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I'm wondering if my sensitivity to discomfort is changing: yesterday i was near tears due to back pain. I think i'm better today, yay, and i wish i knew what i had done that caused the pain. Saturday i dug more trenches for potatoes, trying NOT to get out of control and go too deep.
Here is an Evernote entry for you to see the view of my garden from the camera trap. I've marked up the digging from Saturday.
Sunday i vigorously raked up the last leaves that had blown around.
Either digging or raking or my sleep could have triggered the back pain. I enjoyed the digging and raking, and my birthday gift from Christine -- a smart watch -- happily logged those efforts as exercise.
Saturday started with a dash off to the NIA class, where i could feel my mother's frustration. I tried demonstrating happily adapting my movement to something do-able when the footwork in class was too much to match. I don't think Mom can do that for herself. After class my mom, sister, and i chatted over drinks. My sister desperately tried to find a way to participate in providing lunch for the Sunday celebration, and was dismissed by my mother. Then it came out that my mother had fixed (was planning to fix?) a cake for me. This was after she had called and said Christine could arrange a cake for me. L got a little agitated about the issue and i knew miscommunication and confused communications around a family gathering would be a little triggering for Christine.
As i drove home i called my father to pass on the cake conversation. Later that day he called me back to relay how my mom understood it (she didn't really, found it confusing), and to relate a story about mom's confusion around the disposition of two bibles of his. (One was his father's, one he carried flying over Cuba during the Cuban missile crisis.) At one point in the story, my mother is looking at his father's name and is confused whether it is my father's. It's not quite as blatant as forgetting his name, as he and his father both share the less than common first name Laurier, and my father goes by his easier middle name.
Nonetheless, it was hard for my dad. They're both on their way to Florida today for him to do some care-taking of his 101 year old mother. While Mom has some long lived genes on her father's side, i have doubts that i'll see her turn 100. My dad, though, is fit and strong and healthy. I think i'll see him to 100. Would he remarry if my mom passed? Hard to imagine, but it's possible. If he did, i hope the potential spouse would have more sense than my grandmother's third husband.
Christine's genes don't seem so long lived. I fiddle around with some math to see how old we will be when my dad is Grandmámá's age. Mortality. I so want a lovely old age with Christine.
Saturday night we drove up to Wake Forest for more oysters -- these from the St James in Virginia. I had them raw and steamed and fried -- and the fried was pretty miserably fried. Christine had fried seafood too, and we regretted it in the wee hours of the morning. The company of friends Christine had known from music camp and whom we have connected with since over the years was a pleasure.
I made it to meeting on Sunday morning with plenty of time and sat by the spring for a few minutes. I burst into tears and realized the ache i was carrying for my mother. I shared that during our time for concerns. Home to pick up Christine and Carrie, then to my parents. My sister has claimed a dog-shaped hole in her heart: she and her kids were delighted to see Carrie. Apparently Mom was struggling a little with getting the meal ready, so L pitched in. Christine had some tension with my mother over how my mother took charge of the cake. Their dynamic may never heal: certainly my mother has passed the place where she can meet half way in resolving the past.
I guess it's clear the second half of my long weekend was bitter-sweet.
After remarkably warm days in late February, the nights are now in the upper 20s. Today i notice the browning of some of the saucer magnolia leaves (aka tulip magnolia) from the freeze. The daffs are doing well; the sprouting peonies i cover each night.
Here is an Evernote entry for you to see the view of my garden from the camera trap. I've marked up the digging from Saturday.
Sunday i vigorously raked up the last leaves that had blown around.
Either digging or raking or my sleep could have triggered the back pain. I enjoyed the digging and raking, and my birthday gift from Christine -- a smart watch -- happily logged those efforts as exercise.
Saturday started with a dash off to the NIA class, where i could feel my mother's frustration. I tried demonstrating happily adapting my movement to something do-able when the footwork in class was too much to match. I don't think Mom can do that for herself. After class my mom, sister, and i chatted over drinks. My sister desperately tried to find a way to participate in providing lunch for the Sunday celebration, and was dismissed by my mother. Then it came out that my mother had fixed (was planning to fix?) a cake for me. This was after she had called and said Christine could arrange a cake for me. L got a little agitated about the issue and i knew miscommunication and confused communications around a family gathering would be a little triggering for Christine.
As i drove home i called my father to pass on the cake conversation. Later that day he called me back to relay how my mom understood it (she didn't really, found it confusing), and to relate a story about mom's confusion around the disposition of two bibles of his. (One was his father's, one he carried flying over Cuba during the Cuban missile crisis.) At one point in the story, my mother is looking at his father's name and is confused whether it is my father's. It's not quite as blatant as forgetting his name, as he and his father both share the less than common first name Laurier, and my father goes by his easier middle name.
Nonetheless, it was hard for my dad. They're both on their way to Florida today for him to do some care-taking of his 101 year old mother. While Mom has some long lived genes on her father's side, i have doubts that i'll see her turn 100. My dad, though, is fit and strong and healthy. I think i'll see him to 100. Would he remarry if my mom passed? Hard to imagine, but it's possible. If he did, i hope the potential spouse would have more sense than my grandmother's third husband.
Christine's genes don't seem so long lived. I fiddle around with some math to see how old we will be when my dad is Grandmámá's age. Mortality. I so want a lovely old age with Christine.
Saturday night we drove up to Wake Forest for more oysters -- these from the St James in Virginia. I had them raw and steamed and fried -- and the fried was pretty miserably fried. Christine had fried seafood too, and we regretted it in the wee hours of the morning. The company of friends Christine had known from music camp and whom we have connected with since over the years was a pleasure.
I made it to meeting on Sunday morning with plenty of time and sat by the spring for a few minutes. I burst into tears and realized the ache i was carrying for my mother. I shared that during our time for concerns. Home to pick up Christine and Carrie, then to my parents. My sister has claimed a dog-shaped hole in her heart: she and her kids were delighted to see Carrie. Apparently Mom was struggling a little with getting the meal ready, so L pitched in. Christine had some tension with my mother over how my mother took charge of the cake. Their dynamic may never heal: certainly my mother has passed the place where she can meet half way in resolving the past.
I guess it's clear the second half of my long weekend was bitter-sweet.
After remarkably warm days in late February, the nights are now in the upper 20s. Today i notice the browning of some of the saucer magnolia leaves (aka tulip magnolia) from the freeze. The daffs are doing well; the sprouting peonies i cover each night.