Thursday, August 25, 2022

 Thursday, August 25, 2022

 

 There was a downpour around 5:45 a.m. We were supposed to have driveway yoga this morning. I checked the weather app to see the forecast for the day. It announced the downpour would be over in 37 minutes. Thirty-seven minutes, exactly? It took longer than thirty-seven minutes. I texted Yvette to assure her the rain would end in time for the class in the driveway. She texted back the driveway wouldn't be dry enough in time for yoga at 7 a.m. She canceled.

  My right foot hurt severely for the last two days. On the advice of a chiropractor, I taped my wandering second toe on my right foot so it was straight instead of reclining on the first toe. I put the tape on before I went to bed. Then I didn't take it off when I got up. My foot hurt more with the tape. I could feel a neuroma developing. Ow! Been there; done that! That makes walking impossible. I spent most of the day icing the foot and rolling the sole over a golf ball. When I stepped on the outer edge of the foot, it didn't hurt.

   I had nothing scheduled for the day. I thought I would get lots done, but it was a deep grief day. I miss the casual contact living with someone who provides a passing smile and a comment about a plan, a memory, an idea, or a desire. I have contact with people by appointment; they plan to see me or speak to me. With some, that works. While it's not perfect, it's full of enthusiasm and interest. Having someone relate to me as if I'm a somewhat unpleasant obligation sucks. I have that, too. Those less-than-wonderful relationships were tolerable when Mike was alive. Now that I'm alone, they're unbearable.

   I still have a lot of casual contact on my walks. I run into people, and we share information about ourselves, our plans, our thoughts, and sometimes our problems. I can enjoy conversations with just about anyone. The only people I have trouble with are family members, including Mike. Mike needed a purpose for a conversation. The causal exchange of ideas didn't work for him. Somehow we muddled through. When there was a purpose to a conversation, making a decision, solving a difference, he was good, really good. Those were the more important characteristics for me. Some people love the way I relate; others hate it. What can I say? Facing the rejection of others without Mike to smile at me, hug me, and relish my company makes those other situations more painful.

 I was careless when doing Wordle today. I ignored one of the yellow letters in solving the problem. I only got it on the sixth try. My lousy state of mind made it more difficult. Then, I went on to solve an old Saturday puzzle. I got two of the clues without cheating. For the rest, I needed a lot of help.

 I did some weeding. I looked up the recipe for the vinegar weed killer. I learned this works well on annuals, not perennials or deeply rooted plants. I have several plants that look like shrubs but are vines. They spread by extending their roots. For those plants, I need boiling water.

     I ran into a couple with their dog on one of my walks. The woman approached and asked, "Where's Elsa?" I didn't recognize them. They didn't even look vaguely familiar. While my mind is still quite sharp, I have experiences like this that remind me of my aging brain. So far, I haven't freaked out. I accept it and do conscious work to embed information into my memory. Her name is Lisa. I was sure of that. His, I believe, was Richard. I have no idea of the dog's name.

  Scott was helping Yvette make her yoga videos. He was teaching himself how to splice them. Yvette was getting the best equipment. She had a green screen and professional lighting.

  Today, Scott asked me about picking up the cement pillows from the graveyard. He is a delight to have around. He took a few minutes to make casual conversation with me as he came and went. Other than that, he spends a lot of time in his bedroom. That's okay, too.

  The other day, I read about 'grey rocking' people on Quora. I looked it up. It's like stonewalling. Someone asks for a response, and you give them nothing. It is supposed to be a way to deal with toxic people. I have someone who uses this strategy with me. They have described me in terms appropriate for Ted Bundy. I can conclude they find me toxic. I can't argue that I'm not toxic for them. She has to maintain a stance to maintain herself. Whatever she's doing, it works for her. That's her first obligation in life. Her impact on me, however sad it makes me, is secondary.

  The book Chatter describes the process mostly negatively, at least so far. Most people are only aware of chatter when it is negative. Most people barely notice if it's positive, giving good counsel. Chatter does both. The neuroscientist, Jill Bolte Taylor, experienced a stroke. She loved it. All the negative voices in her head were silenced. She was in complete harmony with the world. She was in love with life. There was only one small problem: she couldn't function. This voice tells us how to pour our coffee, add a column of figures, drive our cars, etc. It's the voice of our trained mind churning out thoughts at 4,000 words a minute. We have to be up bright and early to catch up with it. Without it, we're toast.  

  Chatter directs our behavior according to its training, the training it received from our culture and us. We may have chosen to pick up that guitar and instilled that information, not our parents.

   The noise chatter makes depends on how we experience a situation. Chatter puts out a lot of useless negativity if we see a situation as a hopeless threat. If we see the situation as a challenge, chatter does something else; it works to help us solve the problem. In the latter case, all the relevant information already stored in our brains is a channel to help us overcome the challenge. If we feel threatened, our vascular system constricts. If we feel challenged, our vascular system expands. One is fear; the other is excitement and anticipation.

  Netflix offered me Another Self. It took me a while to figure out they were speaking Turkish. It is wonderful. It's a chick flick about the lives of three friends who all face challenges and get help from a mystical system with some basis in a standard family structure therapy that's normal and less mystical. The script is great; the acting is fantastic. The lead actress and the views of Turkey are beautiful and a pleasure to watch.