A friend and I were talking about where we each live now and how unexpected it’s been for us to find ourselves where we are. In college we could never have imagined this.
She lives in an older home built in the ’40s in an affluent part of town in a community with a vibe that suggests social status. It’s a desirable address, near a country club and fancy hospital and an upscale local grocery that’s all the rage.
Posh is the word for it.
I live in a 20 year old home in a quirky suburb with a bit of regional history that until a few years ago was considered to be the sticks by the people who live in affluent parts of town. It’s an address that suggests good schools and unique local restaurants and outdoor activities.
Relaxed is the word for it.
To be clear, neither of us gives a flying fig through a donut hole about where the other one lives; we’re not hung up on only befriending people who live exactly like we do. Call us non-judgmental, I suppose.
No, the crux of our conversation was about how she’s ended up as an adult living close to where she grew up as a child while I’ve ended up as an adult living somewhere I knew nothing about as a child.
Without belaboring the point by getting pedantic with sociological terminology and geographic nuances, this is a simple | interesting | harmless way to divide people into two categories based on their subjective responses to the following question:
Do you consider where you live now to be your childhood hometown/region OR do you consider where you live now to be somewhere new you moved to along the way?
THIS IS ONE OF THOSE LONG WEEKS when I’ve been doing things, but haven’t felt very good. My stomach kind of hurts, no specific reason. My ancient old knees hurt, no specific reason.
My head hurts, courtesy of seasonal allergies. My eyes are an itchy mess because of those same allergies. And I’ve been sneezing.
Sneezing so loudly, in fact, that while I was outside on the deck when I sneezed a neighbor, who I’ve never met, who lives on the other side of the forest primeval/ravine behind our house yelled “God bless you” towards me. I shouted “thank you” back across the forest primeval/ravine, thus ending the longest conversation I’ve ever had with any neighbor on the other side of the forest primeval/ravine.
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AND THEY SAY THE SUBURBS ARE SOULLESS. Ha! We’re not soulless here, we just live far enough apart to not know each other personally while being midwestern polite to a fault. And aren’t good manners part and parcel of having a soul?
Me thinks so.
And on that note of profundity [?], I shall end this post. You know I try to be here at least once a week because I made a commitment to myself and to you, my gentle readers, to do so, thus I am here.
It would be bad manners to not show up.
However some weeks it takes all I’ve got just to find a photo [enhanced by Waterlogue app], plop it on this virtual page, and then write the words. In this case Muse is here with me, but my Energy Level isn’t up to snuff.
I understand how he feels. April is difficult for me, too, Mr. Bird. I’m allergic to the pollen and mold that is everywhere outside this month. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember.
Not a fan of this month. Don’t sign me up to be on Team April.
There’s nothing for me to do except complain take allergy meds that make me drowsy and wait for the rain to clear the pollen and mold from the air.
I mean I’m out and about living my life because I’m a conscientious woman who said she’d do the things. But I’m doing the things with tissues in pocket, eye drops in handbag, forced pleasant attitude on display.
As if I think April is dandy.
QuestionS of the Day
What’s happening where you live? Are you sneezing and wheezing? Or are you happy and healthy, unbothered by pollen and mold? Tell me your deal, ok?
I’VE BEEN KNOWN TO SAY:trust the process. I don’t know that I do that all the time because my ego gets in the way, but when I chill out and reflect upon situations it seems like a worthy goal– if you’re trying to live your life in a heart-centered way.
Thus I give you the following series of events, hoping that there is something good + insightful to be gleaned from this. I mean, there’s nothing bad or tragic with the following, it’s just weird– even by my standards of self-awareness.
PERHAPS YOU KNOW ABOUT THE idea of posing a question to yourself as you fall asleep at night, allowing your subconscious to give you the answer, revealed in your first thoughts in the morning?
I learned about doing this from a yoga teacher, a woman who was one of those totally centered, but not unrealistically cheerful, instructors who was all about helping other people find their way IF the other person was sincere.
I liked her classes. Useful.
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HERE’S THE QUESTION I ASKED myself last night was: what could I write about on my blog this week? And my subconscious tossed a question back at me that is about as random and unexpected as they get.
It’s a question for which I have no answer, nor need to know an answer. And I realize that no one is alive that would be able to answer it.
Here’s what I woke up thinking about: did my mother, who was three years younger than her older sister, know that when her older sister stepped on the train headed for a holiday in Texas, that her older sister was going off to elope?
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THIS IS AN ODD QUESTION that has left me baffled about what is going on inside my brain. I mean, what do you suppose my subconscious is trying to tell me?
Is it saying that I need to go on a vacation? That it’s time for me to tell stories about my ancestors? That it’s broken and needs a professional tune-up?
I dunno, but I will say I’m a little bit freaked out about what the heck is going on inside my mind. I’ll admit to being older and more addled than I once was, but I’m usually not so far out there with the answers to my questions.
I went to the primary care doctor’s office for my annual physical.
I see a PCP, a woman, who is in her late 30s.She’s competent, engaging, and most importantly from my point of view, not an alarmist. Mellow about everything.
Anyhoo, I’m sitting there in the examination room with her and she’s looking at a computer screen, reviewing which doctors I see for annual check-ups. Which I do because I’m a dutiful adult patient who does what she’s told to do.
[Also because I’m a doctor’s daughter.And let me tell ‘ya, if as a child you listen to enough detailed dinnertime conversations about people who are icky sick because they didn’t go to their doctors for a regular check-up, then as an adult you make those time-consuming appointments with your doctors for your annual check-ups.]
Again, anyhoo, getting to what I want to tell you…
So my doc looks on her computer screen and confirms with me that I’m seeing a certain dermatologist.Let’s call him Dr. Face. She asks me which one of his associates I see when I go for my annual skin care check.I tell her I see him.
She stops what she’s doing, turns to me and says: “You see him?”
I say: “Yes.”
She says: “I go to that practice and I never get to see him.He’s the best, I wanna see Dr. Face, too.”
I say: “Yes, he’s good.”
She says: “But Dr. Face doesn’t do your procedures, right?Some other med assistant or doc does them?”
I say: “No, he does them.”
She says: “Well, how does that happen?Why does he work on you and not me?”
Then she says: “How’d you find him?”
I say: “You referred me.”
There is a long pause while she looks at my chart on the screen and I say nothing.
Then she says, more like a girlfriend than my doctor: “Well darn, I gotta refer myself.I’m jealous. I can’t believe you get to see Dr. Face and I don’t.”
At which point, even though this was kind of funny, I didn’t smile at my good fortune, instead I made murmuring sounds of sympathy for my doctor’s sad realization that she wasn’t getting the best healthcare that she wanted.
Because doctor is a nice woman, who I am sorry to report, doesn’t seem to have the right connections to get in with Dr. Face.
Look closely. The above is a photo of a butterfly landing on salvia. I took it, while standing on our stone path by the side of the house, last August.
Seeing the butterfly then made me happy because I’m working on turning one quadrant of our garden, by the stone path, into a butterfly habitat. So far, this is a project in its infancy having attracted only a few butterflies.
But I have dreams. Big Butterfly Habitat Dreams.
And now, not to put too fine a point on it, I have a cheerful photo, perfect for sharing here today, whilst we’re in the midst of the Polar Vortex.
People, it is cold outside.
Yesterday it was 7ºF in the early morning and I thought that was cold. I had to go to the doc’s office for routine blood work so I bundled up and navigated the plowed, but still slippery, streets to get there.
It was an interesting drive.
Today, at the same time in the morning, it’s -3ºF outside and I’m going nowhere. Nowhere I say. Yep, I’m staying at home inside, being the reasonably prudent slacker that I am at heart.
Why? Because I can [the obvious flippant answer that we all know and love].
And because you, my gentle readers, are out there in the world wide web, waiting, I hope, to comment on this post so that I have something meaningful to do with my time today.