Self Care II

I am far from certain how to measure the end of the world as I knew it, but I donae feel overly dramatic in saying that life is gone forever. On August 14th when the proctective custody of my grandchildren was officially dropped on us, it still felt temporary. The permanency wasnae a real option until September 21st when both parents were killed in a fatal car crash. However troubled their marriage and strictly personals, there wasnae a doubt in anyone's mind that both parents were thoroughly devoted to their children. Optimism was running high that they would work through their issues to remain devoted parents, whether individually or together. They were also devoted to their marriage, but they were 21st century e-kids with far more exposure to Ex-dramas than working-it-out dramas. In functional fact, their marriage looked far more a product of hell than heavan. Among the scenarios I have imagined for my son's last moments was his being distracted by a tit-for-tat skirmish with his side-seat driver. His wife couldnae drive, but she sure could harrass her husband while he was chaufering. In Spanish, that is the most maligned piece of the tradition of "Las damas no se conducen" among the opponents of that tradition. Side seat drivers can be downright dangerous, especially when they know where all the chaufer's most sensitive buttons are.

As the family dynamics settle into a potentially sustainable shape, senior self care seems a critical piece of the puzzle. Celebrating my 83rd birthday never has been on my wish list. At 65, I amnae in as much hurry to go as I thought I would be, but I will need to celebrate that 83rd birthday to see the infant sleeping in the next room through to her HS graduation. Even then, 18 is still quite young in the complexities of life in the 21st century. As I mourn the loss of my old life and its quaint notions of retirement, my attitude toward the "destination older" mentality of my peers seems to be shifting dramatically. Seems to be. . . It is hard to know what I am feeling where in the chaotic tidal waves of unfamiliar emotions.

So I begin my drive toward shoring up my neglected self-care with an especially deep personal inventory. Easy does it, as always. Time has no meaning in the healing process.

The 3rd consecutive morning of both girls riding the school train with Big Bro went smoothly. Last night's swim lessons wore everybody to a nub. The night's sleep was especially deep. I woke with a bit of a jolt when I discovered I had slept until 5:30 instead of rising at my current usual of 4:00. The drive to get the kids off to school while simultaneously tending the morning needs of the feather babies served as proof that adrenaline really is stronger than caffeine. I only had one cup of coffee before the family wake up time arrived and feel the quirk of my hyper-active metablism calming as I sip through my second cup of the day.

Set up for the septic, plumbing and electrical work on the new house is supposed to happen today. That work, along with the fencing work, is scheduled to begin today. Watching the cattle use the water spigot that used to supply their water tank as a scratching post has me wondering if we should expedite the fencing. Even a newborn calf is plenty big enough to snap a water spigot.