KUMA, MY FAV

 

          It’s so easy to look back and find lots of favorite things in my memories. It might be more difficult to find favorite things in the present, but for every “favorite” that’s attributed to the past, there has to be one that is in the now.

          It goes without saying/writing that Kuma is definitely my favorite puppy. He brings so much joy to my life I cannot imagine it without him. Kuma is loving, stubborn, learns easily and is so smart it’s scary some times. Not only that, but Kuma has a schedule, and damn it, I’d best adhere to that schedule. I believe I’ve blogged about this before.

          On and off the bed beginning at 6:00 am that continues until I’m sitting on the side of the bed. Kuma straddles my legs, takes my hand in his mouth and expects me to give him lovie loves before I stand up. Most mornings, unless it’s pouring and sometimes even then, Kuma goes out to do his business, eat some grass, and poke around the yard catching up on the smells the night visitors left. I, his servant, make myself a latte and refresh his water and food bowls.

          On the couch, Kuma demands and gets more lovie loves, brings me either his chicky-ball or his beefy ball. It’s time for me to throw it down the hallway so he can dash off and bring it back. He doesn’t always give it up right away and enjoys playing keep-away. This stops when I say, “Mommy has her coffee.” All it took was one spill ages ago for him to learn this means we’re done playing for the moment.

          There are days when I swear Kuma can read my mind, that or habits inform his response to me. He some how always seems to know the times he has to stay home rather than accompany me. He stands in the hallway looking forlorn. The times he gets to go, he’s already at the door. And, if we’re going out to play bally-ball in the street, he’s always waiting at the front door with expectation exhibited by perked ears and dancing feet.

          The end of the day Kuma exhibits his herding ability to the max. By 7:30 pm, if I’m not up and moving, he comes to me with a reproachful look, as if to say, “C’mon, don’t you know what time it is.” If I don’t’ respond right away, he continues to come and go with “that look” until I get up and say, “Bedtime peepee.” If it takes a lot longer to respond, he goes down the hall and comes back, sits in the hallway and stares at me. I swear I can hear him thinking, “How stupid is she. What else can I do to make her understand it’s bedtime?”

          The bedtime peepee is followed by my spraying him with a daily brushing aid, giving him spray cheese on a mat so he’ll allow me to give him a good brushing. Then, he waits in the hall while I perform my nighttime ablutions. Finally, on the bed, Kuma supervises my nightly routine until I turn on the TV and turn out the light. Then, he assumes his position on my right where he remains until I snuggle down for the night. At that point, he gets up, turns around a couple of times and fits his body against my tummy or my back. It feels very good to have him there.

          Can you understand why Kuma is one of my favorites and why I’m so grateful for him.

HUGS

 

   

       It’s funny how I went through life not really understanding or seriously appreciating my husband’s hugs. Now, with only the memory of them, they’ve become one of my favorite things.

          John was a big guy and I always felt small next to him. When he hugged me, he surrounded me. My head nestled beneath his chin, his arms encircled all of me, his body matched the entire length of mine. This was a standing hug.

          The bed hugs were quite possibly the best. My favorite was his body behind mine with his arm around me, hand cupping my boob, his genitals against my bottom, bent knees against bent knees. Just as satisfactory was my front against his back, my hand holding his penis, his hand against my butt cheek.

          There were other hugs quickly given and received, hugs that were more just holding one another as we watched television or talked, hugs that encompassed our boys when they were small, the final hug I gave him in farewell.

          Hugs, or the memory of them, are one of my favorite things and I'm so grateful for all those hug memories.

A NEW BEGINNING...MY FAVORITE THINGS

         

It’s been a difficult winter, the week in Costa Rica notwithstanding. I injured my back last fall and it’s only gotten worse as the months passed. After an x-ray which showed arthritis, multiple doctor appointments, medications and massages, I finally have an MRI scheduled for May. I am hoping the MRI shows something that can be fixed. If not, I’m don’t know what I’ll do.

Amazingly, on my return from Costa Rica, my back felt the best it has since last summer. A friend and my doctor both postulated the heat and humidity might have had something to do with it. I’m also wondering if it’s my bed or the fact we averaged seven thousand steps a day while there. I do know, back pain or no back pain, I won’t be leaving this area.

          I don’t know about you, but I never seriously contemplated what would happen if (when) I become less independent. As a result of this back problem and the resulting pain, I have to sit down to put on my panties, socks and shoes. Picking up Kuma’s bowls and replacing them full of food and water hurts. So many things I took for granted I now have to think about and try to adjust how I get it done. It’s scary to think my future activities could be permanently limited and require outside assistance…or a move to someplace which provides that assistance.

          This has also led me to be depressed, frustrated and angry. Seriously, when I do at least thirty minutes of exercise and physical therapy at home almost every day and attend fitness classes three times a week, how could this happen to me? But it has and just this past Monday morning while having a personal pity party, a few lines from that old song, My Favorite Things, sung by Julie Andrews popped into my head:

“When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad.”

          I had gone back to bed when this happened…why not since I can’t do much else…and it served as a wake-up call. As most of my friends know, I am a big proponent of the “YOU CHOOSE” method of how my day is going to be. Lately, I’ve been making a negative choice as opposed to a positive one. As a result of that old song, I’ve decided to choose a favorite thing to think about and be grateful for each day to help me feel good.

          That idea made me think of where I was right then…snuggled down in one of my favorite places, my bed. I love having the ability to drink my first latte and then go back to bed. I love how the back pain diminishes. I love the feel of the sheets and downy comforter over my body, the silky pillow under my head. I love having Kuma nestle adjacent or against me. I love the way my mind drifts from one topic to another as I drift toward sleep.

          This is the first of “my favorite things,” to hopefully be followed by others I choose so, “I don’t feel so bad.”

A PRIVILEGE AND A PLEASURE

 

          Almost a year ago, one of my BFFs fell and ruptured a blood vessel in her spine. The result following surgery was paralysis from the waist down. This was, and is, a woman who has always exercised, attended hot yoga classes, and walked more in one day than I normally walked in a week.  Physically, this woman was very impressive, and I could not have, in my wildest imagination, ever conceived of her inability to use her legs.

Following surgery, the doctors told her it could take up to eighteen months for her to regain the use of her lower body. She spent three weeks in the hospital and a month in rehab learning how to live in a totally different manner than what she had been accustomed to. During that period of time, she was fairly upbeat and positive about what her future held.

          Once home, my friend took the time to grieve, as any one of us would have done. I remain impressed her grieving lasted such a short time before she made the life-affirming decision to begin physical therapy, perform exercises given to her on a daily basis, and begin going to the Lynnwood pool for workouts in the water.

          My friend’s husband and son rallied around which was no surprise. They supported her, and still do, however possible. And, her friends of which I’m one, they all turned to as well. There were many different roles available to those of us who wanted to assist in some way. Some stayed in touch, providing mental affirmations, others assist in the pool, and still others (like me) go to her home and help her with the prescribed exercises.

          I cannot begin to tell you, or anyone for that matter, how rewarding it is to see my friend’s progress over the months I’ve made the weekly visit. Unable to move her left leg at all, she’s now able to raise and lower it, performing some exercises without my assistance. Just yesterday, I held her left foot and calf while she did the kick-back. I held, but did not move. My friend moved it on her own. My heart sings each time I see her progress to a new level.

          A goal was set, I don’t remember just when, that come May 2024, we would dance. We’re now just a month and a half from that goal, but I know without a single doubt that it will be achieved. True, we may not jump around like crazy women, but standing together and shaking our booties will suffice.

          That achieved goal will be followed by a new one. I don’t yet know what it will be because my friend and I will have to discuss. It may be as simple as her walking slowly up and down her stairs and the elimination of the chair lift. Or, it may be a more difficult one that requires us to walk along Edmonds waterfront in the sunshine. Or, it could be this BFF joining me and a mutual BFF on a trek to some place sunny and warm in 2025.

          Regardless of whatever goals we do set, I feel privileged and blessed to have stood by my BFF during her difficult time. It has also been a huge pleasure to see her work hard and improve during these months. With a smile on her face and determination in every movement, she’s done, and is, doing it. My admiration for this BFF is immeasurable.

I also know, without a single doubt, that eventually, this BFF will pull into my driveway behind the wheel of her own car, climb out, walk up and envelope me in one of her enthusiastic hugs. This would be the very best achieved goal of all, one I know is within my BFF’s power to realize.

DUNE

           Late yesterday afternoon, I went to see the movie Dune, Part 2. I had just completed watching Dune, Part 1 on my television. Once again, I was captivated and astounded at Frank Herbert’s vision of worlds and people far different from Earth and its inhabitants. I first read DUNE and Herbert’s subsequent DUNE books decades ago when they were initially published. I believe it was the time I devoured science fiction works by authors like Herbert, Assimov, Bradbury, Heinlein and others. Each author amazed me with his interpretation of another or future world.

          The movie also left me wondering how the individuals responsible for bringing Herbert’s visions to the screen could adapt the book in such a profound way. It was as if they had access to what I had created in my own head from Herbert’s written work. It has been rare for me to see a movie after reading the book and feel as though I’d had a conversation about it with those responsible for the movie’s creation. The only other movies where this happened were those based on Tolkien’s works. And, you’ve no idea how hesitant I was to see those movies when the books lived so vibrantly in my mind.

          After I saw the movie Dune, Part 1 when it was released, I went back and requested the book DUNE from the library. It was just as fascinating and involving that time as it had been the first. I continued to read the books that followed. Now, I’ve seen Dune, Part 2 and seriously hope there will be Dune, Parts 3, 4, 5 or however many movies it will take to complete the DUNE arc of books.    

I’ve always wanted to be a writer and have produced a wide variety of efforts, most of which I’ve deleted and/or shredded. Reading books produced by authors like Herbert can be and is very intimidating. How do these individuals come up with such a wide variety of ideas and then write about them in a way that left me feeling as though I’d actually visited, and lived for a time, in those worlds? How do they invent characters who live and breathe with such vividness? How do they create places where and people with whom I’d absolutely love to spend my life?

There are no answers, at least for me, to these questions. I know without doubt that were I to actually become a published author, I’d remain in absolute awe of authors like Herbert. This man, this author, allowed me to spend hours visiting and inhabiting a place called Dune. His books and the movies produced as a result enriched my life and leave me with a feeling of astonishment and reverence. I seriously envy published authors like Frank Herbert but am also extremely thankful for them. They’ve given me hours, nay a lifetime, of enjoyment with the ability to use my imagination to visit other places, become other people and spend many pleasurable hours doing so. Yesterday afternoon was just another instance of such entertainment for which I’m seriously appreciative.

MY (YOUR) BODY IS A MIRACLE

 

          What do you think when you reflect on how your body has withstood the ravages of time? I thought, and still think, that I am in great shape. I walk upright, stride along without shuffling, am able to complete almost any endeavor I want to take on, and feel pretty good most of the time. When I have to fill out one of those questionnaires, I always check the second box for “Very Good,” rather than the first box for “Excellent.” Beyond that, I never gave a lot of thought to my body and how it’s changed over the years.

My viewpoint altered just recently when I resorted to massage to see if that would help alleviate the back pain I’ve suffered since last fall. I was surprised by the information I gave to the masseuse and it was just the high points of my medical history. It had been a very long time since I’d looked back because I’ve been with my health care organization for more than fifty years and my medical history is all on file.

          This reiteration to the masseuse didn’t cover my entire medical history, but it made me think about everything my body has undergone since birth. I was amazed when I spent a bit of time thinking about how my body has changed due to a variety of experiences during my seventy-eight years. When I finished inputting information into my “Medical History” document over the course of more than a week, it was four pages long. I was astounded.

I included every experience that in some way changed my body whether it was a hip surgery, tooth extraction, giving birth, or cancer treatment. Now that I’ve completed that history (or at least I think it’s complete) I found myself astonished at how this poor old body has managed to regenerate and/or accommodate so many alterations over time. I feel like my body is truly a miracle, one which I hope will continue to serve me well in my coming years.

Originally, I planned to post this history on my blog, but decided it was too long and maybe too personal. I decided instead to share only the information in this blog with the idea it might encourage you, dear reader, to look back and become amazed at how your own body has withstood the ravages of time. Depending on your own genetic inheritance and medical history, you just might end up reflecting on the miracle that is your own body.

MY PREVIOUS BANK WILL REMAIN MY PREVIOUS BANK

 

          Banks or at least the bank I used to use are very annoying. I belong to a credit union which doesn’t have actual walk-in locations in very many places. Lots of ATMs, but not places where I could give them money and ask for lower denominations in return.

          This morning I went to my credit union’s ATM and withdrew cash. I stopped at the bank I used to use (Another whole story about how that bank screwed up my accounts and had charges on my card for things on the other side of the country; and not just once but multiple times.) and went inside. I handed over two $20 bills and asked if I could have twenty relatively new $1 bills.

          “Do you have an account with us?”

          “No, I don’t.”

          “Well, I cannot help you.”

          “You can’t even give me change for these?”

          “No, policy. You have to have an account.”

          Seriously, I was stunned and really pissed off about this. I’m handing over United States currency, not Euros or some other form of cash and that bank cannot even make change for me? Another good reason for never ever resuming any sort of banking with this particular bank.

          Fortunately, I have a card for another bank and there’s one located right in my neighborhood. I’ll just go there and get my $20 bills converted into lessor amounts of US cash. Looks like more and more organizations who used to provide “service” to any and all are not doing so any longer. Ah well.