Tethered to a Lifeline, Grumbling All the Way by Barbara Fleming

Not so long ago, I might now be dying a lingering, miserable death, struggling to breathe, constantly fatigued and putting extra stress on my heart. Instead, in a saga that began with a friend who followed her instincts, thanks to the miracles of modern medicine and the gifts of technology I am dealing with a diagnosis of chronic interstitial pulmonary fibrosis, tethered to oxygen in order to breathe, adjusting to a different lifestyle and learning to live with life-giving air going through my nose and tubing trailing around after me.

Easy, it is not. Annoying, it is. Reminding myself not to trip over the tubing, or step on it, making sure it follows me around the house, doing everyday tasks with the tether in mind—it all takes thought, energy and diligence. But, as my daughter pointed out, I am alive. I can still do many of the things I have done; I can sit at my computer and write. I can cuddle my cat. I can enjoy companionship, lose myself in books and marvel at the sunset I must see only from my picture window. During this ordeal I have been bathed in love; I am blessed with family and friends who all want to help. For me, accustomed to being independent, this is humbling, but at the same time it is like a warm blanket around my heart and soul. I can grumble; I do grumble. And then I shrug it off and smile. Smiling is far better than grumbling (although I reserve the right to grumble from time to time), and I have so much to smile about.

 

 

By: Barbara F

Body Work

 Body Work

 

Two a.m. and I was wide awake, not because I wanted to be. Maybe I should find something to knock me into unconsciousness when bedtime rolls around.

 

Now, at 5 p.m. the next day, I’m actually looking forward to heading off to bed instead of fearing it.

 

On November 4, the day after a disconcerting national election, we remain uncertain regarding the future leadership of this painfully divided country. Even so, I think there’s a reasonable chance that I’ll sleep well on this night.

 

After an incredibly forceful, sometimes downright painful, massage this afternoon, I’m feeling like an overcooked string of spaghetti with nothing in the world worth worrying about. If I can just hang onto this feeling until bedtime.

 

It has been a long while since I’ve treated myself to a massage. I signed up for a frugal 30 minutes. “But 30 minutes,” is soo short,” the Chinese master of massage insisted. It didn’t take much for me to cave in. 

 

Oh how it hurt! Oh how much I needed it! I had creaks and squeaks and sore spots I didn’t even know I had. I savored every ouchy moment. 

 

I drove home in a pleasant, loopy daze, barely hitting thirty miles an hour, knowing I needed to pay attention to keeping my wits about me.

 

“Que sera, sera,” I daydream. “Whatever will be will be.”

 

And then I remember the next line of the song. “The future’s not ours to see.”

 

It’s all about learning to live with those words of wisdom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By: Libby James

Keep Smiling

 

 

By: Libby James

 Escape to Wyoming

 

I haven’t been on the road much lately so when my daughter Kristin invited me to tour Wyoming with her, I was ready to go!  We set off from her home in Cheyenne on a Sunday afternoon headed to Casper and then on to Lander, where she once lived. It was too hot for anything more than a walk around the border of the town. There was so little traffic, so little activity that we began calling it “the quiet town.”  We had hoped to hike in Sinks Canyon where the Popo Agie River vanishes near the mouth of the canyon but the heat kept us from doing that.

 

Then it was on through the beautiful Wind River Canyon, heading north toward Thermopolis, home of the world’s largest hot springs—not a tourist attraction with great appeal as the temperature approached 100 degrees!

 

Our next stop was Meeteetse, (Indian for meeting place), population 397 and the home of one of Kristin’s good friends where we were treated royally. Our hostess has deep roots in Meeteetse, owns quite a bit of property there and serves the town’s Episcopal Church as its priest.

 

Then on to Cody—Buffalo Bill country and a taste of the old West. Another of Kristin’s friends had us for lunch.  Afterwards we headed back toward Cheyenne, a six hour trip where there was lots of opportunity to appreciate the many miles of grasslands and lack of any sot of human development.

 

Over the many years that she has lived in the state, Kristin has come to love the place, its people, and the wide open spaces. “It’s a well-kept secret,” she says.  I don’t expect she will ever leave.

By: Libby James