Nothing holds still, of course.
It’s not quite three weeks until I get rid of this wretched brace. Shall I tell you more about it, having grown intimate with it over the past three months? It comes down so low in the back that it pushes up when I sit down. It comes up so high in the front that my chin can rest on it. I’ll spare you the details of what it’s like to pull my pants up or down. I wear it all day every day, but not at night. Surely I’m fixed by now! My back doesn’t hurt but my left leg does. Still using a walker. It feels like very tight muscles. Probably is.
Enough of that. I’m functioning. I write something every day. I highly recommend it as a cure. If I can get words down that I’m happy enough with, I feel alive, even if I hurt.
Meanwhile, I’m excited that the little cottage renovation is nearly done. This is the one the old people, meaning us, stay, while the younger people stay in the old cottage. This time of year, my mind spends as much time at the lake as it does here at home. I am so aware that my mind wants to wander over all available territory, never holding still. All my years of meditation have not held me to where I am; it’s simply made me more aware of my mind’s wandering. Enjoying the wandering, actually.
This is the high-water point at the old cottage. It has gone down some since then. We were within a couple of inches of having water inside. Some others had it worse.
My mind has wandered to the flooding, which has been awful around the lake. The dam at Bellaire barely held. Water came right to the edge of our front porch. Neighbor across the lake have five inches in their cottage. Our old foundation is only rocks; I hope the water can just leak right back out before rot sets in anywhere.
When I’m writing may be the only time my mind sort of holds still. It becomes like a laser. It wants to get the words right, not even knowing what “right” is going to be. It fools around; it tries this and that. It gives up and reads someone else’s words to rev the engine a bit.
I am imagining swimming. My two goals for this surgery are to be able to swim and to walk a few miles again. Last summer I walked in the water up to my neck but couldn’t swim because my back hurt. So sad. I walked up by the road with a walker. So sad. But I keep on. I don’t ask for much. I don’t ask for a hike in the Adirondacks. Only walking in the woods a little, and swimming my usual, down to the yellow boathouse and back.
This blog comes to you courtesy of blue-light blocking glasses. After staring at the screen every morning until my eyes pour water, I found that blue-light blockers are a wonder. My eyes don’t water! Tip for writers: you might try them (they’re cheap).
We had a meeting yesterday of the faculty for the Interlochen Writers’ Retreat coming up in June. This is my one remaining regular event since I retired from the MFA program I taught in for 15 years. I’ve been fortunate to have work to do after retirement from what they call a “real” job teaching at the University. I guess that was work, but it was also deeply rewarding. And being Poet Laureate of Delaware—that was truly a joy. It felt sad and scary to give it up when we moved to Michigan. Now what? But as seems to be always the case, things came along that enabled me to use what skills/talent I have. So, by way of other advice for writers: look for things to do that involve writing, any kind of writing. If you’re a genuine writer (my definition) nothing is going to stop you from doing your work, but it’s also good to be on the alert for ways to be with other writers sometimes. Their energy will help you immensely.
The P.S. . . . .
I’ll be reading in Northport, MI this Saturday at NOON, to celebrate Independent Bookstore Day at the truly wonderful DogEars Books. Come if you can. A drive to Northport will do your spirit good after this endless winter.