down.  Her grandson lives next door.  She feels like folks are looking after her.  I live in Olympia.  Traveling is not my friend, so I call.  

Her son brings in her mail each day.  He doesn't want her to cross the busy street.  She never fails to remind me that her daughter-in-law is "a wonderful cook" and sends up left-overs with her son.

At first when Wave was alive, I called every other month or so.  After Wave died, I started calling every two weeks.  Now, I call weekly.  I never manage to call twice a week, although, I intend to.

Edith is rich with information about the world she has occupied.  She grew up in northwestern Arkansas.  Born in 1917, she lived on a farm with her family scraping by as best they could with gardens and animals.  She moved to Washington to marry Wave after he came to Washington as a mechanical engineer.  He may have worked for Boeing.  I'm can't remember.  His brother was similarly mechanically inclined.

Edith still has a garden every year.  She cans and freezes like a mad woman at the end of the summer.  She shared apples with me this year, so I made a lot of apple sauce.

Des Moines is no longer the small town that I grew up in.  Edith has been ripped off several times.  Her car has been stolen twice.  This last time two days after Christmas, at 97, she decided she would stop driving.  It makes me sad because she only drove to the grocery store and the post office half a mile away.  She says she misses having her independence.  She always notes that her son and daughter-in-law will drive her anywhere she needs.

She keeps her carrots in the ground during the winter and pulls them up as she needs them.  Last winter, someone stole all her carrots by pulling up two rows out of her garden.  It is mind blowing.  Really?  They stole her freaking carrots?

Once or twice, she has been the victim of fraud.  As a result, she takes scissors and cuts her return address off all her junk mail and throws it away hoping that will keep her out of the hands of the fraudsters.  I haven't told her that her name and address is electronically available all over the internet.  

Occasionally, she talks to me about her concerns that "they" are going to cut her social security because of some come on junk mail she has received.  I tell her not to worry that her social security isn't going to be cut.  I remind her that our Congress can't get its act together to do anything much less cut her social security.  I fear that she still worries because the junk mail keeps coming.

Edith watches a few television shows every week and reads romance novels.  She told me that she has several hundred in her spare room and occasionally just reads them over again.  When I call, we talk about the state of her garden and what she is doing with her harvest.  We also talk about the state of her TV shows.  We talk about either Dancing with the Stars or the Bachelor or Bachelorette.  I just barely see a few minutes of Dancing with the Stars each week but manage to hold my own in a conversation about any of the shows.  

She also likes Survivor.  I've never watched Survivor but apparently they take place on beaches all over the world.  For Edith, it is a travel log.  Also, she is pretty amazed by "what they put those people through."  I can only imagine.

I've asked Edith about growing up in Arkansas.  I've pumped her on everything I can think of about being in Des Moines during the war (WW II) and what happened with her family, my family, and my grandparents.  Since my grandparents have died, I am aware of the saying, "Everything that goes unasked, goes unanswered."  (I may have made up this alleged saying.)  I know if I don't ask someone about memories I don't have access to I lose that information forever.  I can't Google what's in Edith's head.

Ronnie and I try to take Edith out for dinner at least once a month.  Edith loves Wally's.  It is a seafood restaurant.  She always gets fish and chips with one piece of fish.  She always tells us that it is so much, she will be eating the other half for dinner the following night.

She went to a church up the street for many years.  Sadly, the church closed a few years ago.  The church her friends go to is in Federal Way.  Although they would happily come get her and take her to church, she doesn't want to make them travel out of their way.  "Oh, no.  I'm fine.  I don't want to make them come all this way."  All this way is probably three miles.  I know they wouldn't mind.  But, asking for assistance doesn't come easy to Edith.

She is fiercely proud.  She is used to doing for herself.  If I lived closer, I'd take her to church myself.  But, I don't live closer.

Making contact with Edith is so important to me.  I love her.  I care for her.  I hope if I should be that old and alone one day that someone will check in with me regularly.

Sometimes, we talk about her God.  When I was younger, I hated talking about her God.  Now, that I am older I don't mind so much.  I'm no longer threatened by her God.  I ask questions.  She has told me that she hopes I have made peace with God, because "it is so important."  I assure her that I'm good.

There is one special thing about my conversations with Edith even though sometimes they can be a bit redundant.  At the end of our conversations, I always say, "I love you."  Her response is so touching.  No matter what we have been talking about, her voice changes slightly to a warmer tone, and she says with such love and sweetness, "Love you too."  It is that incredible love and gentleness in her voice that touches me to my core.

I can't hear that sweetness too many times.  I know one day she will be gone.  I love you too, Edith.  You've already lived far longer than most.  Here's to you becoming a centenarian.

Joceile

Edith and Zack