Menopause: A Scientific Experiment

 

Now, please. Do you see this circle on the floor? Please step inside it. Good.

Now we’re going to set the circle on fire, and see:

How long before you take off your jacket, your sweater?

How long before you roll up the sleeves of your shirt, open it at the collar?

How long before your forehead, your torso, break into sweat?

Time check time check time check…excellent.

Thank you for your cooperation. And for your participation in this experiment, you receive this certificate of initiation: you are officially menopausal.

The culmination  of some thirty-, forty-odd years of monthly pain and bleeding.

Oh, and we must warn you that what you experienced today will come back,

six or seven or eight times a day,

we can’t say for how many years,

but when it stops you will be too old to enjoy the freedom,

perhaps bent with arthritis, osteoporosis.

Congratulations. You are a creature of blood and fire.

You are a woman.

 

 

Tearooms!

One of the most civilized British customs to have made it to this side of the pond is the Afternoon Tea. It seems we Americans are finally catching on to this little luxury, and tearooms are beginning to spring up in unexpected places, even here in Rhode Island.

After a quick Google search, I found the following in our local area. Most of these serve tea, small sandwiches and/or crepes, and desserts. 

 http://www.theduckandbunny.com

http://www.trinityconfections.net/

 

http://springseasonsinn.com/tea-room/

 

http://www.pawtuxetvillage.org/2013/10/elephant-room-in-pawtuxet-village-tea_16.html

  

And in nearby Connecticut:

http://www.celebrationsshoppes.com/tea.html

 

These places have formal afternoon tea services and often require reservations. There are also places where you can just have tea and some pastry at any time, such as Tealuxe.

 As a longtime tea lover and Anglophile, I love this trend and hope it grows. If you also love tea, British customs, and/or islands of elegance in hectic everyday life, check out your own area for tearooms, and lift a cup to a lovely throwback to another century!

 

 

Beginnings

 

Chaim Potok once wrote, “All beginnings are hard.”

 

I’m not so sure that’s true.

 

I’ve rarely had trouble beginning things. The harder part, for me, is continuing. The harder part is taking that next step after the first. That’s the one that requires commitment and perseverance.

 

When you start a project in crochet, you need to begin with a foundation chain. It isn’t difficult to learn, but it can be tricky, even when you’re experienced at it--for instance, keeping your tension even so that your loops all come out the same size. But it’s the second row that many beginning crocheters have the most trouble with. For this row you need to work a stitch into each of the loops in the starting chain. The first trouble spot will arise right away if you haven’t made the starting chain loose enough: trying to work the hook into each loop. You also need to keep the chain itself from twisting so that you’re always working into the front of the loop. Step 2 is quite a challenge for the newbie.

 

 

Novelist Ann Hood, writing about learning to knit, called herself a “good beginner.” And, in fact, it isn’t always how long you’ve been doing something that determines whether you’re a beginner, because in a sense we’re always beginners as long as we’re always learning.

 

I’ve come up with some things I feel I’m a “perpetual beginner” at.

 

I am:

 • a beginning runner

• a beginning crocheter

• a beginning writer

• a beginning bike rider

• a beginning digital photographer

 

I don’t feel I’m denigrating myself by calling myself a beginner at all these things.  It’s kind of like being a perpetual student, which I always thought I was. It’s acknowledging that there’s always more to learn, always higher levels to get to. Unless it’s the thing you earn your living at, in which mastery is necessary, it’s okay to remain a beginner in some things. In fact, it rather keeps things interesting and challenging—and challenges are good for the mind. They keep us from getting complacent and stagnant.

 

Not to suggest that I’ve never made any progress in anything. I have become a better editor, which is how I make my living. When I was bowling, I got better and better and raised my average considerably. I’ve progressed from walking to jogging to being able to run a 6.2-mile race. As a student I earned two degrees. As a writer I’ve had a few publications and am continuously working on a novel.

 

I take some pride in these accomplishments, but I don’t feel I need to be perfect at everything I like to do. Whatever level we reach in any activity depends on a lot of things: our interest, our ability, the time we have to put into practicing it, our willingness to commit.

 

But it’s never a “mistake” to have begun something new and not continued.

 

It isn’t failure if we decide it’s not for us.

 

It isn’t failure if we keep on doing it at one level if we’re enjoying it at that level.

 

We don’t all have to be competers, even with ourselves.

 

It’s okay to be a beginner!

 

 

What things do you consider yourself a "beginner" at?

 

 

Gratitude/Happiness List (Week of July 6)

Joining with Laurel Regan’s Gratitude linkup at Alphabet Salad. 

Here are some things I’m grateful for and that make me happy at this point in time.

 ● Modern medicine. My upcoming surgery will be outpatient and will be quick; recovery time is approximately ten days. Not fun, but much, much better than it used to be!

● That filmmakers are still making independent films that are intelligent and thought-provoking and not designed to be Big Box Office.

● That there are still theaters dedicated to running these independent films, and that we have two of them in Providence.

● Meeting our new neighbors and finding them a nice, friendly midlife couple with 13-year-old twins and a huge dog!

● The wisdom and courage of the founders of our country, who put their lives on the line for freedom.

● Sleepytime tea.

● Having curbside garbage and recycling pickup, unlike some other states where people have to bring their own recycling to a center.

● Having adopted our dog, Honey, four years ago.

● Good, supportive friends.

● Fresh strawberries and blueberries.

● Friday’s torrential rain holding off long enough for Tim and me to do a road race in the morning.

● A lovely Fourth of July weekend with a PawSox game, a free pops concert and fireworks on the waterfront, and lots of walking!

● The possibility (fingers crossed!) that we might have found a buyer for our other house.

 

 

Happy Adoption Day! (Revisited)

 

Today is the fourth anniversary of the day we adopted our dog, Honey. Two years ago, for her second adoption day, I wrote a blog post about it. I’m revisiting that post today, with some updates and edits.

 

 

 

It was four years and a week or so ago that my husband finally said to me, “We can get a dog.”

 

I had been wanting a dog since we bought our house in 1996. He kept telling me, “In a few years.” Those years kept going by.

 

At this time we had my mother living with us in the multifamily house we had bought. I was her primary caregiver as her dementia progressed. It was a very stressful, emotional time. I think my husband knew that and thought that having a dog would be a stress-reliever and give me something to be happy about.

 

And yet when he said this I was a little reluctant. I’d gotten used to living without a dog, and I loved the freedom we had to travel anywhere for short or long trips or to spend an entire day out. But this wasn’t an offer I was willing to refuse. Besides, with my mother to care for, we weren’t able to travel anyway, and I had no idea how long the situation would last.

 

So the next day I was on the Internet, checking out adoptables. I’ve always had mixed breeds and loved them, and I wanted my next dog to be a “pound puppy.”

 

This is where I saw Honey. She was featured on the site for the RI SPCA. A cute picture of her little wrinkled head, with a bandana around her neck, captured me right away. She was about the size I wanted. She was female, which I also wanted.  “A shy Shar-Pei–terrier mix,” the profile said. Okay, she’s shy. So am I. It sounded like we’d be good for each other.

 

 

It turned out that “shy” wasn’t the whole story. Even the receptionist flubbed a little when she told us that Honey had been there “a long time.”

 

When we walked back to the cages, we saw her little curled tail in the third one from the left. We approached the cage gently. Instead of rushing to greet us eagerly like the other dogs, Honey hung back. She walked around her cage, through the door to the run, back in again. Obviously nervous. Once she came up to the front of the cage as if to take our measure, but made no attempt to make friends.

 

In spite of some trepidation, I knew she needed us. Later we found out that she had come into the shelter with her sister, who had been adopted a while earlier (she was friendlier) and that Honey herself had been adopted out but brought back because she was aggressive with children. Well, we didn’t have children, so we didn’t have to worry about that. Still, those weren’t things I was happy to hear.

 

On Wednesday, July 7, my husband’s day off, we went to pick her up. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but she jumped right into the car and seemed fine on the way home. At home, we kept her out in the yard for a while. She sat. We sat. We petted her, stroked her, talked softly to her. She didn’t move, didn’t try to get to know us, didn’t look at us.

 

I was afraid we’d made a bad mistake, taken on too much. I was stretched so thin with my responsibility for my mother, I just didn’t know if I could handle another one. I didn’t know if I had the love to give her. We had bought a crate for her, as is now recommended (though we’d never done that with any of our family dogs when I was young). She wouldn’t go near it, even when we put treats in it.

 

The burden of trying to train this standoffish, timid dog seemed to be too much. I considered taking her back, all the while thinking, how can I do that to the poor little thing?

 

And yet she won me over. Once I accepted our commitment to her, I began to see the cute, endearing things about her. Her funny expressions. Her enthusiasm for walks. How quickly she bonded with us. No, she isn’t an easy dog. She’s reserved and reactive to children, strangers, and other dogs. She turns into a raving maniac when she sees a squirrel. But we’ve learned to live with and appreciate her eccentricities, which make her special to us.

 

And she has made considerable progress, with training and the security we’ve given her. Although she doesn’t express love as much as other dogs do, she has her own ways. She jumps on the couch with us and cuddles between us. She rolls over to ask us to rub her belly. When I crouch down next to her and put my face near hers, she pushes her nose up against me in what I call her “Honey hug.”

 

 

She is family, and we love her, and we know she loves us. And each year on July 7 we celebrate her Adoption Day, the day she came into our lives and changed us.

Weekend Writing Warriors (UBC and NaBloPoMo Day 6)

 

I’m taking part in the Weekend Writing Warriors Snippet Sunday. Today I’m posting eight sentences from my novel-in-progress, A Certain Shade of Blue. This is the opening. Any and all comments are welcome. Thanks.

 

            A child half wakes in the night, stirred by the sounds coming from down the hall. Oh, Toby, stop, she thinks hazily. Her baby brother seems to cry constantly. She’s used to it, but she’s tired. She covers her ears with her pillow and sinks back to sleep.        

Then the shocks ravage her body and her eyes shoot open; the sound of the scream is shivering in her bones.

It wasn’t a dream. It was her mother.


 

My “Online Life”

 

My online life is not at all extensive.

I have no online “home” like many people do; I rent one where this blog lives, or more precisely, borrow it, since I pay no rent.

In spite of this I have myriad neighbors and acquaintances and even a few good friends in this “world.”

I come into it almost every morning. I open my doors and windows and see who’s around. We may just exchange quick greetings. We may stop and chat for a few minutes, finding out what’s going on in each other’s lives.

Then there are the ones I particularly look for every day, the real-life friends as well as the ones I’ve gotten to know here in this world, the ones who come into my heart and stay there.

I have no clandestine life here; I use my own name, I am who I am, however uninteresting I may (or may not) be. A few years ago I would never have expected to have any kind of life at all here, yet somewhere along the way my obsessive, introverted nature hooked on to the new possibilities of communication and creativity available in this world, and here I am.

Could I live without it? I’m sure it would be hard for a while, having gotten used to it, but I don’t think it would be a major deprivation. I would hope that I would keep writing, keep in contact with people I care about, keep taking photos, keep learning and growing.

But I think this world has led me to grow in ways I might not have without it. In retrospect, who can say what might have happened, what we might have been, if such-and-such had not occurred?

I do believe I probably would not be writing if I had not, a good number of years ago now, been involved in an online fan group and started writing fan fiction. That resparked my long-dormant interest in and love of writing, and from there I learned to create my own characters and situations and to develop my own style. I probably also would never have the nerve to share my work without the various online writing courses and communities I’ve been involved with, nor would I have developed friendships with other writers as I have.

The topic is a two-headed monster for me. In many ways I’m still a Luddite. I think fondly of the days of paper and pen. I dread the disappearance of books. I think many people are too attached to their screens. Yet I can’t deny the things that have enhanced my life, either. Word processing, email, Facebook, and blogging have all made my life easier in some ways and richer in others.

I just wish there wasn’t such a rush to make everything that came before obsolete. I’m afraid technology develops much faster than our ability to make intelligent use of it and to know what things truly make our lives better and which only make them more frantic. (No, I don’t own a smartphone.)

Now it’s time to go read a real paper-and-print book. The online world will still be here tomorrow.