Category Archives: transformation

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Scree dream

In September, I hike with the three friends in the Ragtag Daily Prompt photograph. I have not really backpacked into back country in years. The last time I carried the pack was in Italy with my daughter, a few years ago. She wanted to plan the trip as we went and stay in hostels. We did.

We hike in the first day, up switchbacks from the parking lot at about 3200 feet, to a pass at 5400 feet, over and down to a campsite. The sites for cooking are separate from the sleeping sites and there are serious big metal bear boxes. We are to put everything in them, including the deet and toothpaste and anything that could possibly interest a bear.

We pack day packs the second day and climb back up to the pass. We peel off there to the trail to Sahalie Glacier. After being on oxygen at sea level for a year and a half, I am beyond delighted that I can actually do this. We go up and up and the trail gets worse and worse, until it is rather nasty scree. Two other people coming down say it is even worse, slippery, unstable, if we go on.

So, like sensible people, we stop for lunch. The slope is very steep and we each find a place to perch. Lunch tastes good. Then the other three want to go on. I don’t. I want a nap. They go on, I find a slab and the view from it is the photograph: down, down, down to the lake far below.

They will get me on the way back down.

And I do go to sleep. It’s all that night time call I’ve taken over years and years. I can sleep practically anywhere, including in a noisy casino in the past. I tuck up against the rock and the sun is almost warm.

I wake up. Two other people have come by. My inner clock thinks my people should have come by. Do I wait? Do I stay? There are more ominous clouds building up and this will be much more slick and dangerous if it starts raining. And we are exposed, for lightening.

Then I see a hat, on a curve of trail below me, moving. I swear it’s one of my party. But how did they go by without seeing me or waking me. THEY ARE DITCHING ME ON THE MOUNTAIN. No, that is ridiculous. Hmm. She is not with either of the guys. I debate for a minute, shout and then grab my things and head down.

I catch her. Once they left me, there really was not a clear trail. There were multiple sort of trails. And it was tricky. They separated a bit. She lost track of the other two and then picked the least difficult way down, which seemed to be a trail. It was NOT the trail that went by me, but she didn’t know that.

We found one of the guys below us, waiting. The last came down a bit later. None of them had come on the “right” trail by me. We headed down and stopped to put on rain gear. It rained lots! We were also above the tree line, but also I would say that we were above the marmot line. We saw eight hoary marmots marmoting around on our way down. They did not seem deterred by rain at all.

So that is how I was left in the scree to dream. I would have returned by the time it started raining anyhow, and the trail was good once we got past the scree. Not all the way to the lake in the photograph, the trail ran along a ridge that is not in the picture and wound down near the lake.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: scree.

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Why mean?

Why do people do that smiling mean thing? Where they are teasing too close to the bone, meanly, with a smile. If you object, then you are labeled as someone who can’t take a joke or who has no sense of humor. How do people handle them? I put them on avoid and do not want to be around them. But really, what motivates them? Power? Humiliate others to feel better about themselves? What a very sad and pathetic way to go through one’s life.

This is related to me thinking about what people think about. I think about what motivates people a lot and why they do what they do. This, apparently, is NOT what most people think about. My curiosity about people dates back to being a very small child and being passed from household to household because my mother had tuberculosis. I decided that adults did not understand children and that they loved me but didn’t understand that babies should be kept and loved. My sister was born when I was three and I told people that she was MY baby. I was determined to take care of her. Alcohol continued to make the adults in my household unpredictable and sometimes dangerous, at least emotionally.

My mother could charm a room and all visitors, but sometimes she would talk about them after they left. My family tended to ignore me if I was reading, because I really did not listen if I was deep in a book. Books were an escape and a safe place. People would have to call me three times to get me out of one. But sometimes my brain would click me out and I would listen to the conversation. My mother would talk about people’s motivations and was often quite negative and not nice. Interesting, but not nice.

When I realized that most people don’t think about others’ motivations most of the time, I felt rather freed and enlightened. I promptly ran into not one, but two mean people, at different sites. I do not understand meanness. I worry that it will be in the White House soon, as well. And what, that meanness wants to annex part or all of two other countries? Is this fascist envy? That’s what I think. So there.

The photograph is Sol Duc in 2022.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: mean.

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Today and tomorrow and the day after

Good morning! I hope you are having a happy day today! I am up and having tea and reading and listening to music, waiting for the rest of the household. They may be a while.

I arrived at my son and daughter in law’s on Sunday. The glitch was that my son and I couldn’t find each other in the pick up area and got frustrated. Turns out that I was at National Airport and he was at Dulles, which does make it more of a challenge. I took my bags and hopped the metro out into Maryland, and they picked me up at the station. Whew.

We are talking, eating, wrapping things and climbing. We went to their climbing gym yesterday and I did a respectable job on some 5.6 and 5.7 climbs. Today my arms want to fall off. Last year my climbing style was panicked sloth. This year I am much better since I have been going to my climbing gym once a week. Arm muscles! How amazing!

We are going to continue wrapping today. My daughter and her boyfriend arrive late tomorrow so we aren’t going to tear paper off stuff until Friday morning. My inner little kid suggests that we unwrap today, wrap it back up, and do it AGAIN on Friday. This waiting frustrates her! Oh, well. No, dear, we aren’t going to do that.

Have a lovely today and tomorrow and day after tomorrow!

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: today!

The photograph is Elwha looking up at the Christmas stick last year. I miss him!

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Climbing the walls

When my father died, he left me a will written more than 40 years earlier. He and my mother and my maternal grandparents were all pack rats. It was a house and two barns and ten years worth of some mail. A mess.

After working on it for a year, I felt like I was in knots and couldn’t relax. I was quite sick of counseling and wanted to do body work instead. I found a massage person and worked with him for over a year.

On the first visit he talked to me and then had me stand and walk around. “You are head forward and your toes are gripping the floor.” “I am not!” I said, lifting my toes. He was right, though. I had to relearn how to walk for two weeks, lifting my toes up.

I went to see him once last spring, knotted up again. I thought I was much better at unknotting during the work. I asked, “So am I pretty relaxed?”

He laughed. “You’re NEVER relaxed. Your baseline is 7/10 but you notice that you are tight when you get up to a 9 or 10.” He said that relaxed was 1-3.

I was hurt and annoyed. All that work and he’d never said that and never given me tools. I tried to contact him by email but he either didn’t remember what he said or just wouldn’t deal with it.

I was grumpy.

Meanwhile in clinic, I was teaching the breathing technique to try to relax, to go from sympathetic fight or flight, to parasympathetic. Breath in for a slow count of 4 seconds, then out for a slow count of 4 seconds. I thought, well, I should do it more too. I decide that when I wake up, I will do the breathing technique.

It promptly put me back to sleep. I have used slowing my breathing to go to sleep. I also had three years in college and after where I did daily zen meditation, facing the wall, on a zafu, for forty minutes. Add my flute playing and singing in chorus for the last 24 years and I can do the count way past four. My mind, however, is a very busy place, and meditation often felt like letting a cage full of crazy monkeys out. They all wanted attention. My understanding of zen is that I am supposed to let the monkeys show up but not hold on to them, converse with them, or let them hold the floor. Return to the breath.

When we wake up, we have a cortisol burst in the morning. It gets us going. I am pretty sure that I have some adrenaline too. The slowed breathing calms that right down. According to the pain clinics, twenty minutes of slowed breathing calms almost everyone down into the parasympathetic state. I don’t think that the high Adverse Childhood Experience people are used to parasympathetic. Honestly, looking at the movies and television and video games, I think our culture is not used to it either.

The breathing in the morning is working. My neck and shoulder muscles are more relaxed (in spite of computer use). Maybe I am down to a 5/10! That would be huge progress, right?

And my muscles love the climbing walls, too. Not that I am that good at it, but my muscles really like the intensity and focus. It is so different from clinic, where everything is focused on listening to the patient, typing as they talk, watching, sensing, trying to get a handle on what is happening with them. The wall is like clinic in focus, but my whole body is involved and there is lots of reaching and stretching out of that contained focus.

Sol Duc seems to be good at slow breathing. Cats go from 1/10 to 10/10 in just a heartbeat, or that’s my impression.

There is no alabaster in this house. Not a bit. Perhaps I will meditate on that.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: meditate and alabaster.

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Impersonal Day

After I post my story about nuisance on Thursday, I have a bigger nuisance show up. I get ready for work, tell my cat to have a lovely day, get in the car, open the garage door, back out and press the button to close the door.

It doesn’t close.

I try again.

It won’t close and is wonky at the base.

Dang it. I pull back into the driveway and investigate. Two of the wheels are out of the track and it’s obviously broken. There is a button lock between the garage and the house, but the garage also has stuff in it from the owners, including tools. I get a chair, stand on it and am clear very quickly that I can’t fix it.

Next I call work and apologize, but I can’t secure the house and can’t leave. They cancel my day. I have to dig around for the rental number but I find it. I call once, text, wait a bit and call again. He calls back and sends a person over.

The person take about half an hour to get there and he can’t fix it. They call a garage door company.

So now I am cooling my heels and stuck here. My kids all have wishlists for Christmas so I get everything ordered and sent off to my son’s. They will be rather inundated with packages since one Amazon order generated 7 packages all on different days. Goodness. I do some cooking, read a novel, and wait.

At 3 pm I let the rental person know that I am still waiting.

At 4:15 two garage door people show up. The wire at the opposite side from where the wheels are off is all tangled and off the rails. They have some specialized tools and it is fixed by 4:45. Part of the time is just them waiting for payment permission to go ahead with the fix. The garage door now opens and closes! I thank them and they head out. Turns out that their boss lives on my street.

A friend says, “You called in a personal day.”

“No,” I reply, “I called in a stuff goes wrong day. A very impersonal day.” My work did not give me any grief at all about it. We were already shorthanded but what could any of us do? Apologies to any patients who got canceled! We all do the best we can, right? Things break down sometimes.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompts: shopping and nuisance.

I deleted some past posts to make room but apparently not enough, sigh. Another bit of a nuisance. I can post a phone photograph but not one from my bigger camera.

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Austere choice

What could be more austere than rock?

Taken in Echo Canyon in the Colorado National Monument, Thanksgiving, 2024.

Austere choice

Why do I still feel sad when I think
that I am best off with my cat
and that I should eschew dating.
Why do I feel like I am rejecting love?
I don’t have that sort of love.
It’s not like I am rejecting anything.
I am rejecting looking for it.
I am rejecting active interest in a partner
other than my cat.
What is wrong with that?

I do not ever want to reject hope.
I am not trying to reject wanting.
Hope and want are the deep and terrible ache
for the Beloved. I do not reject that.
I am still open, Beloved, to what you send,
though getting more particular in middle age.
A writer says that he uses a pencil and a pad,
because no better tool has been invented.
I take the same approach to wanting love.
If the relationship is more work than my cat,
for less love, why bother? It seems silly
and until I go home to the Beloved,
so far, I am best off with my cat.

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The first thing Sol Duc does when we go out for a walk, is roll on the sun warmed dusty sidewalk. The house faces south.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: austere.

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Surreal failure

I am still thinking about Friday’s Ragtag Daily Prompt: failure. Now that I am middle aged (by my clinic definition, which put over 90 as older), I think the biggest failure of my generation is a peaceful world. For me, a peaceful extended family. I am good friends with my father’s family and my ex-husband’s family. But the maternal family, well. I have thought about that for the last two days: could I have changed that?

Yes, but at what cost? My sister followed the “family rules” on that side. She is dead from cancer. My mother also followed the rules and died younger than me from cancer. I can’t say that the rules cause cancer. But doesn’t our culture say over and over, be yourself? To fit in the family diaspora, I would have to play the triangulation game and gossip about others as they have gossiped about me. No, thank you, no. I don’t want to. They seem to need a family member to hate and have chosen me and labelled me and call me angry. I think they are silly and emotionally immature. At the very least, I would have had to keep my mouth shut and accept them gossiping about me.

The family failure and untrue gossip, with no one ever asking for my viewpoint, mirrors the US culture. Split and needing someone to hate. At this rate, we’ll need the hippies back, with flowers and joy and counter culture and dropping out. Someone fun, at least until the drugs wear off. Someone to say, we need joy back, we need friends, we need love.

It’s not just my failure though. The family failed. They make cruel choices and target people. It happened in my generation, my mother’s, my grandparents. I wonder if it is happening in my adult children’s generation. Who is the next target? Who will refuse to counter-gossip and fight with each source? My adult children are not part of it at all, because I had less and less interest in spending time with mean gossips and I did not want to expose my children.

Lies and drama and meanness and gossip. I hope my adult children’s generation does better. We went to Wicked on Thursday. I did not like it much. Too much drama. Why do we want drama? The world seems more and more surreal. Give me the lovely hike we did on Friday instead, Echo Canyon.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompts: failure and surreal.

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Sad about the cows

The first photograph is Sol Duc. She is lying on my jacket to object to and obstruct me going to work. She has learned the new schedule, but things are a little different. In the three weeks we were gone, the night time temperatures have dropped into the 20s, so it is frozen outside. Yesterday it warmed to a high of 53 but not for long. It is dark in the morning and dark at night when I get home and we have not been walking with the harness and leash as much. Brrr, cold. We had a long walk yesterday at 10 am because it was my administrative day and I was caught up.

Sol Duc can’t find her pet toad any more. I think the toads have dug in for the winter and there are fewer and fewer insects. I think she is a bit bored. I’ve been building cardboard box puzzles for her, with the cat food ball inside. She has to roll the ball around to get the dry food to fall out. Maybe now she misses Elwha a bit, too. My work days are a bit long, leaving at 7:00 am and sometimes not home until 6:00 pm. Right now I have to drive to the other end of the valley.

The second picture is this morning’s sunrise. Gorgeous, yes? But that is the field across the street from us and that changed while we were gone too. They are building roads, all of the wild plants are gone, and it is staked all over and has large machines. And kitty corner, to the southwest, no more cows! The cows are gone! Are they inside for the winter or really gone? I think that they are really gone, because I see cows in other fields. The hay barn is still in use, but the cows have been moved. The city of Grand Junction is building and encroaching on the farms. We are right on the western edge of Grand Junction. No more early morning roosters, either.

I am not sure how to tie this to the Ragtag Daily Prompt, circular. Sol Duc is pretty circular when she curls up. The earth and the sky are circular. Emotions circle, happy to sad to surprised to worried and back. I am a little sad about the loss of the field and the cows, sigh, but happy Saturday to you.

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Conserving energy

I was out of clinic for two years and then very part time for a year and now not quite full time as a temp. I bargained to not quite be full time.

The electronic medical record is having a consequence, along with the pressure to see more people faster. The primary care doctors, at least the younger ones, do not seem to call their peer specialists any more. (Family Medicine is a specialty, just as Internal Medicine and Obstetrics/Gynecology are.) I called a gastroenterologist and left a message last week about a difficult and complex patient. The patient had cried three times during our visit. The gastroenterologist was very pleased I had called, was helpful, agreed with my plan of using the side effects of an antidepressant to try to help our patient, and thanked me three times for calling her. Wow. I am used to calling because during my first decade in Washington State, our rural hospital had Family Practice, General Surgery, a Urologist, Orthopedics and a Neurologist. For anything else, we called. I knew specialists on the phone for a one hundred mile radius and some knew me well enough that they’d say a cheery hi.

Now communication is by electronic medical record and email on the medical record and by (HORRORS) TEXT. Ugh. I think that there is quite a lot of handing the patient off by referring them to the Rheumatologist or Cardiologist or whatever, but the local Rheumatologist is booked out until February for new patients. That leaves the patient in a sort of despair if we don’t keep checking in on the problem. If I am worried, I call the Rheumatologist and say, “What can I do now?” I’ve had two people dropping into kidney failure and both times a call to the Nephrologist was very very helpful. I ordered the next tests that they wanted and got things rolling. One patient just got the renal ultrasound about three months after it was ordered. Sigh.

I have one patient who is booked in February for a specialist. I called that specialist too, they did not want any further tests. I told the patient, “You aren’t that sick so you won’t be seen for a while. It isn’t first come first serve: it is sickest first. We all have to save room for the emergencies and sometimes those are overwhelming.” The specialist agreed and the patient is fine with that and I think pleased to know that we do not think she’s that sick. She feels better. If things get worse, she is to come see me and might get moved up. Neither I nor the specialist think that will happen.

Is this conservation of energy, to communicate by email and text? I don’t think so. I think sometimes a phone call is much more helpful, because the other physician knows exactly what I am worrying about and they can tell me their thoughts swiftly. Sometimes they want me to start or change a medicine. Things can get lost in the overwhelming piles of data and the emails and labs and xrays and specialist notes all flowing in.

My Uncle Jim (known as AHU for Ancient Honorable Uncle Jim) used to sing part of this:

Yeah, that’s just how I call my fellow specialists.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: conservation. Don’t cats win at conservation of energy?

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Wait

I came close but no cigar
I want a mind that I can love
hand holding mine in the car
I send a quiet prayer above
Love of nature, kind to friends
not afraid of their own dark
Lust to learn until their end
willing to risk to build an ark
Curious but not controlling
Not addicted to booze or drugs
Intense at times and others strolling
Opinions, laughter and lots of hugs
My heart open yet I don’t faint
I think I am waiting for a saint

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I wrote the poem yesterday, but I have used up my memory in wordpress and now I need to go through and delete things. Any advice, Martha? I know you did it. It seems that I have to delete the post and the photograph, or is that not true? Advice welcomed.

I search my photographs for gloves and it comes up with two: foxgloves! Well, strictly speaking, that is a form of glove, right?

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: glove.