Warm Thoughts

There comes a time every winter, usually in early March, when I announce to anyone who cares, "I am ready to be warm again." 

I enjoyed a preview of that warmth a couple of weekends ago when my husband and I went to Penticton to see our younger son play in a concert there. Penticton, like much of the Okanagan, is generally drier and warmer this time of year than where we live, and it did not disappoint that weekend. It was so warm that, after the concert, we stood very comfortably outside the theatre talking with our son for a good half hour. It was so warm that in the morning, we went for a walk and had to shed our jackets and scarves, even though there was a light breeze. I felt every muscle in my body relax in the warmth. I turned to my husband at one point and said, "Maybe we should retire here." He responded by drily informing me that Penticton is at least thirty-five degrees celcius most of the summer. "Oh, but it's a dry heat," I scoffed, knowing full well that he was right - I'm not a big fan of thirty-plus temperatures. 

My dad's parents were Snowbirds. They joined thousands of other retired Canadians every winter and went down to the California desert. My Nana suffered with arthritis, and the dry heat made her achy joints feel a whole lot better than they did during the wet winters in her home in South Surrey/Whiterock. My grandparents even bought a home in Rancho Mirage, outside of Palm Springs. When they turned eighty, however, the medical insurance skyrocketed and they decided to sell up and remain in South Surrey each winter. I'm sure it was hard for them to say goodbye to those hot, dry, comfortable winters down south. I wonder if they ever thought of retiring to Penticton. I wish they were around to ask. 

I don't mind winter at all. I don't yet have crippling arthritis or suffer through Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) or anything like that. I don't mind rain, either, as long as it doesn't rain incessently for days and days on end. I like being cozy with fluffy duvets and blankets tucked under my chin while the winter weather rages outside. I like making hot soup and warm biscuits for supper. I enjoy skiing and rambles on a snowy trail. I like the views of the mountains from my windows when the leaves are off the trees. Come late spring, those mountain views are filled in with masses of green growth. I like watching the flames flicker in the fireplace and taking hot baths on a cold night. But, even I, friend of winter, reach my seasonal limit. After months of wearing layers upon layers, walking down the street with my shoulders hunched against the cold, hands thrust in pockets Bob Dylan style, I'm ready to stand tall with my shoulders back, wear a sunhat and flowy dress and reclaim my outdoor comfort!

You know that first day in spring when you feel warm enough to walk down the street in a t-shirt? That is always a moment of bliss for me. The air temperature is neither too hot, nor too cold. That is my sweet spot. I am so looking forward to that moment in spring when I don't have to decide which jacket to wear, but we are not there yet. On this last day of March, the season is still hovering between winter chill and spring thaw. A sunny day still ends in a freezing night. A warm, mild day filled with bird song and blooming flowers can easily Jekyll and Hyde into a raw, frigid morning where the snow line descends on the mountains overnight. 

Spring is definitely happening, though, and for that, I say "Welcome Spring, and thank you for all your many gifts of beauty and cheerfulness, and the hope of many, many warm days to come."

Happy Easter, everyone!

'til next time, 

Rebecca

Everybody Hurts Sometimes

I have never been a person with great reserves of energy, but I have generally enjoyed good health. Lately I have been thinking a lot about the years when I was raising my kids. I am more than grateful for those decades when a bout of bronchitis, back pain, or a stomach bug were the worst of my issues. As regular readers of my 'letters' know, after I had turned fifty and my kids were grown up, I spent a year and a half recovering from a head injury. At no time was I close to dying, but I felt like I might be. Concussions can be that bad. A few of my friends checked in on me regularly and that meant the world to me. One friend even brought my family meals every week for the entire summer. That whole experience shaped me in so many ways that I find it hard not to talk about. (I am sorry if you're tired of hearing about it. I try not to make it my whole personality.)

'Life and death stuff' is what my friend who went through breast cancer treatment calls more serious health crises. As we get older and have more experiences with Life and Death Stuff, we internalize those experiences and use them to empathize with and give help to our friends whose turn it is to go through a crisis. In the best case scenario we are part of a supportive community, taking turns looking after each other, understanding what is at stake. In the process, we, ideally, become better friends, siblings, daughters and sons. 

A couple of weeks ago, I was on the phone with a dear childhood friend. I had texted her to say, if she wanted a ski buddy the next day at her local hill, my husband was on his way there for a flying two-day ski break, and would welcome her company. She called me and said she had the week off and would probably be able to meet my husband at the hill, that is, if her mother-in-law who had recently broken her kneecap didn't need her. I asked if our mutual friend who spent the winters skiing at our hometown hill was still in town. My friend said, no, she'd had to go home to Ontario a month early due to her father-in-law having a bad fall and needing support, and her husband who had planned to join her for her ski break this year didn't get to come even for a week. (As we get older it seems more friends and families in our sphere are 'going through it', doesn't it?) We were both sad that I had not been able to make the trip due to a flareup in my sinuses. Driving a long day over three mountain passes would not be helpful for my condition.

My husband has an appointment in April with an orthopedic surgeon who will look at his knee that has been operated on twice and, according to a recent MRI, has all kinds of issues. Amazingly, even though he is usually in some pain, he persists with the skiing and the trail running, depending on the season, but has added strength training to his regimen in order to support his weaker areas. His knee has recently failed him a couple of times though, and his upcoming appointment with the surgeon is welcome. On a walk at our local river trail the other day, my husband and I were passed by dozens of young runners. I sighed. I miss running, but it's not a wise thing to do when you have a blockage in your sinuses, even when the rest of you is fine. I enjoyed a passing philosophical thought as a twenty-something woman blew past us. 'It's her turn,' I thought to myself. 'I'm glad she is making good use of her healthy body. I hope she's really enjoying herself today.' Aloud to my husband I said, "I miss running. But, in the words of REM, 'Everybody hurts sometimes'." He said something encouraging like, "You'll be able to run again. This is just a temporary setback." I'm on the cancellation list for the Ear, Nose and Throat doctor, so I hope I don't have to wait too, too long for an appointment. The scary date of '2027' was said by the ENT's receptionist. The blockage in my sinuses totally clearing up before then would be even better. 

I get down on myself when I am sick. I think, 'Why am I not stronger?' I prefer to be the helper, not the helped. I hope my personal experiences with illness and other physical and mental challenges have made me a better person, though. When my close friend developed breast cancer I knew what pain was, I knew what self-advocacy within the health care system looked like. I knew the toll illness takes on our mental health. I could actually help her in a meaningful way, and that felt good. When she was through treatment and her friend got cancer, she could be an empathetic, helpful, and knowledgeable friend to her. She felt privileged to be able to do so. Their friendship deepened and that is a beautiful thing. Perhaps, after all, the meaning of hard times and loss and grief is to help us grow into deeper humans, capable of more empathy. The world could sure use more of that right now. 

'til next time, 

Rebecca