Since last year’s unfortunate demise of my digital art display, which was no longer supported after the manufacturer went out of business, I sometimes feel as if part of my creative energy went with it. In particular, I haven’t felt motivated to blog about my assortment of future selves and younger selves, who made a lively menagerie in previous years. Back when I changed the picture on the art display every morning, its imaginary “window” gave me inspiration by showing a fresh view of the world.

Getting my real windows replaced last month made my house brighter and more cheerful, but unfortunately there’s not much to see in my backyard at present. Climate change has mostly killed the willow hedge along the back property line. In the spring, I’m going to have a landscaping company remove what’s left of it and plant a long strip of native wildflowers, including milkweed to support the monarch butterfly migration. I’m also visualizing some taller shrubs in the corner that faces my home office window, with a path leading into them. Although the path would go nowhere, the neighbors have tall and healthy trees behind that area, and I want to create an impression that I could step outside and go for a walk in the woods.

Browsing through images of butterfly gardens online, I saw a photo of a natural prairie area on the grounds of an elementary school. It wouldn’t have been suitable for a suburban backyard, but it gave me pleasant memories of long rambles through flowering meadows as a child.

Photo of wildflowers in a butterfly garden.

(Creative Commons image via flickr)

The piano music from the “Peanuts” television cartoons floated into the scene in my thoughts. I didn’t see Snoopy dancing, but a glance to my left revealed Lucy’s psychiatric help booth on a sidewalk next to the children’s butterfly garden. “The Doctor Is In,” the sign proclaimed, with the usual price of five cents. Charlie Brown wasn’t the patient this time, however. Inside the booth, my 76-year-old future self Kass, who had arranged her hair to look like Lucy, was cheerfully waving me over.

Apropos of the setting, I could only mutter “Good grief!” as I stepped onto the imaginary sidewalk.

Kass opened her hands wide and smiled up at me from the wooden crate she sat on. “Well, you were saying that you had lost motivation to write about your future selves, and I thought you might appreciate a little help with that problem.”

Another crate, longer and narrower, had been set up on the sidewalk to serve as the patient’s couch. A large black ant was making its way slowly across one of the slats on top.

I looked up at Kass again. “Okay, I guess I did say something like that. I wouldn’t have thought of it as asking for psychiatric help, though. I just want to replace the art display so I can feel more creative.”

“You didn’t have the art display until 2015,” Kass pointed out, “and you didn’t travel as much in real life before then, either. Still, you wrote plenty of stories and blog posts. Now you’re older and can afford to travel and see more of the country, but you’re feeling low on creativity despite visiting new places, and you wonder why. Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”

Brushing off the ant, I arranged myself on the narrow crate, using a denim jacket for a pillow. The clouds above the butterfly garden formed a vaguely castle-like shape.

“I kind of know why. The past few years have been emotionally draining, with so much weird stuff going on—the pandemic, and all the craziness going on in politics and the world. My workout plan is much more demanding than any exercise I ever did before, and although it has made me healthier, it often leaves me feeling tired. And then, of course, there’s everything that has been lost—from simple things like the art display and the willow hedge, to pleasantly cool summer evenings that don’t often happen anymore, to people in my life who have grown old and died.”

“In other words,” Kass summed up, resting her chin in her hand like Lucy trying to look serious, “good grief!”

The castle in the sky began to crumble, its ramparts falling away as one gray cloud drifted to the east.

“Well, yeah. Something like that.”

“Or, maybe, not-so-good grief,” Kass suggested. “You have to give yourself time and space for grief, you know. That is why people all over the world have rituals. Anything can help; it doesn’t have to be a fancy ceremony. You could, for instance, go into the backyard and say a few words of gratitude as a memorial service for the willows on the day before the landscapers come to replace them. If you did more to acknowledge your feelings of loss, you might not feel as overwhelmed. That, my dear, is my professional advice. Five cents, please.”

I visualized a dusty old buffalo nickel from the metal coin drawer in my mom’s antique slot machine. Sitting up, I gave it to Kass.

“That might actually make some sense, I have to admit. Thanks for your help, Doctor Kass.”

“My pleasure.”

I had another blog entry written out by hand on a notepad, which I meant to post a few days ago, but this has been a disruption-filled week, and I never did get around to typing and posting it. First, the old printer in the home office went bad. My husband ordered another one right away, but then he noticed that the router, which also was “long in tooth,” was having some issues too, and he replaced it.

Of course, that meant all kinds of things needed to have settings updated, and he has been working to get it all properly configured. I am glad he has the expertise to take care of our computers and devices, but this week I’ve had to remind myself not to worry about the small things. This too shall pass…

Word-art that says, "Worry gives small things a big shadow."

Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to encourage self-nurturing and to “give the planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.”

The change of seasons in late September often feels too sudden to me. Even though the hot days still feel like summer, it gets dark so much earlier that I find myself wondering where the daylight went.

The moon is bright and full this evening, though. I heard an owl hooting when I was outside earlier, and I’ll take it as a timely reminder that there is always something to appreciate in the longer nights.

Word-art that says, "Advice from an owl: Stay focused. Be 'Whoo' you are. Trust in a wise friend. Live off the land. Glide through the dark times. Be observant. Life's a hoot!"

Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to encourage self-nurturing and to “give the planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.”

I felt pretty good after Sunday’s marathon row. There were no blisters on my hands, I didn’t have to crawl out of the boat, and I had no aches or pains sitting in the car during the trip home. Although my hips felt a bit stiff the next morning when I bent down to unload the dishwasher, that went away after I’d been walking around for a little while. Overall, it was much better than I had expected.

So, when my husband mentioned that it was about time to get our flu and Covid vaccines, I thought it would be just fine taking a midday break from work and going to the pharmacy on Wednesday. That turned out to be overly optimistic. Fatigue hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks by the end of the workday. I felt way more exhausted than when I’d gotten vaccines in the past. Although I went to bed at a reasonable hour, my Garmin tracker informed me that my sleep was very poor and not restorative.

I’m feeling better now, getting ready to go to bed, and reminding myself that everything changes all the time and there’s no reason to worry about it.

Word-art that says, "I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then."

Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to encourage self-nurturing and to “give the planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.”

I’ll be rowing a full marathon on Sunday in the double with my husband, on the Chicago River. We have rowed the half-marathon there before, but this will be our first time doing the full course. The thought of it doesn’t seem as daunting as it would have a few years ago. I’ve found that as we do more, we quietly adjust our expectations to match.

Word-art that says, "She quietly expected great things to happen to her, and no doubt that's one of the reasons why they did." -Zelda Fitzgerald

Nurturing Thursday was started by Becca Givens and seeks to encourage self-nurturing and to “give the planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy.”

My living room has been much improved this week with a new couch. I had been wanting to replace the old one for many years, as I mentioned in this 2016 post, but I never could get my husband interested in going to a furniture store to look at potential replacements. When our daughter put a pretty green armchair in a corner of our family room earlier this year, after she moved and couldn’t find space for the chair, it got me thinking about other possibilities.

Photo of chair with end table.

The idea that I couldn’t get a new couch without first dragging my husband to a store was long since out of date, I realized, in this age of online shopping. So, I visited the website where our daughter had bought the chair, picked out a couch that was available in the same color, asked my husband what he thought, and he was fine with ordering it. Easy peasy!

Photo of the new couch under my living room windows.

The old couch wasn’t in good enough condition to donate to a thrift store because of a broken spring, so it had to go to the county dump, alas. To give it a suitable farewell on this blog, with gratitude for its many years of faithful service, I took a photo of it among some rubble, awaiting its final resting place in the landfill.

Photo of my old couch at the dump.

My husband’s boat trailer got some use as a utility trailer to transport it. Kind of sad, as with letting anything go that has been around for many years; but we’ll definitely enjoy the new and improved living room.