August 11th, 2021 … Wednesday (Sunny and 79 degrees on this NW island)
Resilience … the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.
This word has been swirling around in this noggin of mine for a couple of weeks now. I have started this post half a dozen times – usually while out on my nightly walks – far from any computer or pen/paper and by the time I re-entered my front gate, the words were as gone as if the crows flying above me had carried them off into the sunset.
I sit here hoping that some nuance of what was in my head will emerge – but that’s not happening. Not yet, anyway. I have a quasi “day off” today … only one guest dog along with my own – not the herd that I’ve had lately. That means I have a little free time – maybe a Starbucks is in my future (a drive up island) and a walk on the beach. Sounds good to me. It’s been a summer of dogs and people. And it’s gone by too fast and I know in the blink of an eye it’ll be September, once again.
It’s been a summer of overlaps and visitors and at times – sorrow: my mom was here … my daughter for a week … my son for a day. I had out of town guests and booked 82 dog care visits in July alone. I drove 1800 miles in a week in the South, endured an historic heatwave in the NW, had two sets of renters in my basement suite, and lost a good friend. It’s been a busy summer!
My mom was here for a month. At 92 she came back with me to the NW from Denver for a “short visit”. Time flew and a month later I had her on a plane back home. I feel that heart tug … a need to be near her in these waning years. Mom has seen a lot in her 92 years … happiness and heartache, good health and ailments … in all forms. Resilience comes to mind.
On my way home from the airport that day, I learned that my dearest neighbor had passed away. I wasn’t ready for her to “go”. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t either. The week prior I walked down with the dog for a little evening visit. Jo had been an avid dreamer and she told me of a recurring dream she’d been having – one where she was going on a trip. She laughed and looked at me with her cherubic face and said, “I wonder where I’m going?” I guess we all now know. Sigh. A stroke hit her a few days later and a week later she passed. She was the epitome of resilience … in her 90 years she, too, had seen a lot. She lost two children and her adoring husband … fought cancer and illnesses numerous times … lost a home in a house fire … was disfigured after a car accident … a lousy first husband … but she bounced back with such joy and zest – every time. After the stroke, as before, I expected her (didn’t we all?) to bounce back. This time there was no bouncing. I am having difficulty with her passing. It’s a year, this week, since her husband passed. I miss them both so much. I’ve never been good with death. It’s just so damn final.
Tim’s 15th anniversary was last month. How can it be 15 years since we lost him? This date hit me harder than some in the past – I think because it meant that for nearly half of my daughter’s life – he has been absent. That broke my heart all over again. Those fifteen years went quickly … and I think my own mortality was wrapped up in my thoughts of how quickly the next 15 might go … I’ll be nearly 80 then. I want time to slow down. When it comes to all things Tim … resiliency is far from anything I can muster.
I think of my kids … living their lives without their Dad … for so many years now. They are both so strong and so grounded and good. He’d have been so tickled to see how they morphed into adults. Ted’s position and wanderlust have taken him to far off places – and due to the pandemic – to the confines of his tiny apartment. The “kid” is like Tigger – he bounces back with everything he’s got. He turned all last year’s restrictions into opportunities. Daughter, Sam, has a wedding floral biz … who got married last year? NO ONE! Everything canceled due to the pandemic … and what did she do? She forged ahead developing online classes and kits for her biz … and rescheduled those cancellations so that this year she’s booked and making everyone’s floral dreams come true. Both of them are amazingly resilient (and wonderful and creative).
It’s a beautiful day here … sunny, a slight breeze, 79 degrees at 1:30 pm … it’ll probably get a bit warmer – which is unusual for us. This has been a WARM/hot summer for us … and I am loving it. I’ll take anything warmer than 68 degrees – otherwise, it’s just not summer!
I’m off to take the dog (Annie – my new, old lady lab rescue) to the beach so she can go swim. I look at her … all gentle/sweetness … and smile. I acquired her after a gentleman was required to surrender her due to his increasing dementia and inability to care for her. I am so grateful to his caretakers that they found me to be her late-in-life forever home. She has adapted so well to this new environment … to all my guest dogs … to her old dog little sister. Talk about resilience! She is joyful and loving and ever bouncing!
I don’t know why this word has been in my head for a while … it came from somewhere and then I kept hearing it and seeing it (the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon – also known as “frequency illusion”) … and then I just couldn’t let it go. I am a wordie (like others are foodies) … I like certain words and like to hear them and let them roll off my tongue. The word resilience has a nice feel about it. It also has the word silence within it and I tend to find we are most resilient when we can sit in silence and let our mind and body regroup/recharge/reset … and then go forward again.
I find that silence when I’m walking the cliff walk in the evenings. I take in the natural beauty around me … say hello to the slugs and deer … count the bunnies and hope the eagles don’t get one. I stop and smell the cedars and look at the leaves on the poplars and watch the clouds and water and listen to the silence. It’s lovely and it all let’s me reset.
There are days when I think I’m doing okay … and others when I feel far less resilient than I’d like. The ebb and flow of life. We can’t always be on that trampoline. My plans to move to the South have changed. I’m no longer looking there – it is off the table. My last trip to find Utopia (or at least a cute/quaint/livable small town) did not pan out. Far from it and it was gut-wrenchingly disappointing. As the plan stands now – I will (more than likely) move back to CO next spring and do just that … regroup/recharge/reset … and then go forward again. I’ve got a little more resilience in me … and a lot more bouncing to do.