THE TRIKE-KAYAK COMPLETE EXERCISE PROGRAM

Triking each morning

exercises legs.

Even here at Duck Creek,

we have a route.

Never before,

have I been included in the camping children’s games.

This year,

they greeted me cheerily and chatted.

“Will you come back this way?”

“Yes, we go in a circle.”

“10 – 9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1”

a group of them shout in unison

at the finish line.

“I WON!”

a little girl cheers.

I didn’t even know we were racing.

I feel like a child again.

Included and involved.

Fun.

Kayaking each evening

exercises arms

for a full-body workout.

The last day,

Going earlier and having more time,

Amy and I went further.

Out in the middle of Navajo Lake,

we hung our legs in the water

and nibbled on the  large Payday candy bars

we bummed from Clare and Marilyn.

Heaven.

Our hikes to Duck Lake, Mirror Lake,

 Our old friend, the Horny Toad

 Duck Creek and Duck Lake

I wonder why it is called Mirror Lake.

and the Spectra Point trail at Cedar Breaks

1 mile each way

Exposed Cliff Edges

Watch your Children.

conditioned both our arms and legs.

Visual and auditory stimulation.

Exquisite red rock formations

Ominous clouds of various shades

Charming old water tower

Logged pathway

Wildflowers

Deer

Birds

Squirrels

Chipmunks

Solace around the campfire each evening

completed our exercise plan each day.

Mind

Body

Spirit

Replenished and Restored.

Some photos by Amy.

Well, most photos by Amy.

The Coward

I don’t know why

But I often hear myself say

“I want to die.”

Quickly I amend that to

“No!  I don’t want to die.

I want to live!”

Except this morning,

I thought,

“No, I really want to die,

I’m scared to live.”

   

I also call out “Daddy”

both in my sleep and waking moments.

Why?

Daddy has been dead for 66 years,

since I was 10 years old.

Have I felt abandoned for that long?

Why don’t I call “Mama”?

She was the one who rescued me.

Don’t mind me.

I am one loony-tune.

Is there a psychiatrist in the house?
Where's Karla when I need her?

The Crone

One More Day Part IV

Woman of Age, Wisdom, and Power

By Barbara G. Walker

We hear much about women’s nest-building instincts, which, after all, form the economic foundation of our consumer society; but we hear little of any nest-destroying behavior, which may be equally instinctive, as represented by several versions of the Crone.  An older woman may experience strong urges to weed out her possessions, to simplify her life by purging it of excessive impedimenta, to move to smaller quarters and keep them neater, to restrict her social contacts to a few good friends instead of a wide circle of acquaintances.  She may give things away, neglect her house, stop buying clothes.  Page 91.

That’s me.

Today I cleaned out one side of the new fruit room.  I crossed the threshold thinking there was no junk in there.  I filled half the backseat of the car with DI stuff; also filling half the empty garbage can. 

The mind of a postmenopausal woman is virtually uncharted territory, for men have shown little inclination to explore it.  Doctors and psychiatrists glibly ascribe any or all of her difficulties to “menopausal depression,” or a similar diagnostic catchall.  However, it may be that her real needs and urges simple are not understood, so the experts have no jargon to describe them, just as our society has no symbol to represent them.

Earlier societies apparently understood more about the nest-destroying stage.  (If you are interested in examples, let me know.  I have the book; you can also find it on the Internet.)  Page 91

My sister, Lucy, never got to the nest-destroying stage.  Maybe she was forever young or maybe she moved into her lovely new home too late.  She accumulated and built her nest almost until the day she died. 

 A few weeks before she died, she called and wondered if I had the picture of Mama “I think is hanging in your foyer.”  “Yes, I have it,” I admitted.  “It is supposed to be mine,” she said boldly, “Mama gave it to Shirley and since she didn’t want it, it is mine.”  “Actually, Mama gave that picture to me when we were cleaning out the old house; just Mama and me.”  “I would like it,” she said politely.  “What would you do with it?”  “I would hang it in my bedroom.”  She knew she was dying.  “I would be happy to make a copy of it and send it to you,” I offered.  “No, I want the original photo.”

Where was she when we were cleaning out the old house?  I got Grandma Heaton’s old treadle sewing machine too.  Anyone want a treasured sewing machine?

 Dishes and silverware from "out to the herd".  Authentic.  Original.