Numbers: the Victory Edition

And let's take our victories where we can. Every single one of them feels hard won.

I just finished drafting installment eleven (11) of my saga. I fell hard for a character who--spoiler alert--will not make it through to the end (or will they?). This installment clocked in at 69,593 words, which brings my total word count up to 291,637. That is very close to three hundred thousand. This is the longest installment of all, and I may have to make some changes, but I need to wait until the end to deliver the punch. It's not perfect--it's a draft--but it's pretty good.

Five more to do. One of them will be on the longer side, but not nearly as long as this.

Deb in the City

But what does it all mean?

I've found myself wanting to post something here many times over the last week and a half, but I didn't because there's so much going on, and I don't know how to tie it up in a nice bow. Because at the end of the day I'm a story teller, and stories have, on at least one level, meaning. Perhaps this does, too, but I don't know what it is yet. Or maybe I do, but then my options are limited. That's not a story I want to keep telling.

Well, here at least is what happened. 

I am no longer a garden coordinator at the garden I've been in for fifteen years. I agonized for a long time, but when I finally made my decision I was done. All of the different stakeholder groups are dysfunctional, even if among them there are some wonderful people trying their best to do their jobs. This has been the case for a long time, but when people couldn't rise to the challenge of dealing with a rat issue--and, not incidentally, fulfill their contract obligations--that crossed a line for me. I could say so much more, but out of respect for friends still there, I won't. 

That was last Saturday, and the stress of it was enough that on Sunday morning I developed a neck spasm that didn't ease up until the evening. I thought I would be done with physical therapy on Monday, but the spasm earned me not only two more sessions, but also a gentle lecture on stress management. Indeed. 

The therapist also gave my thoracic spine an adjustment. I've never has one of those before, and it was disorienting. It also let loose a lot of blocked emotions, and a weird rash. Dramatic, but not something I would chase.

In the meantime, I felt pulled to mind body workouts as I thought about my eczema, and after a week of experimentation, I settled on qigong with Lee Holden. I still love Lucy Wyndham-Read, but I feel the detox effects with qigong in a different way. Fortunately, there is no one saying I can't do both.

I can say all of that was helping me manage my stress better, because when I found my sister's caretaker sleeping in the early evening (while my sister was awake), I knew I needed to make a change but I did so with a minimum of drama (thanks in large part to one of my other sisters). I've been at the house in the suburbs since Friday morning, and while I would rather my husband and I be home with our young adult son, I am much calmer and even content than I was in a similar situation last year. 

The situation is in flux, though, so I was extremely fortunate that I was so close to my goal of 1000 calls at the beginning of the week. Happy to report that by Wednesday I had completed them, because I'm not sure when I'll be able to get on a call again. My husband and I need to celebrate, but not sure how yet. 

On Thursday, my last hurrah in the city, my husband and I went to a social with some other activists. I was as awkward as I ever am, and powered through as I usually do. It was fine; I met some nice people, but as usual I'm sensitive to power dynamics and calibrate accordingly. If I'm ever exhausted by social interactions, it's because of that. 

So that's my story, such as it is. 

Deb in the City

Hitting the Wall

Part of why I increasingly sneer at productivity is that I am a productive person, and it is not the be all end all. If knowledge is the beginning of wisdom, Getting Things Done is maybe only the beginning of figuring out what's actually important. 

I'm making calls for democracy. I'm coordinating at a community garden. I'm my sister's caretaker on the weekends. I'm still plugging away at my writing project (I have nothing negative to say about tenacity). I'm trying to shepherd one son through his first year at a four year college. And I'm trying to keep all of the things together, even if it's down to dishes and folding laundry.

This weekend the weekly caretaker needed to come a day late. I missed my son, but it was only an extra night. Except that I had caught a little something that weekend. It passed by Monday, but then my husband ended with what seemed like a more extreme version, to the point that we went straight to the ER instead of home. It turned out that this was a good call--and that's not something you can say about every ER visit--but it took all day. 

That was a lost day of work for the both of us, but there was still just as much to be done. (Okay, I didn't end up cleaning up as much as I usually like to, but that was more than made up for by the amount of time I spent searching for dishwashing gloves with my husband.) Thank the universe for my workouts, which gave me life; I reached for things like Qigong, Yoga, and Dance--things I haven't touched for a year--and it was just what I needed.

I felt good last night--until my son woke me up at 3AM. I got a little bit more sleep, but this was also a day that saw me with two meetings as well as a phone bank. I got on my mat for some Yin Yoga after the last meeting, and I realized how utterly burnt out I am. Let me tell you, there is no glory in smelling like smoke.

I met a friend yesterday--always good to see her, even if it was this week--and we came up with something of an exit strategy for one of my commitments. Yes, good. And another will be over--hopefully--on November 5. Better. I think I can make it...?

There was a time when I would have white knuckled my way through and told myself stories about my strength and fortitude. Ugh. If anyone said anything like that to me now, I would show them the door. 

I can get through this, but I don't have to like it. Martyrdom is for losers (literally). 

Deb in the City

Vegetables and activity make me happy

Sometimes I find myself underwhelmed by my online activity. I suspect I am not alone. As I sat back wondering there was a better website or platform I should look at, about different subjects than I normally do, I more and more felt like I just didn't want to be online right then. (There is a connection to be made about Socrates' unexamined life quote, but I'll let someone else make it.) I realized what I really wanted to do was move furniture around. I suspect not as many people get those urges, but I could be wrong.

My husband asked me not to do it right then as he was in the middle of something...so you'd better believe that as soon as I'd had breakfast this morning I hopped to it. There were books and other papers moving between two bookshelves, and one bookshelf moving into another room. There was also a lot of dust, as well as some pleasant surprises and depressing discoveries. (Did I mention that the reason I love Marie Kondo's tidying so much is because it gives me permission to get rid of "gifts" I don't want? Although perhaps not enough today.) It was a fun little diversion, but what it really drove home is that I have too many books and pieces of paper, in spite of my best efforts.

...Which is maybe why the "shopping" I enjoy best is for food, the ultimate disposable commodity. But I don't love Whole Foods, at all, for all of the reasons I've gone over, yet I find myself there for convenience more often than I want to. I'm happy to do more of my shopping at my local markets, and I'm fortunate to have choices, but I'd also like to support local farmers. Unfortunately, the farmers market near me isn't always convenient, and the one I used to love in Copley is even less so. 

But the world has changed in the last decade, so I'm able to order from a farm in Massachusetts when I also order the milk and dairy that my family eats (and which they'll be eating much less of after the next month). The timing of the order can be fiddly, but somehow I was able to work it out for this week and tada. 

 

Summer's bounty

Lousy lighting as usual, but that's melon, pepper, eggplant, radishes, beets, peaches(!), kale, zucchini, and green beans. I have plans--I have enough onions and garlic to make soufico happen, and if I cook the peaches down my husband can enjoy them, too--but I'm willing to let all of that go if my sons want to go to town on the kale and string beans. (And I'm happy to let them eat all of the melon...okay, maybe happy is the wrong word, but I'll let them.) 

All in all, this is a really good Monday--and I know no one hears that a lot.

Deb in the City

Boston is full of green power spots

I had a physical therapy appointment on Wednesday, then a sudden errand at my credit union. I also wanted to celebrate my boys' return home.

I had my husband drop me off at the credit union. Ran my errand, then walked to my PT appointment. After that, I walked to the Boston Public Library (of course), then met my boys at the Prudential Center to exchange South Korean won and then go to lunch.

It was not an earth-shattering day, but I loved it. Big bonus was walking along the Fens. We should of course continue to interrogate our ideas of beauty and the origins of why some get to enjoy it more than others...but sometimes it is a relief to just enjoy it.

Deb in the City

Sometimes gifts are love

My general orientation with material things is "no, please, I don't want it." As I've mentioned, my condo is extremely small, and having grown up in clutter and chaos, space is the ultimate luxury.

But sometimes, even people like me make an exception.

They caught me

This is the collection of gifts I received from my family in South Korea via my children earlier this week, next to vases my father got me two decades ago, also from South Korea. Handkerchiefs, because I'm trying not to use disposable things. A pencil and pen case, because a writer has to write with something. A travel journal, almost too beautiful to write in (but watch me). A beautiful silken bag...to slip my large journal into. A crocheted flower pot, because I do love flowers (and needle arts). And a card from a cousin I wish I saw more of.

Perfect, but I'm not surprised.

Deb in the City

Perspective

I've been trapped in the suburbs since Friday afternoon and unable to leave until tomorrow morning. This place is starting to feel a little more like my family's home and not my mother's former home, but it doesn't make me miss home much less. Worse, I haven't had much company this weekend since my husband had a couple of errands he needed to run and then a professional appointment this morning. 

Maybe I could have gone for a walk--but no. I was always scheduled to meet someone here at noon, so there wasn't much of an adventure to be had. But it's a nice day and between 7:30, when my sister's bus comes, and 12, I could have walked to the quaint city center. However, I got a call at 7:35 that the elusive Floor Guys would be coming over at 8:05, so after I ate my breakfast my husband and I were set to work moving furniture (and going through yet more detritus). 

I had time after they left (and someone came to check that they had indeed arrived) to write some emails. I was just finishing that up when the cleaners showed up. Always a pleasure to see them--they're one of the reasons I find the house more pleasant--but since I wasn't expecting them, I didn't plan around them (including to bring my checkbook) and then it was that much longer that I had to stay for them.

I complain to my husband about how trapped I feel via text. He kindly offers to console me with my comfort of choice when he gets home, then tells me that someone he knows just lost a family member in a way all too reminiscent of how I lost a family member last year. A little bit later, a friend contacts me to reach out because they're having health problems. I'm a poor choice to contact since I have no medical training, but there's a reason I'm one of the better options (not my story to tell).

Yeah, maybe there are worse fates than the one I'm enduring today.

I get to see my boys tomorrow, eat cake (or watch them eat cake), and sleep in my own bed tomorrow. That isn't soon enough, but in the meantime I can sit out on a deck and overlook some green. It's not what I want, but maybe it will do.

Deb in the City