Summer Lovin', Had Me a Blast

 Okay, that is bit of a lie. I did not really have a blast this summer. But it hasn't been completely terrible, either.

Back in early March, I optimistically thought (hoped?) that by staying home when we were told to that everything would be mostly back to normal by summer. While I was still blissfully unaware of the changes that would take place, I envisioned trips I would go on, people I would visit and all sorts of fun activities I would overflow my summer bucket with. In the early weeks of this pandemic, looking ahead and making plans gave me hope and something to look forward to. It would have been much more challenging for me to deal with those dreary, gray months stuck inside if I had not had some sort of normalcy to look forward to. There was also more than a little bit of denial wrapped around those hopes and plans; really, how could I have imagined that this would be life in the 21^st century? It seemed inconceivable and unbelievable then, and it still does.

Now, summer is nearly over, life is not back to normal, not even close, who knows when it will be, and I did none of the fun things I imagined I would do. I have been in a bit of funk about it, and one day when I was feeling especially low, I forced myself to think of things that were good this summer.

While the summer of 2020 wasn’t exactly a blast, I did meet a girl. She is not necessarily crazy for me yet, but she IS crazy!

I also met a boy, cute as can be (my great nephew)

I went strolling.

And more. My feet have hiked trails I never imagined they would and walked paths and sidewalks through my neighborhood and parks and conservation areas and along river bluffs in stifling heat and rain and darkness. I should call this “The Summer of Strolling.” If I can thank COVID for one thing is that I have discovered that I love hiking.

 

 

I drank lemonade.

Sort of. I made and drank limoncello, which is kind of lemonade, right? Just in adult beverage form. 

 

No one ran by me and got my suit damp. Not only did my suit not get damp, I didn’t even wear it this summer.  

You may not be thinking, “Tell me more, tell me more,” but I will anyway.

I didn’t make out with anyone under a dock, but I sure did stay out past 10 o’clock, almost every night, relaxing on my brand new screened in patio under my deck. 

 

I didn’t have a summer fling, but Oh, those summer nights…

 

And, I will tell some more! 😊  

It is still very much summer and hot here, it typically is through the end of September and sometimes even longer. Yet, signs are clear that fall is quickly approaching: Cooler mornings and evenings, tinges of red and gold on the trees, darkness before 8 PM. By September, I am usually tired of wilting in the heat and humidity and look forward to fall coming, but this year, it has put me in a low mood I have had a hard time snapping out of. I am not looking forward to summer ending, even if it wasn’t a blast, and I am glad that back in March, I was blissfully unaware of what summer 2020 would look like.

A few days ago, I was feeling especially down, and while trying to drag myself out of my funky mood, I forced myself to write down all the things I did do and accomplish this summer. Things I might not have paid any attention to if I had been flitting around from place to place. I realized that I have found great comfort in routines and predictable things, and I am grateful for them. When I begrudgingly force myself out of the “I didn’t get to do anything fun this summer mindset,” I realize there have been many perfect and lovely and memorable moments, even if they weren’t what I hoped for months ago. There are still so many things to relish and find solace in.

There have been so many lazy weekend (and weekday) mornings to play cards and read on my new screened in patio. There have also been slow evenings filled with conversations over glasses of wine while watching the sunset and listening to the song of summer cicadas.

Homemade ice cream has churned away on my kitchen counter (more than once!). Vanilla, peach, butter pecan, all drizzled (or drenched, let me be real) with gooey homemade caramel bourbon sauce.

Pots of flowers and herbs have been watered and tended and bloomed and pruned back and tossed out and replanted for fall.

A sunflower field I was not aware even existed until this summer made for a fun getaway for the girls and I one sweltering Friday afternoon. 

 

 

18 books have been read.

Mouthwatering, juicy tomatoes and peaches and squash and cucumbers and melons from friends and local farms have been consumed in ridiculous amounts in every way they can possibly be consumed—by the bowlful, grilled into sandwiches, baked or fried to crispy perfection, stirred into ice cream.  

Outdoor projects have been completed. The best one of all…the previously mentioned screened in patio. It has become my happiest of happy spots. I spent too much money fixing it up, and I do not feel one tiny shred of guilt about that. I also spent numerous weekends with Lauren staining our new deck as well as giving a makeover to my old deck furniture.

Coffee still brews in early, quiet mornings.

Music still relaxes me.

There are still beads to play with 

I couldn't go to the beach, so I made one to wear around my neck. 

 

Baking is still my go-to when I need peace and comfort (I am convinced beyond all doubt that the smell of cookies or bread or cake baking can cure all that ails one) So can kneading bread dough and piping fancy frosting onto cupcakes while Elton John plays in the background.

Our family was still able to get together to celebrate and remember the life of my dear, sweet mother in law after she died in July. What we were not able to do made us be creative in ways we may not have thought about in normal times; those things made the day lovely and perfect.

The breeze still blows fresh in my face and the sun still warms and browns my skin, even though I did not get those things from the beach like I wanted to

My favorite restaurants are still here, and perhaps I have enjoyed them more since I get to enjoy them less

There is still Netflix and Amazon Prime and Hulu showing cheesy old movies that take my mind away from my troubles for a few hours (bet ya can’t tell which one I watched more than once this summer!)

In its own weird way, while I didn’t get very far, the summer of 2020 has been full of life and love and beauty woven through the lonely and hard and disappointing. I have learned over these strange, slow months that even the smallest perfect moments can give me hope that everything is going to be okay. Good things are there when I look for them and pay attention to them. I may not have saved anyone’s life, but all of these little things sure did help me save my sanity.

Floating Along

I haven’t written here in a long while. It’s not because I haven’t had anything to say. Oh no, I have had plenty to say. There is just too much going on in the world and in my life, and I cannot seem to settle my mind and thoughts on any one thing for any length of time. When I do write these days, my thoughts are scattered all over the place and like swirling leaves on a windy fall day, I can’t seem to gather them up to finish anything I start.

Right now, I do not have the mental energy to write about what is going on in the world in relation to the corornavirus, so I am going to write about something else that I was inspired by a few days ago. I was scrolling through some pictures on my phone looking for photos of my front porch last summer when I came across pics from last July. We had traveled to Atlanta for the July 4^th holiday and while there, we all went on a float trip in Helen, GA. The Chattahoochee River begins near Helen, and you can rent tubes and float down the river for a few hours.

Since it was a summer holiday weekend, it was rather crowded when we got there, and I had high hopes as we sweated and waited our turn in the long line to board a shuttle that would take us to the drop off point. The thought of spending an afternoon sprawled out in a large tube lazily floating down the Chattahoochee River sounded so appealing. I could not think of a better way to spend a steamy Southern summer day. I had visions of us all happily floating along, laughing, soaking up the sun and just relaxing. 

That is not exactly how it was.

We all climbed onto our tubes at the same time in knee deep water, but the current quickly separated us. Within a few minutes, I was floating all alone, catching glimpses of my family every now and then. And it was not quite the lazy float I imagined it would be. In some places, yes, the river was calm and carried me along uneventfully. In other places, there were clusters of stones and boulders where the water was shallow and flowed more rapidly. Places where my tube would get stuck, causing me to have to get out to dislodge it, trying not to lose my footing on slippery rocks while at the same time trying to make sure my tube didn’t go floating down the river without me.

“Wait,” I often thought! “Why is this not the lazy jaunt down the river I had envisioned when we planned this trip?” My legs ached, my back hurt, my feet hurt from trying to grip the rocks.

But I was stuck. I was drifting down the river, and there was nothing else for me to do but lay back on my big green tube and go with the flow. I couldn’t paddle backwards and get on the shuttle. (At times, I wished I could go back and sit on the deck of one of the riverside bars and have a drink and wave at everyone as they floated by).  There was no place to get out of the water and say, “Hey, I’m done now, take me back!” I had to stay on the river until I returned to the starting point, and I had absolutely no idea how long that would be. And even if I had known how long it would eventually take (a little over 2 hours) I had no way of keeping track of time. 

It sounds dumb now, but at the time, I was scared and anxious. Not just a little bit, either. My anxiety, that I was still struggling to get under control and wrap my head around, was completely out of control that afternoon. None of my family was anywhere in sight most of the time; I felt vulnerable and alone on that crowded river. I began to watch the other people, and the mood was festive. Everyone seemed relaxed and happy. Some people had dogs on their tubes. And babies. There were groups who had tied their tubes together, and I wished that we had done that; I would have been less stressed if my people had been with me. 

After a time, I forced myself to chill out and just enjoy the whole experience rather than be anxious and on edge the entire time. I started to pay attention to all that was going on around me. The smoky scent of barbeque that wafted from the riverside restaurants and homes. Music. The sun warming my arms and legs. The cool water as I trailed my hands in it. The clear blueness of the summer sky. The sweet breeze when the river carried me from the intense sun through bright green canopies of trees that felt like drifting through cool tunnels. 

It took me some time to calm down, and I began to enjoy the meandering. 

Sometimes, the water was smooth, allowing me to lazily float. Sometimes, it was fraught with challenges. Rocks in my path kept me from being too complacent, yet to keep trekking along, I had to deal with the slippery rocks. At times, I climbed from the relative safety of my tube and easily got my footing, quickly moving through the obstacles in my path. Other times, it didn’t work so well; my feet slipped, the current threatened to knock me over, and I worried about my tube getting away and leaving me standing all alone in the middle of a river. (I actually saw that happen to someone, which didn’t help my anxiety level). There were a few times that I sat in the trouble I was in and gave myself pep talks while I stopped to catch my breath and let myself stay caught up on those rocks, just hanging out until I felt more capable of dislodging myself. But I couldn’t stay stuck in anyone place for long, I had to keep moving even if it was hard to do so.

I did eventually meet up with my daughter, and we looped our rafts together for the remainder of the journey. As we got closer to the end, I also caught more glimpses of my people. By the time we arrived back at the place we had gotten on the shuttle, I was so relieved it was over. I looked forward to climbing out, finding a nice restaurant, sitting down to eat and having a drink. Everyone else said they wished we had chosen the longer float. I agreed with them all about how fun it was, while my mind was screaming, “Oh, Hell NOOOO! I’m so glad this is OVER!” While I did eventually relax and enjoy it, those two hours (that felt like much longer!) were enough. 

That day on the Chattahoochee River was a turning point for me, but I didn’t realize it at the time. 

We drove home the next day, and I had many hours in the car to think. Many hours to think is not typically good for someone like me who tends to think too much anyway, but on that day, I was glad for time to think. The two weeks before that trip had been difficult ones, and I was not looking forward to being back in my real life. 

I thought of that trip down the river and while I know for most people, it was an easy breezy thing, it wasn’t for me, and I felt quite proud of myself for finishing it without having a panic attack. But I thought of it as representative of my life at the time. 

I thought about those slippery rocks that caused me to get out of my lazy comfort zone on the tube. I thought about each time I persevered, got myself out of a difficult situation, then happily climbed back into the tube and kept on floating. Such is life, right? Floating happily along when all of the sudden there are obstacles in your path that must be dealt with before you can get on with the easy parts of life.

I thought of how you can’t go backwards. If you try, it is impossible. You can’t as easily go against the current of a river, and you can’t easily go against the flow life is taking you on. I got to the point that day on the river where when the current of the river spun me around and I could see behind me I knew I would one day look back and see how far I had traveled, but I couldn’t go back. And I didn’t want to.  

I thought about how sometimes, when you get hung up on a problem or difficulty, it’s okay to just sit there and let yourself rest for a bit. Letting myself sit stuck on those rocks once in a while helped me calm myself so I felt better able to get out of the tube and eventually do what I had to do to move along. 

I thought about how sometimes, you just have to kick back and go with the flow, even when you don’t know where that flow is going to take you or what lies ahead. 

I thought about all those people, even my family, who thought it was an easy thing to float down that river when it mostly stressed me out. We don’t all experience the same events and situations in the same way, and our life experiences determine how we react to things. 

I thought about how I can do hard things. I was in a bad place in life then, and I didn’t feel as if I could conquer anything difficult. I was feeling weak and vulnerable and unsure of myself. That trip down the Chattahoochee River empowered me in a way. I felt ready to take on whatever was ahead of me, rocks in my path be damned! 

I thought about how difficulties and obstacles can end up being a positive turning point, even if you don’t realize it at the time. 

I had already learned some coping methods for dealing with anxiety, but I wasn’t very good at any of them yet. My time on the river forced me to slow and center my thoughts, look at the situation logically: “It is safe! People have their BABIES on this river!” Things like that. 

I realized that having loved ones around can definitely be important to help you in difficult times, but sometimes, you just have to reach inside yourself and use the coping skills you have to deal with tough situations. If we had all been strapped together, I would not have had any of the epiphanies that ended up making such a difference in my life at the time. The day probably would have been easier and more enjoyable, but I got exactly what I needed at the time.

I am glad I came across these photos this week because thinking about it feels very timely right now.

A year after that trip down the Chattahoochee River, I am once again floating along. Not on a river, but on a life that seems really uncertain most days. 

Some days are easy. Other days, I feel like I am stuck on some slippery rocks that I can’t quite get my footing on. 

Some days, I lazily go with the flow, whatever that means. Some days, it means I sit on the porch all day and read because that is all I can handle. Other days, I plant flowers, stain my deck, pull weeds, do laundry. I do not know what is around the bend, but I try to kick back and relax and not worry too much.

I have given myself permission to just sit with a problem for a while, a day, or more before I try to solve it. If I am having a bad day, and there have been plenty of those, I try not to beat myself up or feel guilty for just sitting on the porch. Sometimes, just sitting is the most necessary and best thing I can do. But I also know that I can’t sit in a problem forever. There does come a point where I have to get out of my comfort zone and deal with whatever it is I need to deal with. I can’t let myself get stuck in one spot in life anymore than I could let myself get stuck on river rocks.

Just as that float down the river left me feeling lonely and vulnerable, so have the past few months of this pandemic. At times, being alone has been just what I needed. Other times, I miss my people and want them around me. 

Just as we all experienced that day on the river in different ways, we are all experiencing this crazy time in different ways. My family has weathered it better than many others, and for that I am so thankful. But always, I am aware that it is different, better, worse for everyone. In a time when so many are judgmental, I am trying to keep this awareness in mind. We may all be on the same river, but we are all on different tubes. Some may glide easily around rocks that others become stuck on. Some may have better ways of unsticking themselves. And our experiences, both past and present, are different. 

I am much better at dealing with anxiety now. It has become a part of my life, and I don’t hate it like I did a year ago. A year ago, I hadn’t fully grasped the role dealing with anxiety would play in my life. In some ways, it has made me a better person. I am calmer (most of the time!). I don’t get as easily frustrated. It may sound strange, but with the times we are living in right now, I am grateful for where I was last summer. I am grateful that I now have some coping skills I didn’t have before. Those things have gotten me through some tough times the past few months, and I know that I would be in a much worse place without them. 

Just as a year ago when I found comfort and solace during the times my float down the river was smooth and relaxing, I am finding comfort and solace when my days now are easy. I appreciate them because I know there have been and will continue to be days that are far from comforting. Days when there have been and will still be slippery rocks and boulders that get in my way. But I mostly feel confident in my ability to get over them because I have learned to handle life’s challenges more gracefully. And when I can’t, when the rocks are too slippery and flail and slip around a bit, I know I will eventually make it over them anyway. And I know that just around the bend, there may be a cool green tunnel and a smooth path waiting for me.

Another lesson from that day on the river: some days, you just need a large margarita or a glass of wine at the end. 

Beating to My Own Rhythm

I saw a quote on Instagram a few days ago about beating to your own rhythm. I didn’t save it, and I can’t remember who posted it so I can look for it again. I can’t remember the rest of the quote, either, but it sparked something in me because when I saw it, I immediately thought, “Yeah, that is me; I am definitely living and beating to my own, sometimes strange, rhythm these days.”

The first few weeks of staying home at the beginning of the COVID19 pandemic were challenging for me in general, but they were extra challenging in the “doing shit” category. I spent several weeks doing nothing that I did not absolutely have to do, even though I had so many things I could have been doing. Not only was my anxiety through the roof, I couldn’t find any motivation. I started to feel like a lazy slug, dragging and moping around day after day doing nothing productive. I read so many posts on FB and Instagram written by people talking about all they were accomplishing in their stay at home time, and I felt even worse. I wondered what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I take advantage of this forced time at home and tackle all the projects that needed tackling in my house and life? It was a low time already and comparing myself to what others were doing made me feel lousy.

After a few weeks of feeling so low and anxious and trying unsuccessfully to find my groove, I began trying to give myself the grace I always try to give to others. I realized that my mental health had to be a priority if I was going to make it through this season without losing my mind, and comparing myself to others and what I thought I should be doing was not good for me. I eventually decided to give myself permission to simply “go with the flow.” No matter if the flow was a raging river or a lazy, meandering creek. Or a stagnant pond.

It has not been easy to lower my expectations of myself. I still want to measure myself against those productive people on social media. Other days, I find true inspiration in what others are doing and writing about.

I still have days here and there when anxiety gets the better of me, days when I mope and drag around. But if I have a day that I feel inspired to do something, anything, I do it. If I have a day when I feel like sitting on the couch all day watching Netflix, I do that, too, and I try to not feel guilty about it.

Some days, I go for a brisk one hour walk around my neighborhood or a 4 mile walk around Creve Coeur Lake or ride my bike. I feel so fantastic on those days, like I am ready to take on the world. Other days, I can barely make the effort to walk down to the basement and do laundry.

Some days, I get up and take a shower right away and even put on makeup. Other days, I stay in the same leggings and hoodie for two days and feel accomplished if I simply wash my face, comb my hair and brush my teeth.

Some days, I chop vegetables and eat lovely, healthy, gorgeous salads with homemade dressing. Other days, I survive on Doritos, grilled cheese sandwiches and peanut M & Ms.

I have (mostly) stopped beating myself up for the “other days.” Thankfully, those other days have become less the norm than they were in the beginning, and I am embracing the beating rhythm my life is in this season.

I am doing the best I can, and I wish I could have had that realization 10 weeks ago. (Wow, 10 weeks???)

The weather the past few weeks has been less than stellar, but my weekends have been productive. I love spring when I can get outdoors. The past three weekends have been full of trimming, planting, mulching, pruning, raking, sweeping, sweating, and last but not least, aching. 😊 Now, my favorite day of the year is here. The day it is finished. 

 

(I sure do wish I could wave a magic wand over that tower of herbs ^^ on my deck and make them GROW faster. I can't wait to go out there with my scissors and snip pieces off to use when I cook.) 

 

I feel a real sense of accomplishment. My front porch looks inviting, and I made it through another spring of trimming bushes with an electric hedge trimmer and did not end up with an ER visit and stitches. 

Who knows what my rhythm will look like as life slowly returns to normal and I go back to the office next week, but I will continue giving myself permission to beat at my own rhythm. 

Right now, that means relaxing and rocking with a drink and a book.