Attitude at the 45th Parallel

Challenges

Sporting a brace on my recently broken ankle, my husband, daughter and I decided to go to our favorite northern lower peninsula cabin for a planned vacation where my husband could fish all day, my daughter and I could relax, read, write, take pictures. My ankle injury almost sidelined us as typically we are very active on vacations, preferring the water and being outdoors to staying tied down inside. But, we adjusted. 

The morning of our departure I found my husband awake with severe wrist and thumb pain … it was devastating after so many months of anticipation. After some soothing encouragement he went to urgent care, returning sporting a brace on his non-dominant hand. We made the decision to leave for camp, packed the remainder of our belongings, along with our daughter, and left home.

A change in plans

An hour from our destination, we stopped for gas -- I checked my e-mail inbox to find a desperate "...your cabin is not available, ...double-booked, ...so sorry, ...don't have your phone number, ...feeling frantic and awful, ...found a place for you to stay." We read this in shock over "losing" our favorite cabin. I called and told her, no problem, things happen, thanks for finding us another cabin (on the same lake). We updated our (beloved) Garmin with the new address, and drove on while eating sandwiches from a local store. My daughter was rather quiet for some time then said that when she bit into her egg salad it squeaked at her. We laughed and laughed - a small comic relief which we needed. I shared half of my tuna fish with her, trashing the "living" egg salad. Michiganians are so so resilient.

45th Parallel attitude

"When you stand on the 45th Parallel, the halfway point between the equator and North Pole, the ground doesn't vibrate and compasses don't go twirly haywire. Instead, you meet many fine people and see a heck of a lot of trees."  (from In Michigan, drive a crooked line to follow the 45th Parallel, Pioneer Press, June 27, 2009)

Our cabin is lovely, although a long way down a steep path to the water, challenging my balance with this brace. But, we settled in, enjoyed the "new" view from the window. My husband discovered he could both kayak and fish within the constraints of his brace. Our daughter paddle-boarded to her heart's content. I ungracefully plopped into my kayak and … all was perfect.

Coffee Coffee Coffee



This morning while my husband fished (for 6 hours) and my daughter paddle-boarded (for 4 hours) I re-discovered my old coffee shop haunt where I drank the best coffee ever. I wrote a blog about attitude and resilience. 

Returning to the cabin I wanted to make a couple changes to "Attitude at the 45th Parallel" and lost the entire blog. Dumbfounded, I sat. My tech savvy daughter was perplexed as my blog was truly gone. So, since I profess that Michiganians are a resilient people … rewrote this post, saving it every few words, of course. 

Through all these hiccups in this trip our attitude is what make me proud. Yes, we had a couple moments, but persevered and are stronger mentally to have weathered these small, very small, first world issues.

A Bad Break

A walnut cracked under my foot, or was that a stick? I thought about this as a sharp crack and immense pain forced me to stop walking. "Hold on" I told my friends, "give me a minute", as my breath escaped my lungs in a flash of light. A few deep inhalations and my equilibrium returned -- we continued our trek down a local trail, even veering off to explore another path, on our way to the cars. A funny catch in my foot was bothering me and made me wonder if I'd sprained my ankle but the day was going to be an active one.

A few more hours of walking and when I returned home made the decision to seek urgent care opinion for my foot. It was not only sprained but the ankle was broken on both sides. The crack was not a walnut! Booted and crutched up my main thought was of a lost summer of walking. My daily mileage goal would not be met as I was given a "sentence" of 6 to 12 weeks recuperation, at least!

A planned and important trip loomed a few days away with packing center on my agenda. At 65, crutches are NOT my friend and impeded everything I tried to do. The trip to beautiful Lake Superior over, we got home in time for calf pain and a diagnosed DVT (deep vein thrombosis) - aka blood clot.

My goal of walking 1100 miles this year was almost as important to me as my identity. It was a reachable goal, similar to years past. My Fitbit eagerly counted my steps all year with a daily goal met or exceeded. A deep breath and a moment of reality faced me as I pulled up my google calendar to reset my daily walk goal to meet the need for RICE: rest, ice, compression and elevation of my foot. I planned out 12 weeks of .5 miles a day - enough to get around to my essentials without blowing my recovery. An optimistic although less-enhanced walking goal … a positive move (if I must admit) rather than dwell in sadness over my inability to walk through the summer.

I know that this Barefoot Norwegian will return to the trails in autumn … a beautiful time of year in Michigan. My decreased mileage for this time period will be difficult at times, but it IS a goal, even if tiny - better than drinking weak coffee, that's for sure.

Ready for "Murder"

A daughter was visiting us while my family was watching a selection of the syndicated murder mysteries.  She pointed out that one of the suspects was too old to have murdered someone in the way described.  I told her that the suspect was only in his late 40s and asked:  "Do you think I’m too old to murder someone?"  Her immediate, somewhat sheepish response, was a quick, “no, but you would get winded.”

Perhaps her response points to the fact that, yes, I am getting older although I still have some zip left, daughter!  Sure, I get the occasional ache and may groan during the motion of standing, yet I consider myself rather young at heart and challenge anyone to say I have an old soul.  Plus, if I wanted to murder someone, which had not occurred to me until she brought my “lack of breath” to my attention, I can accomplish the task, and not get winded. 

This murder talk reminds me of this year’s journey or killing off - murder, if you will - a part of me that I find cumbersome. 

These are some of the ways in which I try to age with grace

• To aim not to be discouraged with the process of my aging
• Making sure to embrace each day
• Absolutely include daily fitness activities - whatever strikes me at the time
• Plan fun and challenging activities
• Write an encouraging bucket list, and act on it
•  Jot down daily “to do or to don’t” lists – the satisfaction of crossing an item off makes my heart beat faster
• Make sure to smile at and be patient with young ones who think you are pushing close to death after the age of 35, because frankly, we probably thought the same thing at their age.  

If murdering is in my future, I’ll work on being in the best shape possible, so windedness is not a hindrance.

Sunshine On My Shoulders

This Baby Boomer is almost 65, exclamation point... Am I tipping the balance between too old to want to experience more of life's adventures "in its fullness". Am I physically capable or brave enough - or plain old tired out from my journey to this year? 

Retreat Center, Grandfather Mountain

Campfires, songs, sharing our days

When my mom was 65 I invited her to a group retreat at Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina. She bought new shoe-boots, packed “mountain” clothes (so cute), and slept in a retreat center along with other adventure-minded people of all ages. She went on extreme daily excursions with her peers, many older, and saw, experienced and embraced her week in the mountains, tubing on the New River, campfires, and, especially enjoyed the thick rich taste of Cowboy Coffee!

My friend, Kim wrote this to me a couple years ago: “It's great to think about things you'd still like to accomplish. A friend of mine decided to pick one thing and stick with it, rather than making a list, which can be overwhelming. So, at age 60, she decided to complete the entire Grand River Expedition (14 days kayaking the entire length of the river). She started training for it and met some new friends in the process. She completed the expedition, missing one day of the two-week trip because of illness. Six months later, she was diagnosed with stage-4 cancer. I'm not trying to hijack your live-today-for-tomorrow-we-may-die message, but it tells me that maybe I should focus on one goal at a time and make the most of that. Darn you -- you always get me thinking about this stuff.”

This message from Kim is encouraging, as was my mom’s optimistic zest for life, laughter and family … her spirit courses through my veins. 

Journaling on porch - mom on side of building

Lunch on way to the summit


Nearing summit, small planes flying below us

I am spending time reflecting on my younger-me "bucket list" with goals ranging from biking across Michigan to walking the Appalachian Trail (some accomplished). What would prevent me from dreaming up new and wild and crazy, along with some “tame” ideas? What would I like to add to my older-me idea list … would some scoff at this as a feeble attempt to regain my youth? What does that matter? It is my personal journey.

Last birthday I spent a solitary day walking around a rather rugged 5+ mile rocky, smooth, and hilly trail as a gift to myself. I was organizing my day as I never had. After the walk, on which I got magically lost, met up with my family and went to a lake where I learned to paddleboard. Supper was Kentucky Fried Chicken - decadent and a perfect complement to the way I wanted to celebrate my birthday. It was a lovely challenging day of following my heart, growing, and being supported by my husband and kids.

On a long-ago kayak trip with my kids and husband, my daughter found a bucket in the water. I remember the bucket, the emotions, probably over-dramatized, and the smell of the lake and wonder if this recollection is a sign to explore my wish list? Yep, mainly because I am not ready to curl up and only live in reminiscing – I want to make current memories.

Sunshine on my Shoulders

Portions of Grandfather Mountain

A Day of Dust and Magic

It was a perfect day for a softball game: humid, warm, the pungent smell of dirt from the diamond. The sounds of balls clapping into mitts, orders shouted, stretching, excitedly anticipating the arrival of our opposition.

A packed crowd surrounded the field as the opposing team arrived in limousines: laughing, hand slapping us, playing to the spectators. Magic Johnson, Greg Kelser, and Jay Vincent led the contingent of Michigan State University basketball players - their celebrity vs our small stature spirit. Each one of us, men and women, were chosen for our abilities to play this exhibition softball game in Holt, Michigan. 

My hand was tiny compared to these famous athletes ... the high-fives hurt, a lot, but the thrill of the game erased physical discomfort.

*This is number one, and the inning's just begun,

we need lots and lots of hits to score some runs!

I felt absolutely thrilled to be selected for this special team of MVP players around the region and "won" my favorite position -- shortstop. My life was softball, climbing trees, and walking in the woods. Playing against these men was a highlight, challenge, and a chapter-worthy notation on my life list. Along with the media attention, spectator's screaming, the clink of balls hitting aluminum bats, one memory I am proud of ... I snagged a mean and direct line drive off the bat of Magic Johnson. Out! My gloved hand seared with pain, but he was out. 

Their basketball turned softball team played to their fans and massacred us in runs and over the fence hits. The opposition was full of power, athleticism, and fun. The spectators got their money-worth of laughter.

Run the bases, leave no traces, lots of hits,

lots of runs, and they scored.

We obviously lost but I was in my element and loved every minute. We experienced the thrill of the game, celebrity-ness, fame and heart wrenching choking defeat.  It was great. My hand remained painfully swollen and bruised for weeks from the catch made off Magic's line-drive (and the high-fives) but relived the thrill and feel of this particular game for years. A moment in life to carry me into the future.

Now this is number seven and they really played like heaven;

they had lots and lots of hits and scored some runs!

They ran the bases,

they left no traces,

got lots of hits, lots of runs,

and they soared.

 *I had been a member of the Lansing Laurel's Women’s Fast Softball Team. The Laurels were hardcore players and won games and tournaments around the country and Canada. A Laurel wrote the lyrics of the above song. As we royally lost the game against the MSU basketball team, I changed out the original words to befit the event.

The Dancing Queen

A few years ago my daughter gave me a plaque with the inscription Dance Like There Is No One Looking. Tears poured down my cheeks in a surprise outburst of emotion ... my child understood, clearly saw, and acknowledged my spirit.

My family has watched (in horror?) as I "secretly" danced around the house, in the yard, car, and occasionally, publicly, on the dance floor. Elaine Benes on Seinfeld had nothing on me - we shared a unique dance expression.

Seinfeld The Elaine Dance* https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Elaine+Seinfeld+Dancing+Long+Version&&view=detail&mid=837E63003BC598A9F80D837E63003BC598A9F80D&&FORM=VRDGAR

In junior high I attended an occasional dance with my girlfriend where we were mercilessly teased and mimicked by the boys (boys will be boys, sigh). Over the years, as I revisited the memory, my confidence had already been affected to the point where I'd hide my "cool" dance moves. I still danced but for my eyes and entertainment only.

A turning point in my dance-insecurity was at a cousin’s wedding ... an aunt pulled me to the dance floor as the DJ played a particularly popular and fun song. Now this aunt was a wonderful dancer, as are some of my family, so I was hesitant, shy, afraid, and excited all at the same time. My aunt's beaming smile was an encouragement and so I danced albeit stiffly and awkwardly.

The first dance ended and we were having a ball. I felt eyes on us and almost backed off the floor but the pull of the music was too much. We urged some of our children onto the floor and all evening I danced "like there was no one looking". I felt like The Dancing Queen. I twisted, bopped my head, bobbed my rear, even made up dance moves for the lyrics of some songs. Concern for other's opinion went out the window to the lyrics of Y M C A. I just danced! Just danced!

My imperfections are abundant, especially in dancing, but overall and in the scheme of life - who cares? Bullies can impact our future - I absolutely know - but it is so refreshing to rise above the memories and be relatively free of judgers (still a work in progress). Dancing freely as I do now at weddings is so much fun and allows me to express myself, perhaps I make myself a "fool" - I feel at peace with this.

Just remember if you are going to invite me to your family wedding -- I have me some good moves, and I'll use them.



"In Feresten's 8th-season Seinfeld episode "The Little Kicks," the dance has more disastrous effects for Elaine (Benes): Her staff at J. Peterman, after seeing her dance, loses respect for her. When Jerry and Kramer tell her she "stinks" at dancing, she videotapes herself to see -- and wrecks the bootlegged movie Jerry was working on." (from Yahoo! TV Jennifer Keishin Armstrong, Oct. 10, 2016)

Pursued by a Bear

My breath came in gasps as panic-adrenalin fed my legs allowing me to run faster as a bear chased me, matching step-for-step, loud and intense, my life was about to end. Skip-running frantically in the calf-deep waves of Lake Michigan - a forest on one side and open water on the other - and a bear paralleling me in the woods.

The bear kept pace with me as my legs rose and fell quickly slicing through the cold wavy lake, my only thought was "it" was going to hurt, and hurt badly. 

Terrified of bears since I was a child this was my worst nightmare ... perhaps my last one. 

I ran faster, my wet clothes sloshing and splashing in the water.

I slowed to catch my breath. 

The bear slowed down.

I ran. 

The bear ran.

The waves were too noisy for anyone to hear me scream, as if I could.  My breath was coming in such gasps that I was forced to slow again. I bravely or stupidly looked back.  The bear stopped, and although the forest hid the beast, I felt how close he was, sensed him, smelled his musty fur.

I ran, and the bear started after me again. With each paw step closer, my panic intensified.

As I was about to be crunched in the bear's jaws a funny noise came from my shorts. I slowed down, the bear slowed down. Oh my good Lord, the noise was the sound my wet canvas shorts made as canvas rubbed on canvas making a strangely bear-sounding noise. The bear was the noise of my pants. 

I breathlessly laughed from the tension at my narrow escape from what I thought was a sure and painful death. 

I suppose my take-away is that if you are terrified of something unseen - stop and breathe - the "thing" may be a figment of imagination created from your own wet pants.