Between Reflection and Resolution

I love prime numbers because they are divisible only by 1 and themselves. They are the mathematical equivalent of what I’d like to be: one with myself while living within a diverse and sometimes complicated family, circle of friends, city and world.

I’ve been absent from the blogging world for six weeks, partly because of the demands of school, the holidays and family, and partly because every time I sit down to write, it’s like trying to clear an ice jam with a canoe. Sometimes I have so much to say, but I don’t have the words. Rather than stress, however, I keep in mind this Buddhist saying: “Between the stimulus and our response is the space in which lies our power and freedom.”

I just happen to be living within that space between Christmas and New Year’s, which is, as it is for so many, a week of reflection and resolution. Resolution as in I don’t commit myself to anything profound or unattainable. The only exception was the resolution I made the last week in 2004 to lose weight for the last time. Profound, yes, but it was attainable. Usually I resolve to tweak certain strengths or reach a little beyond my comfort zone. I don’t plan specifics, but I stay mindful to the opportunities to do either or both when they present themselves.

As this prime number year of 2011 comes to a close, I am thinking about the more than a few things that tweaked my strengths and challenged my comfort zone these past 12 months. Here, in my little canoe chipping away at an ice jam, are a few of the biggies:

1.     The aftermath of my brother’s seizure in June. Stepping into someone’s life and making medical, financial and other personal decisions for them because they trust you to do the right thing is daunting, to say the least. Marty is doing better, but his short-term memory is still only about 10 percent. We’ll see what 2012 holds for his recovery, but in the meantime, he’s in good spirits, is independent for the most part, and has never lost his positive outlook. Like he told me, “I can either complain and be angry and make everyone around me miserable, or I can say, ‘This is the way things are right now. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not enamored with my situation. I don’t wake up and say, ‘Yahoo!’, but I am thankful for the fact that things aren’t worse.”

One of the side lessons I learned in all this is the importance of a medical directive and appointing a power of attorney to handle your personal matters just in case. Without that piece of paper naming my other brother and I POA, I shudder to think who would have been “named” to represent Marty’s best interests. I resolve in 2012 to get my paperwork in order. 

 2. The ways I’m learning to MacGyver my way around arthritis. Like John Lennon said, just because you can’t do something the way you’ve always done it doesn’t mean it still can’t be done. Or something like that.

3. Grandbaby Maelie Julianne, born in February. 

 4. Going back to college for a second degree, only this time I have to think with my left brain. This was one of those dreams that found me, but because it tapped into several of my fears (science, math, rejection, heights…campus is on a hill), I didn’t pursue it very hard. But it refused to go away and things fell into place without much help from me, so I figured it was the universe saying, “You asked the question and I’m just giving you the right answer. It might not be what you wanted, Ms. Scardy Cat, and you can live with it or not. It’s your choice.”

5 . The Butler-Freeport trail. You can learn a lot about yourself pedaling your bike alone. 

6. East End Community Ministries and my volunteer work in its food pantry, the soup kitchen and Meals on Wheels. Best. Job. Ever. 

7. Starting down the path of the M word (*eyeroll*). Oh estrogen, how I miss thee! 

 8. Stopping a gain and maintaining between 140-145 pounds. 

9. Accepting my weight.

10. Accepting my weight.

11. Accepting my weight. OK, so that’s on my list of resolutions for 2012.

My little canoe of words will be here in January, chipping away at the ice. I’ve missed you all and our interaction here. I’m glad we chat on Facebook, though. Join us, if you haven’t already.

I’m excited about 2012, and my hope is that it holds promise and hope for you, too. Be a prime number. Take care of yourself. Eat smart, move often and make sure someone has your back if you should fall ill. Or as Garrison Keillor says, “Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.”

Happy new year!

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3.8 and 5.1 and Everywhere In Between

Meet my new biking partner:
After impressing her with my bike rack/bike tying skills (“Oooohhh, Grammy! My bike is so safe! It won’t fall off!”), I buckled her in her car seat and we were off to the bike trail. (Part of our conversation along the way: “I love my baby sister. We get to keep her!” along with her asking and me answering at LEAST 30 times “Are we there yet?”)

From the moment Cassie threw her positive pregnancy test stick on my menu at Applebee’s, I dreamed of this day. Me – post-weight-loss and in love with biking – teaching my grandchild the joys of a trail.

Today’s ride was everything I’d dreamed and more.

Claire – 3½ years old and 3½ feet tall – has taught me more than any human ever has. As we rode today, with me riding alongside her and protecting her from the edge (“You’re high up there, Grammy! You have a big bike.”), I felt not only the responsibility of being a grandparent, but an even greater love for her than I can possibly explain.

Claire named her bike Fast Star. As she peddled along the path right around 3.8 mph (which is a heckuva lot harder for me on a “big bike” to maintain than peddling 10 or 12 mph because of the balance factor), once in awhile she’d yell, “Go Fast Star! Go fast!” and get her speed up to 5.1. Talk about keeping me on my peddling toes.

“Don’t run over the worms, Grammy!”

“There’s a cardinal!”

“What’s that butterfly, Grammy?”

“A swallowtail,” I said.

“A shwallatale.”

“Yup.”

As we made our way to one mile and back again (“Where’s the parking lot, Grammy? My legs are getting tired.”), we took a break and I thought about when I first learned she existed. Thought I’d share what I wrote back in 2007

Welcome to Life, My Little Grandbaby!

You’re no bigger than a walnut, with webbed stubs and budding eyes, but you’re my favorite kid on the planet.

I love you because you are alive, multiplying cells, developing hands and feet and ears and kidneys and a liver and a brain. Somewhere along the way I hope you develop a good sense of humor, too. You’ll need it in this family.

I learned of your existence in a way only your momma would do. Grandpa Larry and I met her at Applebee’s for lunch three weeks ago and she threw her home pregnancy test on my menu, having secretly taken it a few minutes earlier in the restaurant bathroom because she suspected you were inside her, lurking. Yet even after we saw the faint blue plus sign, we read the instructions over and over again, making sure we were seeing it right. News of your life took a little while to sink in.

But exist you do, growing and turning into the little person I’ll teach to make lefse and bird seed cakes. You’re the little person I’m going to read all my favorite children’s books to and let stay up past your bedtime because we’ve made a tent in the living room. We’ll eat s’mores by flashlight and listening to Raffi and sing “Baby Beluga,” just like I did with your momma and Aunt Carlene.

You will be adored by many, but I, of course, will adore you above all others because I am your Granny Lynn. Your mom and dad will think you’re groovy, too, but I promise to love you like no other. We’re going to have a good time as you grow up, my little grandbaby. You are my future, my anticipation, my happiness, and delight. You’re showing me a new kind of love. My mother and my neighbor Martha told me I wouldn’t understand the whole grandmother thing until I experienced it, and they were right. I love your momma and your aunt and your uncles Kevin and Andy more than I can explain, but you are different. I love you in a way that is wild. We will talk together, laugh together, work together. Discipline will be negotiable between us.

You’re causing your momma to break out like she was 13. Good for you. Just try not to beat her up too much, ok? Be safe in there.

I don’t care if you get your dad’s bad sinuses or your mom’s bad hips, my lack of coordination or your grandpa’s taste in music. We’ll work through it. Just come out screaming and everything will be fine.

I’ll see you in October, little one, and not a moment sooner. Stay inside until every last cell you need is in place. I’ll be there, waiting to welcome you to the other side.

View the original article here

3.8 and 5.1 and Everywhere In Between

Meet my new biking partner:
After impressing her with my bike rack/bike tying skills (“Oooohhh, Grammy! My bike is so safe! It won’t fall off!”), I buckled her in her car seat and we were off to the bike trail. (Part of our conversation along the way: “I love my baby sister. We get to keep her!” along with her asking and me answering at LEAST 30 times “Are we there yet?”)

From the moment Cassie threw her positive pregnancy test stick on my menu at Applebee’s, I dreamed of this day. Me – post-weight-loss and in love with biking – teaching my grandchild the joys of a trail.

Today’s ride was everything I’d dreamed and more.

Claire – 3½ years old and 3½ feet tall – has taught me more than any human ever has. As we rode today, with me riding alongside her and protecting her from the edge (“You’re high up there, Grammy! You have a big bike.”), I felt not only the responsibility of being a grandparent, but an even greater love for her than I can possibly explain.

Claire named her bike Fast Star. As she peddled along the path right around 3.8 mph (which is a heckuva lot harder for me on a “big bike” to maintain than peddling 10 or 12 mph because of the balance factor), once in awhile she’d yell, “Go Fast Star! Go fast!” and get her speed up to 5.1. Talk about keeping me on my peddling toes.

“Don’t run over the worms, Grammy!”

“There’s a cardinal!”

“What’s that butterfly, Grammy?”

“A swallowtail,” I said.

“A shwallatale.”

“Yup.”

As we made our way to one mile and back again (“Where’s the parking lot, Grammy? My legs are getting tired.”), we took a break and I thought about when I first learned she existed. Thought I’d share what I wrote back in 2007

Welcome to Life, My Little Grandbaby!

You’re no bigger than a walnut, with webbed stubs and budding eyes, but you’re my favorite kid on the planet.

I love you because you are alive, multiplying cells, developing hands and feet and ears and kidneys and a liver and a brain. Somewhere along the way I hope you develop a good sense of humor, too. You’ll need it in this family.

I learned of your existence in a way only your momma would do. Grandpa Larry and I met her at Applebee’s for lunch three weeks ago and she threw her home pregnancy test on my menu, having secretly taken it a few minutes earlier in the restaurant bathroom because she suspected you were inside her, lurking. Yet even after we saw the faint blue plus sign, we read the instructions over and over again, making sure we were seeing it right. News of your life took a little while to sink in.

But exist you do, growing and turning into the little person I’ll teach to make lefse and bird seed cakes. You’re the little person I’m going to read all my favorite children’s books to and let stay up past your bedtime because we’ve made a tent in the living room. We’ll eat s’mores by flashlight and listening to Raffi and sing “Baby Beluga,” just like I did with your momma and Aunt Carlene.

You will be adored by many, but I, of course, will adore you above all others because I am your Granny Lynn. Your mom and dad will think you’re groovy, too, but I promise to love you like no other. We’re going to have a good time as you grow up, my little grandbaby. You are my future, my anticipation, my happiness, and delight. You’re showing me a new kind of love. My mother and my neighbor Martha told me I wouldn’t understand the whole grandmother thing until I experienced it, and they were right. I love your momma and your aunt and your uncles Kevin and Andy more than I can explain, but you are different. I love you in a way that is wild. We will talk together, laugh together, work together. Discipline will be negotiable between us.

You’re causing your momma to break out like she was 13. Good for you. Just try not to beat her up too much, ok? Be safe in there.

I don’t care if you get your dad’s bad sinuses or your mom’s bad hips, my lack of coordination or your grandpa’s taste in music. We’ll work through it. Just come out screaming and everything will be fine.

I’ll see you in October, little one, and not a moment sooner. Stay inside until every last cell you need is in place. I’ll be there, waiting to welcome you to the other side.

View the original article here