WordSisters

Author: cmkraack

  • Hesitations

    Scratchy eyes, stuffed noses and sneezes mark the official leaf out of trees for many with allergies. In the upper Midwest climate change is warming our falls and appears to be cooling April and May. Typical years would have 12 April days with high temps of between 55 and 70 degrees. For two years we have had half of that. And trees need warmer temps on a steady schedule in April to grow leaves by May 1. Not only do we have slow moving weather, but Alberta wildfire smoke that blocks blue skies. 

    Ducks have been surveying our backyard, ignoring a small noisy dog, for the right place to lay their eggs. For two days they try the mulch under pine trees. Another day they sit in the middle of the lawn. Then they disappear.

    Our little granddaughter is able to race around the house holding onto one finger of an adult’s hand. For a few days she managed to travel the same track independently with a huge smile and laughs. After a few days of going solo, she returned to walking with someone. A week later she ran to greet us.

    Nature hesitates. The trees are quite healthy, the ducks will probably settle someplace under a neighbor’s deck, our granddaughter will travel on her own today or tomorrow. The world keeps spinning during these brief respites during transitions. Planets don’t collapse, rules of gravity remain intact, global population increases. 

    What I need to take away from nature is the difference between hesitation and procrastination. It’s okay to push back a haircut for a whole lot of reasons, but not so good to ignore a mammography or eye test. The choice between sloppy joes or pork chops for dinner can be delayed until right before I leave the grocery store. If I forget, there are scrambled eggs for dinner. 

    Hesitation has been given a bad rap. “He hesitated” implies a less than enthusiastic response to a question or opportunity. The elevator hesitated takes a story a whole different direction. She stepped on the gas and the car hesitated might mean a substantial repair bill. 

    Yet hesitations can be like a “could” instead of a “should” in a day if we lean into the luxury of rolling lesser decisions forward. In a life directed by dreaded to do lists, I hope I can leave paint swatches up on the wall another week to study how they look in the sun and light. A friend of mine did that for the entire holiday season including her husband’s staff party. Why not? 

  • Mortal

    Daffodils and forsythia are in bloom here. Egrets and ducks have returned to the pond. We all made it through another winter, a difficult season with plenty of cold, snow, and ice. 

    When I was in my forties, I wrote a short story about a woman whose first serious high school boyfriend was drafted to serve in Vietnam. He would die in battle and be remembered as perpetually nineteen. She went on to college, married, had children. As her son prepares for junior prom, she is reminded of Bernie. On the anniversary of his death, she writes him a letter about what it has been like to age decades beyond her teens.

    Late in 2022, I prepared for serious surgery. The surgeon called me a ‘low risk’ patient and young for my physical age. Tests showed no other options. All was successful, except emotionally I landed in part of the world described in Atul Gawande’s Being Mortal.  He writes that we tend to consider aging a failure, or weakness, rather than a normal process. As we live longer and longer, medical processes becomes part of our experience. Doctors know how to preserve life, but not how to help patients cope with how life continually changes.

    Like most surgery nothing looks different to others, but I know where the scars are and what each means. I know the medications that support carrying me through a normal life expectancy. I am also learning their downsides. I haven’t returned to tap dancing because the studio floor is slippery, and I am still fighting to return to my prior rock-solid balance. Down dog is back on my aspirational list, but for different reasons than undeveloped muscles.

    In the weeks between the first time a doctor said, “maybe six months, certainly not more than a couple of years,” and the night before surgery, I thought about not seeing my granddaughters grow up, about the writing projects that might not be published, about my unwillingness to let life go. When I stopped pushing to be the person folks expect, my fatigue was immense. With surgery on the schedule, I slept a lot, read a lot, thought even more. Because I am used to being productive, I labeled that week practicing recuperation. 

    I have had friends die of cancer without the medical miracle surgery offered me. I am humbled and so respectful of how they faced the eventuality of their passing. 

    This spring I wonder how to make these next many years meaningful. A wise friend told me the body needs at least six months to recover from major surgery then encouraged me to give my emotions the same time. A good plan. I’ll enjoy the daffodils and forsythia, then the tulips and lilacs. The demands of regular life are close enough.

    With love to my brother, Darrell J. Frisque, who passed too young on April 14, 2007.

  • Long Time Coming

    A pretty, first snow fell in the Twin Cities on October 14, then disappeared providing weeks to prepare for the next season. Winter this year has been an unreliable roommate making Monday commutes miserable then offering a day or two of mild temps. A stingy relative refusing to share sunshine unless temps freeze cheeks. A mean neighbor dumping snow, ice, rain, sleet, snow and more snow making skating rink maintenance or sidewalk cleaning just miserable. 

    Minnesota has not received the enormous snow dumps of Buffalo or the California mountains, but if you bought new boots this year you made a good decision. If you remembered dressing following extreme cold guidelines and prepared for the bus stop or parking lot hike looking like a Squishmallow with legs, bravo. Some of us gave up on attractive sleepwear to pull on flannels, hoodies and socks after dinner then stayed in the same as long as possible in the morning. Hard-core Minnesotans supposedly wear long undies twenty-four seven from November through March except when they escape for their winter getaway.

    Beyond puzzle construction time, optimal sleep conditions may be winter’s attraction. No sun peeking around the window coverings when you go to bed, nothing sticking to your warm body, no birds at five in the morning.

    Whatever the statistics are for this year, it has been a long time coming since we could wander outside consistently without a hat or gloves or boots. Oh, the joy of leaving the puffer coat unzipped and wearing old shoes when running errands. The amazing experience to eat dinner while natural light brightens the kids’ faces. There will be more snow, but it will be short lived. We’re heading into t-shirt, jeans and a light cover season. We are going to eat outside before the mosquitos multiply. 

    Meantime, stay upright and don’t drop into a road crater. We have about as much control over shortening winter’s existence as our governments appear to have over rebuilding critical infrastructure. That will be a really long, long time coming.