Spoons and Drawers

In other news.

Have you heard about the spoon theory? I read about this over the holiday season and tried to explain it to others who fell around laughing. But listen. As we age, become disabled, are disabled, depressed, challenged, tired, no energy, diseased, we can apply the spoon theory to ourselves.

This is how it started:

"The term spoons in this sense was coined by Christine Miserandino in 2003 in her essay "The Spoon Theory".[8][9] The essay describes a conversation between Miserandino and a friend.The discussion was initiated by a question from the friend in which she asked about what having lupus feels like. The essay then describes the actions of Miserandino, who took spoons from nearby tables to use as a visual aid. She handed her friend twelve spoons and asked her to describe the events of a typical day, taking a spoon away for each activity. In this way, she demonstrated that her spoons, or units of energy, must be rationed to avoid running out before the end of the day. Miserandino also asserted that it is possible to exceed one's daily limit, but that doing so means borrowing from the future and may result in not having enough spoons the next day. Miserandino suggested that spoon theory can describe the effects of mental illnesses as well."

My ideal is under 30 spoons per day. But some days, like yesterday, I run it up to 33 spoons. Why? If I do my laundry that necessitates very long trips to the laundry room. We can only use one machine at a time and if there are many loads, that's a lot of walking. We don't complain as it's free. So each laundry load to me is 4 spoons as each trek up and down the hall is .25 of a kilometre. So today I have to compensate for that, which I am and I'm subtracting those 3 spoons from today.

My spoon sheet:

I'm starting to keep a daily tally and thought it might be of some value to my readers as most of are in some stages of aging, decrepitude and/or challenged in some way.

And yeah the Kondo-ization of some of us. I take what I can apply to my own life from her and discard the rest. But her drawer theory? Love it.

for instance here is my kitchen drawer:

I love the way I can see all the dishtowels and dishcloths (yeah, all hand knitted by moi - thanks for noticing!) and it does "spark joy" to also see all my colourful knickers at once leaning against each other in orderly fashion. And yeah my t-shirts and jammies too.

A lot to be said for it. Not all of it, but a lot of it. I still have to deal with photos and unhung pictures.

Me and my Krups

I’m a creature of simple desires and habits. Really. One of my more serious desires, covetings actually, if the truth be known, was to have my very own Krups machine. For those of you not in the know, a Krups is a combination regular coffee maker and espresso coffee maker. All in the one unit. A black, sensuous, blue lighted, serious piece of kitchen equipment. Made in Germany. Like the Mercedes Benz. Only better.

But it seemed like the height of extravagance and well, okay, downright decadence to get one. When I already had some coffee machines (I collected cheap ones like others collect tea spoons, okay? alright? stop that snorting at the back of the room, please) and a separate espresso machine. So what if their fluidic output fell far short of a Tim Horton’s or a Starbucks. Or that they leaked and couldn’t pour worth a damn. And did some strange things even to the best of coffee beans. Yeah, did I mention I grind my own? I do. I’m a very, very serious coffee aficionado. And I was brought up on tea and Irel and instant if we had coffee. Go figure that one out.

So I took the plunge, about two months ago. I did a web search on the model I wanted and found it in Quebec. And it was half price. And it only took five days to ship it to me.

And it has been a love affair ever since. Did you know a Krups comes with a built-in coffee measure? It does. Do you know neither of its pots’ spouts leak? Did you know the foam from its steamer is the highest? Ever?

I croon to it like a lover. Every morning. Every night. And without fail, it reminds me of all the good coffees I’ve ever shared. Everywhere. Paris. Toronto. Montreal. Chicago. Dublin. London.

Thank you, thank you Krups.
P.S. Mama loves you.

Good Exhaustion/Bad Exhaustion

 Why did it take me all my life to sort this one out?

If I'm performing creative/interesting/inspiring work I can be tired but happy.

If I'm doing basic maintenance of self and surroundings, I can be tired but cranky and irritable.

It all takes the same amount of energy (the spoons) but the end result is far, far different.

Dishes can knock me out, standing, even meditating (thanks Kate), slopping around in the water, does me in. A cheery heart while doing mundane tasks does not come easy to me. Gratitude for being able to stand at all evaporates.

What I resent most about bad exhaustion is that is zaps me from any other activities. I'm not a methodical person by nature and I've tried everything - a reward of, say, a phone call, after the dishes are done doesn't work for me. I am too tired.

Whereas working on crafting (currently that sofa blanker is now heading into the stratosphere of 2 feet, thank you very much after so many fails), can see me making the call and knitting at the same time in complete bliss.

Finding a balance is difficult for me at the best of times. I do plot out my days, I do have an agenda with all the necessary tasks listed, nothing ambitious or even moderately over extending myself, but the overwhelm is present just about all the time. Call it Irish Catholic Guilt, engrained since birth. Today I feel up for the weekly family Zoom.

I attended an online retreat this morning, I wrote two cards to friends, made my lunch, took my gallon of pills, started on the Words for Wednesday post, read a couple of chapters of my latest book, played 14 games of Lexulous (stretching the old brain, a daily event for like, 15 years now).  Meditated some. Worked on a memoir and a poem for a competition.

And yes I got dressed, braided my stupid long, long hair, and am now writing this post. I will march shuffle the 10 miles of halls to drop the cards in the mailbox in the main lobby later on tonight and see if I can stick my name on the weekly Covid laundry schedule and then fingers crossed, I am actually not too exhausted to fulfil that obligation.

So on it goes, a peak into my day.

And the dishes sigh on in the sink. But I am good exhausted.

Nollaig Na Mban (again)

As Daughter and I attack the last load of fancy china and put away the rarely used silver serving spoons, I reflect on the privilege of being able to host a Women’s Christmas (aka Nollaig na Mban – written about previously in this list of posts) for the first time here in Newfoundland in my magical home by the sea. The oldest today was 87 and the youngest was 5. Apart from Daughter and Niece, the rest of the friends here were all relatively new to my life in chronology but long in shared tribal origins and in making room in each other’s hearts relatively late in life for new friendships. Living proof that it can be done.

There were 13 of us - never an unlucky number I say - in total, a bit of a squeeze around the long harvest table but we managed. We sipped from delicate china cups and ate many courses, salads, fruits, my Famous Strata, perogies, sausages, blueberry cobbler (I froze blueberries picked from the Barrens in September), Irish biscuits and cheeses, raisin scones, treacle scones and Irish soda bread with organic butter.

Great chat was generated, as only a gathering of disparate women can do, it was interesting watching the youngest and the eldest there bond so tightly even though they had not met before. So much in common, I would think!

I feel so blessed and so honoured that my home can be the scene of such warmth and camaraderie.

Thank you, to the spirits of Granny and Mum and my nine blood aunts for showing me the way!

Elder Musings

~~I am thrilled with a new project I was fortunate enough to get.

~~However, I am slower, do you guys of elder vintage find that tackling work that was formerly a kind of I-can-do-this-with-one-hand- tied-behind-my-back is now an-all-hands-on-deck situation? And speaking of all hands I find that a sporadic carpal tunnel problem I had returned and boy was it a challenge to heal, older tissues, repetitive strain injuries take triple the time to heal including an arm splint to bed, oh gawd was that awful. I digress, it is now healed with the odd twinge to remind me not to abuse it again.

~~I'm also aware that the the 30+age gap between my clients and myself has me faltering a lot with business language. It's not that I don't know it, it's that it is more difficult to retrieve out of my brain files, particularly in business conversations. This morning on a 3-way conference call I found myself fumbling mentally with what term I could use for my PC(personal computer rather than my smart phone), thinking: is PC still used? So I blurted "Main frame." Now there's a blast from the past. I've been 40 years using these suckers. They let it go, tho surely they must wonder what I meant or what decade of the ought-oughts I was in.

~~See what I mean?

~~My wee friend whom I've mentioned before (under 30) wants a coffee date late tonight and my mind immediately goes to bedtime interruptus now: my nightly routines of a bit of Netflix, my book, my games of online scrabble and I want to decline but hey, I know this stuff is good for me too. Break the old routines, get out there.

~~Daughter wants me to meet 2 of her friends and host them to brunch in my place next weekend and I'd thought: no more of these get-togethers when I moved here, just hermitize. And hermitizing has not been good as my inner slob takes over and things need to be put away rather than gaped at in puzzlement as to where to put them. There's very little excess, but photographs, binders of writing, old laptop, wools, crafting supplies, multiple unhung pictures, you get it. But I mulled and thought well: incentive. In the past friends and I always joked that the best housekeeping system is to entertain once a month and I've followed that for years and years now. So yes, I need to do this, there's nothing like new friends and seriously I'm quite proud that Daughter likes to air me and share me. The maternal age-gap has shrunk between us which is quite lovely. And rare. And I treasure it.

~~Impatience with myself - that internal voice. I must slow down as I drop things in my speedy old way of doing things. Spoons, pens, phone, blue tooth ear piece, papers and I find myself castigating myself. Slow down, honour the crone.

~~One thing at a time is important. I can't do everything in one day and mornings are the best. So I do one thing on the to do list every day, or more if I can manage it, and the current day's wee jobs too, but I list them all as I learned in that Living with Chronic Diseases Workshops so I know that I've accomplished something at the end of the day, even if it's self care.

PS Photo is not me, but hey, I can sometimes feel like that.

Free Floating Fridays

This pen and ink drawing hangs in my bedroom where I see it every morning.

In between stuff like a corporate tax return and rehearsals and the book launch of a friend and social gatherings and working on SOS, the Support Our Seniors mandate we are putting together (fact checking is a job unto itself), I am trying to find time to work on my new card. And design a new afghan (sofa blanket) for a niece who's getting married.

It's all quite wonderful, I feel confident in the stage work and we are having our first cast party tonight so we get to know each other a little better. I try and pay attention to the spoon theory which I wrote about before. When I do, I find my life balances out a lot better. Exceeding my spoons makes me cranky and exhausted and well, useless to myself and others.

I wish I'd arrived at the stage sooner where I didn't give a rat's what anyone thought of me. What causes these insecurities do you think?

I remember being enormously self conscious starting at about 13. I was way taller than my parents and the comments of extended family would crush me. "Where did you get her?" "What are you feeding her?" "She'll be patting your heads soon!" And on. Then the breasts. Men would leer at me, a child, on the streets, so much so I would bind my breasts as these men frightened me in ways I couldn't articulate. I remember being singled out at rehearsal for a school play when I was 14 (I had a great voice and good articulation) when the director shouted at me in front of everyone "Stop walking around as if you're ashamed of your very existence!" My father said to me when I was about 16, with a heartbroken look on his face: "Your brains have been wasted on a girl."

Those words stick and damage and hurt and shame forever. I felt terribly lost, ugly, too intelligent, too introverted, too out of place, too everything.

I hit the age of 19 and suddenly I found the solution to all these insecurities. Alcohol. With a few drinks I could charm the pants off anyone, sing at the drop of a hat, pack up the guitar and throw down the self-consciousness, hang with intellectual friends, not be ashamed of all my reading, my questioning, my stage-work and not feel out of place anywhere.

Alcohol saved my life for about 10 years.

Then it slowly began to turn on me and for the next ten years it owned me, body and soul.

Free Floating Fridays

It's great to write this when I have so much else screaming for my attention but here goes. A breath of relief in the midst of so many demands on my time today.

The rehearsals for the play are being scheduled, first one on Sunday night and I can't tell you how thrilling it all is to be looking forward to being back on the boards again. Grandgirl put a comment on my page on FB: "coolest grandma ever." High praise indeed but I think she's felt that way for a while, judging by her bragging to her friends when they compare grandparents. I think being open-minded and non-geezerish is the route to a successful grandparent-grandchild relationship. Plus seizing the opportunity to be a child again with a sense of wonder and joy. And avoiding phrases like "in my time" unless asked.

We are getting ready for press release event for the media for launching our Seniors Advocacy Group. Advocacy is a nice word. We are actually demanding rectification to the injustices and forcing accountability from these wealthy out of touch politicians. Such events are all about the "stories" and that's the part we are working on.

Obituaries: I've seen so many "sweet" ones here when it comes to women. How giving and uncomplaining and loving everyone they ever met and devoting themselves to family and baking. I'd rather die outrageous, unconventional and opinionated, thanks. I often think it's a matter of exposure to more choices as children, more opportunities to explore all aspects of ourselves rather than being confined to a narrow box of service to families. But if they're happy (are they, truly?) so be it. I know I chafe against "normal."

Now that I have physical challenges I find one of the hidden mental "jobs" I perform is accessing every place new for accessibility from the parking to the walking once I get there. I am astonished at how many places are off limits due to distance. Something one never notices when galloping around in optimum health.

I bought a lovely handmade cane when I was away recently, I think it adds a bit of class to the meandering me. I don't use it all the time but there are occasions when I've used up all my spoons in the previous 2 days and need it.

Memory

I am struck so much by memory lately. Not in a morbid way or anything, strictly reflecting on its power.

I read "The Elegance of the Hedgehog" again for my book club. I loved it the first time around (2009) and the re-read was equally delightful.

I had thought in the past that it was such a shame most of us can't plumb the depths of our parents' memories. I spent a huge quantity of time (afternoon upon afternoon) with my mother when she had terminal cancer where she shared so many memories with me. I didn't take notes, much to my regret now, I thought it would embarrass her. But I could have written so much down in privacy later but it didn't occur to me caught up in my own grief and the care of my own two babies. She had fascinating memories. I'm trying to assemble them in a book. For instance, she recalled, in detail, the shock and horror of a barracks explosion in Castlemartyr, County Cork when she was a very small child. And contrary to many others, she remembered the kindness of the Black and Tans throwing her and her sisters English toffees as they rolled by her house in huge, loud trucks on their way to Youghal.

And then this line in the aforementioned book struck me:

"I am betraying you by dying, I am truly causing you to die....must we also put to death those who were still alive only through us."

And I think of living with my grandmother and grandfather for a while in that small village, and watching him, a labourer, set off for work in the morning and coming home at night with sausages in his back pocket (an enormous treat) and me helping him set the traps for the rabbits on the back acre, and tossing grain at my granny's chickens, and being kept up for all hours - don't tell yer mammy sitting on his lap while he and his pals set Ireland to rights and sang impossibly long olachons (laments) in the Sean Nos style. And one time, dancing with my granny while a fiddle and a harmonica and spoons and bones kept time. My granny was old to me then (in her late forties!)and I remember clapping my hands in glee at her agility on the flagstones.

I would be the only one remembering all of that (eldest grandchild)and I suppose, when I go, it'll be a second death for those, now long gone, who continue to live, and so very clearly, in my memory.

December 9th, 2015

A lovely comment on Facebook today from a friend who has an estranged member in her family also.

"I remain friends with her younger self."

Extraordinarily comforting.

My estranged child remains estranged. No change there. This is my annual post on her birthday.

But now, today, her younger self surrounds me, the witty, vibrant, artistic woman she was. She lived with me for close on 28 years. We read the same books, visited art galleries together, jointly wrote reviews of the best greasy spoons in Toronto: de rigeur: Formica, elderly crotchety waitresses in grubby uniforms, maroon lipstick, smokers' coughs, a belligerent unsmiling chef rolling out the bacon, eggs and homefries, and thirty year old hits on the table top juke boxes.

I would never have anticipated her cutting off her entire family and her oodles of friends. She was popular. She was brainy. She was loving. I joke that I wore her for the first 9 years of her life. She was always hanging off a part of me. The complete opposite of her older sister. She is somewhere in England.

And she is missed and loved every day.

PPP*

*Post Pity Pot

Troubles shared are troubles halved or even quartered. Thank you for kind words of support.

I came out of the slump. As I do. Took the whole day off even though there was pressure from other tenants to get the flu shot today as the nurses were in the building and ready to visit all who needed. I must say the service here is amazing. But I was in no mood to interact with strangers so I will just have to go to the clinic and get it.

I was inspired by blog-friend Cup on The Bus to fire up my dormant cooking skills, so was most pleased today to produce 7 bowls of coconut curry soup. 4 for the freezer, 3 for now.

I was thinking while doing so that there should be a cookbook for disabled/elderly/financially challenged etc.seniors full of simple recipes like Cup on the Bus had posted and the ones I can make, including the shopping list to make it all happen. Not much of a list but basic stuff.

I had bought a big bag of frozen onions (did you know you can buy these for a couple of bucks?) as I was always throwing out rotting onions.
Then my local grocery store supplies cleaned and chopped up veggies for a couple of bucks too.
I also buy frozen broccoli and cauliflower. And those small tomatoes. And roasted red peppers in a jar (lasts forever).
So today:
A 1/2 cup of those frozen onions, 2 small spoons of garlic from a jar - fry these gently in good oil for a couple of minutes before adding:
Large tetrapack of chicken stock
1 can of coconut milk
As much curry as you like to taste.
Maybe some water
Any veggies you have on hand.
Today was mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, red peppers, carrots, celery and broccoli.
I simmered all this for about 2 hours and then used my immersible blender to cream it up leaving some little chunks pf the veggies.

Absolutely delicious.

Sporadia

No worries on the title. I just invented this word to cover sporadic posts, blurts, exclamations. I think it neat. You may not. But whatever, as the young 'uns have it.

I've had far too many medical appointments in the past ten days, sucking the bejaybus out of me. Old age, seriously, is a full time job. Procedures, tests, evaluations, medications adjustments, frequent labwork, one on ones with members of my team, recording all my readings daily, exhaustion recovery and on.

More than ever I appreciate escaping into books and knitting which don't take much energy. I find my writing has slipped by the wayside and that niggles away at me. I celebrate a good night's sleep as an enormous achievement and a day which doesn't need the boost of a pain pill deserving of an Oscar.

I mete out my weeks like a miser hoarding his slivers of gold.

Next week I have the time for a hair appointment. I view it as a luxury now where before I would view it as an unwelcome intrusion into my busy week.

I read about trimming down even further and viewed my kitchen drawers with a discerning eye of merciless evaluation. I cling to stuff like they are mementoes of good times. So I daringly tossed out all the old dishrags and tea towels and hand made pot holders. I have far, far too many of everything. All hidden, grant you, but I know they are there lurking in the cupboards and drawers. Next will be the shame drawer and shelves, you know, the big ones, holding all those plastic containers for leftovers and freezables and give aways. And the twos (or threes) of everything from tongs to serving spoons to spatulas. Mindless collections. 

Between the shredding and the tossing my leftover - ha - life is full. 

I've even recently arranged for the disposal of myself.

My dad had a very tidy ending. 

And I desire the same.

Free-Floating Fridays

Grandgirl received her Master of Economics degree yesterday. Can't tell you how proud I am.

I transplanted the African Violets that I call The Three Sisters and they are thriving. I haven't been able to grow violets since my Toronto days (and a fine hand I was at it too) so am thrilled they like this eastern lookout.

I'm surrounded by sudden onset dementia lately. I don't even know if there's such a thing, don't want to know. Two women in the laundry room yesterday were completely baffled by the machine knobs. Women who were completely competent before. I had to go back to help them with the dryer knobs. A man I had a kinda "coffee date" with not too long ago was reported missing by his sister and the police found him wandering around the nearby lake looking for his car. 5 kilometers from his home, the car was parked at his apartment building. He is now in a home. I saw him about a month ago at the local coffee shop. Without even greeting me, he asked me for a ride downtown. I was on my way in the opposite direction and declined. He was odd, never looked at me, stumbled off outside as I watched him, puzzled, not realizing he was in a bad way even though he smelled to high heaven as if he hadn't washed in weeks. I feel weird about this. Is my compassion quota all used up?

I'm still not coming to grips with my seriously reduced energy levels. I take on too much and then have to bow off. The spoons theory needs to be honoured more by me. It's like I'm greedy for life in such an enormous way and then run into my elderly self, defeated and disgruntled and dismayed and disappointed. Not a good feeling.

PS Please feel free to join in on Free-Floating Fridays and link to your post on comments here.

An Ordinary Day

I tried my first grocery curb-side pickup yesterday. It was a delightful experience. Everything ordered on the web was in stock and the delivery to the trunk of my car went smoothly and courteously. This freed up "Spoons" to do a pick-up at the drug store and also visit a local shop to cruise (masked, distanced) for little gifts which I like to do but usually don't have the energy for. Little things for some children in my life, a pair of pajamas for Daughter as she had joked some of hers were threadbare from overuse. We are mad pajama wearers in my family. I hadn't been able to do this in a while as all the energy was eaten up for one whole day just with one grocery shop.

My pajama clad leg just now.

I heard a real nugget from a 90 year old on Zoom last night:

"Change is proof of life".

This will stay with me. Life is all about change, and when there is none, there is death. So when change has to be made, and oh how we can resist the inevitable, say "I'm alive!"and proceed.

Joanna is here today, she is coming more frequently at my request and she's making my life easier in so many ways. I took on some extra work (editing mainly) so there isn't too much of a financial impact. And I do love editing, one of my clients went into such a rave about my work that he is fielding others my way. I am really pleased and gratified.

Ordinary days can be brilliant - yesterday was, or just hum-drum (today is, not feeling that well overall) but I'm rolling with them, the support system is in place. Something about rose gardens not being promised.

I've always loved this card I made from 2010. It sold out but I really should get a reprint.

Slowing Down

The biggest overall challenge I've had in old age is slowing down. I adhere to the Spoons Theory for a while and then fall off by tackling too much in one day. What I mean by "too much" is one over the one alloted social engagement or two very short walks into stores or restaurants, say with Daughter.

I know this wandering about sounds outrageous in Covid Times but we're had no cases for the last 5 days and everyone is masked and tables are distanced and stores all look different with arrows and wide aisles and everyone following protocols. I know. Extraordinary. Hats off to everyone and particularly our Minister of Health, our Chief Medical Officer and our premier who all happen to be doctors. And whose modus operandi is "An Abundance of Caution," and the nautical term "Hold Fast, Newfoundland." with multiple media appearances and special little chats with children ("Yes, Santa Claus has been vaccinated.")

I tackled too much when Daughter was in here on Saturday. It would sound measly to my 60 year old ears but nowadays, I feel quite pathetically elderly when I have to be mobilised. I recognize my Covid weight isn't helping. But many of us resort to soothing "treats" during this stressful times. And I hold my hand up. And tips to avoid such indulgences would be welcome.

Today is Monday and I am going out later on with George in hand and a grocery order pickup. I had arranged this for Saturday when Daughter was here but the brain has also slowed down and I had forgotten to complete my order by pushing "confirm", another hiccup of old age. There are a few. And I feel inordinately ashamed when my glitches confuse and bother me.

I throw all this stuff out here as I am quite nervous about sharing all these wee failings of mine with anyone close to me. As is the case with most elders. These dangerous and lethal old age homes may await us if we display any kind of incompetence at all. So I am cautious of concentrating on tasks at hand. As I have left burners on and walked away from lit candles. My busy brain needs to offload more files.

Meanwhile I go back to the Spoon Theory and plan my week out more carefully. Life shouldn't be a trudge and a chore even if one's physical energy is severely limited as mine is.

Bate Out

Yesterday the Everest of Banking, Library-ing, mailouts, and a grocery dabble (my curbside pickup is on strike) took place. Along with bed-changing, showering and dishwashing.

I didn't count the spoons.

The library had what they called a "soft opening". The librarians were behind plexi-glass but encouraged shelf browsing. I didn't. It was all I could do to pick up the three books they had on hold for me. But delighted I am with these as I was running a little low on my stockpile and that creates panic and you don't want to be around that.

I managed to cruise a little island inside the grocery store which had those display items of non-matchy things. Like grapes beside beef-rolls and lemon meringue pie beside spinach dip. All of which I bought as I felt like I was on death's door and couldn't move beyond this island of ill-matched goods. So yes, now I have a large thingie of cabbage rolls too and a chicken pot pie for a family of farmers and assorted little cheeses and oh 8 Portuguese rolls.

But I'll stretch the magnificent melange out into a semblance of kinda sorta meals.

I was sitting on the only bench outside the checkout area when a friend tinged and said she was in the grocery store and did I need....?

She came wandering out in surprise and told me I looked like death warmed up. Just what I wanted to hear.

So I got home, finally. A sad, trudging, and deathlike carapace of a human. Only to hear news that an old friend in Ontario had died after 3 years of awful and relentless cancer.

So I did what you would do, crawled into bed and stayed there. Thinking of times past and grieving and then thinking reach out to some younger people. Which I did. And they sent me pictures of completed projects and flowers.

But I'm still bate out as I type. Bate out? An Irish expression. Finished. Can't lift the pinky for a cuppa.

But hell, yes, we march on.

Amuse-Bouche
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