Why Iowa, again?

Two years ago we took a road trip from Seattle. Our easternmost point was Tama, in central Iowa. My great grandparents had married there in 1867, and Iowa was one of three remaining states I had never been to. I found a bed and and breakfast in Montezuma, about 30 miles south of Tama. We had a memorable time there, during the planting season. You can read about that visit here.

This was a good year to go back during the harvest. We thought about it because, as frequent flyers on Alaska Airlines, we were about 2500 miles short of qualifying for MVP status for next year.  Minneapolis was about the right distance away and about the right cost, so if we added a short flight to Des Moines and a Budget car rental to Montezuma, we would be set. I talked to Stacy, the owner of the B&B, about the best time to visit. They had had a rainy spring, so the planting was later than usual. She said mid-October was a good time to experience the harvesting of the corn and soybeans.

Also, since our last visit to Iowa, I had found the name of my great grandmother's mother. We planned to visit the pioneer cemetery near Tama where she was buried.

The second half of our trip would be to Fairfield, Iowa. Three years ago we got a home exchange offer from a couple there. It sounded like an interesting place, but the timing wasn't good. Later that year the woman, Stacey, contacted me. She is an artist and was planning a trip up the west coast to find galleries where she could display her work. She asked if she could stay with us during her visit to the Seattle area, and I said yes. Stacey stayed for three days. She and I did a lot of talking; we actually discussed teaming up on a book. She reminded me that we now had a place to stay when we came to Fairfield. So we will be doing that as well.

Our trip was uneventful and we are settled into our room, in the barn at English Valley Bed and Breakfast in Montezuma, Iowa.

There's something about compassion

For most of my life I've had a hot button around unfairness. Just about the only time I get angry or resentful is when I think I've been "unfaired against". For example, I keep my end of a bargain and you don't keep your end. I show up on time and you are late. I lend you money and you don't pay me back. You say you'll call me back and you don't call. I've worked hard to be rid of this issue but it still gets me from time to time. It's probably related to fear of some kind. I'll keep working on it. That's usually part of the solution for me when I have an issue - to work on it.

That hasn't been the case with compassion. I haven't been working on it. Compassion is one of those things I'm usually decent about. That's especially when I'm feeling it for an issue distant from me. Like famine in Africa, or homelessness in the U.S., or wrongful imprisonment. I may send money to a cause for which I feel compassion - like Doctors Without Borders or Habitat for Humanity or Kiva. I may give my time for a cause. I am a volunteer mediator partly because I feel compassion for people in conflict.

What I'm noticing recently is that I'm beginning to feel compassion for people in conflicts that are close to me or affect me directly. Like the neighbor who is operating a metal and tire recycling business from his driveway, which is illegal in our city. People coming and going, hammering at night, stacks of tires on the lawn. I was thinking about calling the police. Then I found out the police found a stolen vehicle in that same driveway and various authorities have been called. I don't like illegal activity in my neighborhood but I feel compassion for the person who has found no other way to make a living - and for his family.

Or a business friend of mine with a flair for drama who has lost employees - most recently her bookkeeper - partly because of the drama. I'm watching this happen. I feel compassion for both her and the bookkeeper.

Or a friend of a friend who took a couple of our autographed books to our outfitter in Kenya. (The friend of a friend, Rick, is also a friend of the outfitter, Steve.) I'd made arrangements for Steve to pay Rick when the books arrived. Rick had forgotten he knew the books were being purchased by Steve instead of being given as gifts by me. Rick wrote me a nasty email late one night, accusing me of using him for transport to save postage and then expecting his friend Steve to have to pay for the books. I responded with compassion, sending him copies of conversations I'd had with Steve - and with him - before the books went to Kenya. I got an abject apology the next morning. I wasn't mad at Rick. I felt compassion for him, that a misunderstanding and a forgetting had caused him such anger and distress.

There was a time when events like this would have resulted in righteous indignation or resentment on my part. For some reason, that isn't happening much any more. What I especially like is that increased compassion hasn't been a goal of mine. I haven't been working on it. It has just happened. Isn't that great?

There's something about compassion that makes me feel more like a grownup.

Reading the old journals

I've started working on a new book, about our travels; it will include material from journals and blogs I wrote between 1994 and 2013. To that end, last Wednesday I pulled out the old handwritten and typed pages to refresh my recollection - and I came upon my life in the 90s, when we lived with teenagers. I read for hours on Wednesday, remembering.

Amidst the daily reflections, I glimpsed a view of my self at 50. I still recognize me in the pages, but I can see how I've grown and changed since then.

I was exhausted just reading about my life. We had two resident teenagers and two more who visited their dad three times a week - plus another four offspring who turned up from time to time. They were normal adolescents for the most part - moody, messy, partying procrastinators wanting freedom but eschewing responsibility, getting in their share of trouble that parents worry and grieve over. I spent many journal pages wishing they were different and looking forward to the time they would be grown up and gone. During that same period I was working full time and taking two classes. My life was crowded and chaotic. I yearned for quiet and time for myself.

Now those teenagers are grown. The two who lived with us are today a nuclear engineer and a marble and granite fabricator, with the financial resources to make it on their own, paired with the restricted freedom that comes with adulthood and responsibility. I'm pretty sure they would have turned out about the same if I had been more relaxed about the whole adolescent thing. But I hadn't learned that yet.

Now I have. Our house is quieter these days. We're still busy, but with different activities. I can usually detach from the issues of family members unless my assistance is requested.  My children and my husband are managing their own lives without my participation, leaving me free to embrace my own life.

In some ways, though, I'm the same as I was 15 years ago. I still don't like the dark days of winter, still worry obsessively about my body even though I'm very healthy, still bemoan the excess weight I carry. But I am now a regular exerciser instead of making excuses for not doing it. I've learned to leave my husband alone when he's in a mood rather than trying to track it down and discuss it with him. I rarely try to get him to get rid of all the useless stuff in the garage and the shed. And most days I don't worry about a future as a bag lady.

Since the kids left home, and especially since I stopped working three years ago, I've taken time to identify and prioritize my values, which I've discussed in previous blog posts:

• spirituality
• health
• community
• curiosity 
• purpose

When I had kids at home, I might have had the same values, but they were buried by the day-to-day jobs of parenting and work that came first.

I'm looking at my values now and am grateful for the progress I'm making in aligning my life with what I think is important. I started going to church in June and am now involved in that community - I participate in small group discussions and a drum circle and have gone to Sunday services, vespers, and, recently, a celebration of the autumnal equinox.

The local senior center opens its doors to the homeless on nights where the temperature is expected to drop below 33 degrees, and teams from my church feed and shelter the people on Monday nights. I can only do this until we leave for Arizona in late December, but I signed up for the Mondays I'll be in town. On the cold nights I'll be at the senior center from 6 in the evening until 8 the next morning. This activity actually hits all five of my top values, but I've never done it before, so I have a decent mix of apprehension and anticipation.

Now that I've finished reading the journals, I'm looking forward to my work on the new book. As I gather and develop the material, I expect many reminders of the gifts of my life. That's partly why I'm writing it. To remember.

Fall drops in

Here in the Pacific Northwest, summer usually fades. Not this year. Fall arrived almost overnight this week. Sun is gone, rain has arrived. We're told this may be the rainiest September since 1978.

On Friday Art and I went out to the garden and harvested about 200 green tomatoes. They're in grocery sacks, but this afternoon we'll transfer them to boxes, layered with newspaper, so they can ripen in the pantry. We were delighted that this year, for the first time, we ate several dozen vine-ripened tomatoes out of our garden. We were lucky for a warmer-than-usual summer.

Yesterday I went out to the garden and noted that most of the cornstalks in our small patch are leaning over or lying on the ground. We're not sure whether it was wind or an animal - coyote or dog, perhaps - but decided that next year we'll (1) plant the corn earlier than June 25 to take full advantage of our long summer days and (2) erect a chicken-wire fence around the patch. Looking out there, I see five stalks with an ear of corn growing in them. We planted 180 kernels. We figure it cost about $400 for the preparation of the soil and the compost as we converted the rest of our lawn to agriculture. So we figure this year's corn cost $80 an ear. Not too bad for a first-year crop!

The community pool didn't have classes yesterday so I knew I needed to take my two-mile walk around the neighborhood. But it was raining. Not just misting, but a mid-level rain. I couldn't find my rain pants or my poncho. Art was reading, but he got up and found both where he'd packed them in a closet in the spare room. He moves things as he needs extra space - packrats (collectors!) do that. Fortunately, this year he labeled the boxes. So I donned my black rain pants and my burgundy poncho and headed out. Even stopped at my espresso stand for my usual drink. By the time I got home I was still dry, but a little sweaty under my poncho. Instead of a t-shirt and fleece vest, on my next outing I'll wear a silk undershirt with the vest. Silk does a better job of wicking.

As an indoor activity yesterday, I went through our closets and pulled out six jackets - from heavy to windbreaker type - and put them in a Goodwill bag. And I went through two storage dressers and extracted odd sheets for various sizes of beds. They went in the Goodwill bag also. And an old jewelry box from my first marriage. It's a big bag and it's full now, so Goodwill will be a destination for us this week.

When I changed the sheets on our bed I put on the flannel ones for the first time this year. And took off the lightweight silk bedspread and replaced it with the heavier winter one. On the way home from the Goodwill run, we'll drop the summer bedspread off at the cleaners.

The gas fireplace, installed seven years ago, needs to be serviced before we'll be able to get it turned on. There's a three-week wait for a repair person to come out. I can live with that.

I look outside. It's gray, and the tree branches are communing with the wind. Tis the season.

Gifts from my birthday week

My birthday week was full of gifts - some that make things better and some simple delights.

1. Summer has ended in the Pacific Northwest. I usually have trouble with the transition from summer to fall, as the days get shorter and the clouds begin to gather. My mind anticipates six months of discomfort. I want to eat bread and potatoes and butter. I want to sleep more.

I have a light box and I dug out the instructions. Turns out I've been using it in the wrong position for several years now. I stand at my computer when I'm working, and I had placed the box about nine inches below my eyes, so I wasn't getting all the benefit of the bright light. This week I've lowered the shelf on my computer and I sit down when the light box is on. Much brighter light! When I turn it off after 30 minutes I feel rejuvenated. Then I go for a two-mile walk or to my water aerobics class and I feel like myself again. I'm grateful for light and exercise, for Vitamin D and endorphins.

Tonight there's an autumnal equinox service at my church. I plan to go. I'd like to embrace the shorter days. Of all the things in the world I can't change, the turning of the earth is one of the biggies.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to change my approach to the shorter days.

2. My sister Alyx is a nurse and I tend toward hypochondria, especially when I don't have enough to do. When I think I have an ailment, I call her and she tells me what it is, kindly. I'm grateful for my own Nurse Ratched.

3. After much thought I decided my sight-reading is not strong enough to substitute at the Seattle handbell group. I decided to ask the Tucson director if I can substitute this winter in her "first string" group while I continue to play in her "second string". I'll get practice in moving from one set of bells to another as I am needed. I sent an email to the Seattle director. She was very gracious. I'm grateful for the opportunity to improve and try again.

4. We have been reworking our family trust. Art and I have a blended family of eight children. Last night at dinner he recommended a couple of changes. He has never suggested anything on this topic before. His suggestions were simple and practical and based around fairness and the fact that we probably can't control our grown children beyond the grave. I forget that sometimes. I'm grateful for the suggestions and for the fact that we have a patient lawyer.

5. I met with my niece and friend Colleen for coffee on Thursday. We worked out the next steps for marketing my Viet Nam book as well as an outline for a travel book I've had in my head for years. Both these projects are entirely engaging and will keep me busy during the indoor months. I'm grateful for friends and for my ability to string words together.

6. I got birthday wishes from over 50 online friends via this blog and Facebook. I'm grateful for the online community. Very grateful.

7. I got the perfect birthday card from my husband Art.

Outside of the card is three 70-something women, grinning.
First woman says, "Are you in the mood to Party?"
Second woman says, "Yeah, I need to use the Potty."
Third woman says, "Thanks! I guess I am a Hottie!"
Inside of the card says, "Isn't it nice to know we're always there to listen to each other. Happy birthday."

I laughed out loud. I'm grateful to have a husband who knows me!

8. I love weather - downpours and thunder and lightening and wind and snow. Actually, anything but heat and drizzle are good! It was cool and windy on my walk today.  I passed a grafted apple tree just loaded up with two kinds of apples. Some had fallen on the ground. I thought about going to the door and asking if I could bring a bucket over. I decided to keep walking instead. I need to take a bucket into my own yard and pick all the green tomatoes before the rain splits them. They'll ripen up in boxes in the basement.

9. I picked the last four bunches of grapes from our yard. They were wonderful.

The Bag Lady comes of age

I'll be 65 this Friday. In some ways I'm finally coming of age.

The month started out on a cheery note. I'd gotten my Medicare card a couple of weeks earlier. Last week I signed up for Silver Sneakers - a wellness program provided by my insurance company - and I got into my water aerobics class for free. Before that it was $5.50. It will be the same when I go to the gym. They're not going to penalize me if I miss a day. Apparently any time I choose to exercise, the insurance company is happy to foot the bill.

My two children and Art's six are all grown and I have pretty much come to the conclusion that they are who they are, and they don't need advice from me. Even if I have an answer for them, they probably don't need it. When I was in my 30s I resented the heck out of any suggestions from my own mother. Most of our children are on Facebook, so I have a vague general idea of what they're up to. I know they'll call if they need anything and that I will hear from most of them on Mother's Day and I will see them occasionally. Even though part of me wishes they were all still around - like they were in the frantic, delightful, awful times of their childhood, adolescence and young adulthood - most of me doesn't have the energy for it all. So we relish the time we see them and wish them well the rest of the time.

I am beginning to accept that my body is never going to be as lithe and uncomplaining as it was for the first 45 years of my life, and that the aches and pains typical of people my age are, well, going to stay around. This has been a tough thing to accept. Used to be, if I broke or strained or otherwise injured a body part, it healed right up. Now it takes its sweet time - or heals but doesn't really. Blood pressure rises and joints develop arthritis. I'm not keen on this coming of age thing. Ten years ago we took a trip and hiked ten to twelve miles a day for a week - and all that hurt was my feet, in the evening. Now I'm looking at trips where the distance covered in a day is three to five miles, and wondering whether we're up to it - or whether we even want to try.

My wanderlust is calming down. We have a world map in our entryway, with pins marking the places we've been. They're in North, Central and South America, Europe and Asia and Africa. I think about trips to Spain, Mongolia, Australia, New Zealand, Antarctica and Scandinavia. I know they'd all be fascinating, but the energy required to plan and negotiate these trips can be pretty daunting. I see now why some people sign up for tours. All they have to do is send the money and pack their bags and show up. Maybe it's because we've already been so many places we wanted to see. Our financial planner says most retired people travel for five years and then come home. We're at the three-year mark. I hate, hate, hate to think I may turn out to be a typical retired person in that way.

The days are getting shorter here in the Pacific Northwest, and I have decided, very reluctantly, that I probably ought not to be driving at night in traffic or unfamiliar places. To that end, I've let the Dispute Resolution Center know I won't be taking evening mediation assignments until next spring. I'll miss that. But I can't ask Art to drive me there and then sit for the four hours I'd be mediating. I think it's very unfair that even though he's five years older than me, his vision doesn't limit him at night.

I live twelve miles from downtown Seattle. For years we had season tickets to two regional theaters. We went during the day. Then we decided we were too busy to commit to the dates on our tickets. Sometimes we missed a play due to a scheduling conflict. We said we'd buy individual tickets to plays we really wanted to see. But we didn't. It's too much of a hassle to drive downtown in traffic, maneuver the city streets, and pay $15 to park. The worst thing is that I don't miss the theatre, after decades of being a real enthusiast. Again, it's too much effort!

What I'm seeing is that I have less energy than before. Used to be I was limited by the number of hours in a day and I could fill my calendar for a day and enjoy every event. That's not the case any more. Now I'm careful to plan a day with spaces in it, or with one event that I could cancel if it didn't affect anyone else. If I swim or walk every day, and do my postural therapy exercises, and play brain-enhancing computer games (yes, really! See brainhq.positscience.com), and write or blog, sometimes the stamina I have left is less than what's needed for my day's plans. And I'm not sick. I'm just coming of age.

I am encouraged, though. When I talk to other people my age and older, or when I read what they write, I realize I'm not the only one. Most of us have aches and pains, less energy, and less of a drive to be constantly on the go. Fortunately.

I think coming of age means having a healthy awareness of who you are and where you are in your life. That you may be special but you're not unique. When I was younger I used to look at cars on the freeway and marvel at all those people with their own separate lives. It amazed me that there were lives out there other than my own. Now I feel comfortable on the road, looking out and realize that all of us, we're all in this together. I'm one of very many. And I like that.

Last Thursday I went to the first handbell practice of the year at a church in Seattle. I'd been told by email they didn't need any regulars - and I can't do it anyway since I'll be in Tucson all winter - but they sometimes needed a sub. And they did! I played a couple of different sets of bells. Not very well, though. I do read music but I'm not especially adept at sight reading - especially when the key signature changes every few measures. The old me would have quit after the first practice. Or called the director and told her I couldn't make it to practices because I have bad night vision. Instead, I brought a copy of the music home with me to mark up and asked Art if he'd be willing to drive me to practice once a week and wait for the hour and ten minutes the practices last. He said yes.

Now that I'm turning 65, I'm filing for my pension. I've finally come of age!

Things that surprised me this week

1.  A friend told me I have a calm temperament! The friend has only known me for four months, but still. I have always thought of myself as a Type-A personality, or at least lively, but maybe I'm morphing into something else. I followed up that statement with a question to my husband Art: "Do you think I have a calm temperament"? He paused, then said, "Yes". I said, "Did I always?" He said, without a pause, "No". I said, "When did it change?" He said, "I have no idea."

Neither do I. I don't even know if I believe either of them. I know I have a long fuse, but calm may be going too far.

2. I no longer breathe hard when I'm walking the uphill portion of my two-mile neighborhood walk. I walk this route most days when I don't do water aerobics. I've read that half an hour of vigorous exercise four or five times a week staves off all sorts of things. I specifically remember telling my sister a couple of months ago that I was breathing hard and wondering if it was my blood pressure meds. She's a nurse, and I ask her these things. She said no, to just keep walking, so I did.

3. When I'm sitting on a buoyant foam "noodle" in the pool - which is an exercise for balance - I'm completely comfortable, upright and relaxed rather than falling face first into the water. My balance is improving!

On these last two items, I'm realizing that it's not necessary to work hard all the time. It's just necessary to keep doing what I'm doing, and eventually these things will come to pass - improved aerobic fitness and improved balance.

4.  I can play in a drum circle, even if the last and only time I tried it before was 20 years ago at Bumbershoot, the end-of-summer blowout at Seattle Center. Yesterday's gathering was at my church. I used to sing, but my voice is older now and I don't want to expose it to the world. However, I have always had a decent sense of rhythm, so I thought I'd try the drum circle as an expression of unity and collaboration. I love it! I had the same feeling last winter when I still remembered how to play handbills after 25 years. Except the drum circle was something new, and the handbells were something old.

5. Here's a Facebook chat phrase that can result in one of my sons responding:

Me: When are you moving out of your place?
Son: (No response) (Son is online and the time stamp indicates he has read my message)
Me: Evan, I know you're there!
Son: Next week.

"Evan, I know you're there!" must be the magic words. And here I thought they were "please" and "thank you".

6. After a rainstorm, hundreds of spiders spin large webs to guard the ripe tomatoes in the garden - and I walk into a dozen of them. This is the first year since we planted our garden that we've had enough warm weather to ripen the tomatoes on the vine. Usually we have to pick them green and store them in grocery bags in a dark place for a few weeks.

7.  Being 65 can be a good thing. If you're 65 and your insurance covers it, you can swim for free at my rec center instead of paying $5.50 each time for the water aerobics class. Actually, I knew this, but I wasn't able to do it until this week. I'll be 65 this month and my Medicare coverage took effect on September 1. It was fun, swimming for free!

8. When Art sits on the couch reading for three days, it's because he is sick with a cold. He is very quiet then. For some reason I thought he would be cranky. It has been a while since he's had a cold. Usually he's just in pain because he worked outside for four hours. Then he's cranky.

9. When I caught Art's cold I thought he would be sympathetic. But he wasn't. He kind of laughed, but not in a mean way.

10. If your iPhone begins to die, the Apple Store people have really excellent customer service and they treat you like you're a real person and not their grandmother.