I Wish You . . . Enough

My eyes are dimming, blurring. Fog is setting in. I can no longer read comfortably, without increasing the size of the text on my screen. Even so, I fear visiting the eye doctor. Will he saddle me with bifocals again, only to have my vision change so rapidly that those bifocals are obsolete before I even receive them? That’s what happened the last time I saw the eye doc, before I knew I had Lyme disease. But is it the toxins building up in my system again? Or could it be a side effect of one of my medications? Or just plain old, old age creeping up on me? I do not know. I fear the worst, but I pray for the best.

My vision makes me not enjoy my photography so much anymore. What would happen if I could no longer see, at all? How much of my creativity could I retain without my sight? I cannot answer those questions, not unless or until I am truly faced with this issue. Still, I wonder. Would I be able to find enough joy in life with yet another limitation?

I must believe.

Vision is but one of our senses. There are five others we often take for granted. There is so much more to life than just what flashes across the television screen, or the computer screen for that matter. There is so much more than the canned sounds coming from your iPod, or if you are old-style like me, your Walkman. Life is more than what mass media tells us it is. In our running blindly around, trapped in our own busy little worlds, we miss so much.

If you were to close your eyes right now, what would be the first sensation you notice? Mine is the sound of the fan behind me. But what more could I notice about the fan? I feel an occasional, soft breeze across my right shoulder. If I listen close enough, I can hear the gentle tinkling of the shell wind chime hanging in the window. Then I hear my Tinker Belle snoring beside me in the chair. Her fur is soft and welcoming, though the added warmth of her being right next to me is a bit much on this hot day. Now I hear the door closing in the kitchen, a familiar shuffle of feet across the tile floor. I know it is my husband even before he says anything to me. I would know it was him even if he made no sounds, even without the faint muskiness of his aftershave. I would know it was him using my sixth sense. I feel it is him, feel his presence; the way you just know someone is staring at you, only in a more pleasant sense.

Now all three dogs start barking at a voice outside the window. There must be a yard sale customer, asking Ken a question. My mind drifts to what they might be interested in today. You can never tell. Some days, odd things sell well; other days, they bomb. The dogs are settling down now. Tink has left the arm of the chair. I hear her distinctive clickety click across the hardwood floors as she chooses a cooler place to nap. If I listen close enough, I can pick out each dog’s unique rhythm as they walk.

Max, our eldest Pug who is almost totally blind, brushes up against my legs. He sits for a spell below my computer tray, resting in the comfort of knowing I am there as he leans on my feet. His blindness causes him anxiety, but with encouragement, he manages just fine, and he still plays with the others. He no longer chases airplanes across the yard like he used to, preferring now just to bark at them as they fly overhead. He is limited some by his lack of sight, and he is old and rather crotchety at times, but he still finds enough joy in his life to wag and howl and dance around happily every day.

That is what I wish, not only for myself but for all of you. Find enough joy, enough pleasure in every day that you might wag and howl and dance—or in human terms, greet everyone you meet with a generous hello, enjoy a good belly laugh often, and dance like every song is your favorite.

I wish you . . . enough.

Beep Beep, Blasted Jeep

Wasn’t I just saying that we shouldn’t make plans, because God can easily trump those silly human plans?

I am beginning to wonder if I am ever meant to leave the bounds of this country, let alone the confines of my four stark white, barren walls. I have never been to Canada. I have never been to Mexico. Heck, I have barely even left the western United States. Arizona is as far east as I have ventured, and that was on a bus tour to see the Grand Canyon. We were staying in Las Vegas and ended up leaving the Grand Canyon early because a snow storm was on the way. It was November, after all. Our bus driver did not want to be stuck crossing the Grand Coulee Dam because of snow or panicked drivers, scared of a few flakes. Okay, maybe it was a big storm. Who knows? We didn’t stick around to see, and we didn’t check out the news when we got back to our hotel, either.

For three years, I even lived a stone’s throw, well a measly ferry ride, from Vancouver, BC, and I never made it across our northern border. My kids have been to Canada, without me, of course. My grandmother, from whom I get my wanderlust, flew cross country—and out of the country—several times a year with her sister, gallivanting all over, that is, until Grandpa put a stop to it. He was rather a homebody. My grandmother had such an adventuresome spirit that, after her first child passed away (premature birth complications) and when her first marriage was failing, she told that first husband that she was moving out west, with or without him. So, on her own, with divorce decree in hand, she moved from chilly North Dakota to God’s Country (aka Washington State). I have long envied her daring and self-assured nature. I have a long list of excuses as to why I have not traveled much up to this point in my life, from finances, to health issues, to trying to raise two kids alone, to anxiety and fear overtaking my life for a time. Sometimes I ask myself, would Grandma have let those things stand in her way? Probably not.

In my last entry, you may recall that I was all excited about taking the Raven on her maiden voyage. Well, those plans are in the circular file once again. The Jeep, our TOAD (towed vehicle, in RV lingo), has broken down. I had hoped that last year, after we sunk nearly $3000 into it, that it might actually be in tip-top shape, aside from needing a new top. It’s a ’92 Wrangler with a pitiful soft top right now. We have been in the market for a hard top, but have not as yet found one. As happens with older vehicles, the clutch went out, as well as another major issue I cannot remember right now. So, our little red darling is once again sucking up all our savings. It’s not enough that my medical issues have repeatedly drained our slush fund, now the Jeep has to take its share? Not fair.

We have been diligently selling off all our treasures, squirreling away all our nickels, dimes, and dollars. We didn’t have much saved up, but it was enough that I felt secure enough to travel, with sufficient funds should an emergency arise.

Bleepedy, bleep. That blasted Jeep. It isn’t a cheap fix. And so, there goes all our squirreled away nuts. Maybe I’m nuts for wanting this life. Or maybe God is just telling us we would be better off with our first trip closer to home. . .

Downsizing Dilemmas: To Keep or Not To Keep

How many serving spoons do we really need? Do I really need to keep these extra platters? What about this extra set of towels that I hate? Who needs more than two vases—a bud vase and a bouquet? Well, those really aren’t the most difficult questions of downsizing. The most difficult have to do with my hobbies. I didn’t even have that much trouble getting rid of half of my clothes.

I have a lot of hobbies. Photography. Card making. Scrapbooking. Drawing. Painting. Knitting and crochet. Wire and recycled art. Writing. Sewing and quilting. I have to take a breath now, but I am sure there are things I am forgetting.

A few months ago, I downsized my office type supplies into one of those three-drawer plastic towers and my art supplies into a medium-sized bin (other than yarn, drawing, and scrapbooking). This past week I decided they needed further cuts, and it is now all in the plastic tower, with the same exceptions, of course. The scrapbooking stuff I trimmed by 50%, and it now fits in a nice, neat case, which could easily be an airline carryon, if I ever needed to take it on a plane, anyway. Other than my portable easel, again smaller than a carryon, my drawing supplies fit in a small shoulder sling bag and a large flat portfolio. Can’t seem to downsize that, as I do have some rather large original drawings in it still. I am having trouble with the yarn. It is all so pretty. I went through it about a month ago, determined to reduce it by half, but in the end, I had only set aside a few skeins to donate to charity. Feeling guilty, I put three pairs of knitting needles, which I hate anyway, in the sale. But that really isn’t penance for keeping three large bins of yarn, is it? My achy wrists and tingly, painful hands won’t let me knit or crochet much right now, either, so there is no hope of my going through it all by May.

What to do? What to do?

I know!

“If at first we don’t succeed, try, try again.”

We are having a huge yard sale this weekend, and today it went quite well. I would, however, like to see all of the little stuff go: kitchen wares, Creative Memories scrapbooking stuff, linens. I really don’t care about the toys and games, kid’s clothes, and old style phones. Who uses house phones any more, anyway?

I just want to get rid of the stuff and get on the road. I am promised that after this sale, we will be packing everything up and putting some away for a future sale and the rest will go for donation. After all, Salvation Army is practically right across the street from us. I am also promised that we will take the Raven on her maiden voyage, but I am not sure which direction we will be going. Beach or mountains? Beach or mountains? They are both so tempting. Then again, so is Canada. I am promised that we will be gone for two whole weeks. Oh, the glory of it all. I am so looking forward to leaving again.

What are you looking forward to?

How many red purses does one woman need?

"Mommmm, Daddy said we are gonna go bye bye."

"I give up."