A 3-month June...

Tools I have to help me

But which to reach for 

In times of depletion

In times of overwhelm

In times of isolation

Barely enough energy to think and type these few words

Which cannot capture the depth of the suffering

June has been a three-months month. 

Along with my detailed, regular daily maintenance and almost-weekly medical appointments, there has been...

The trip to the Outer Banks, a huge feat for me but worth it.

I had it strategically planned, including my one-to-two-week recovery time.

But the recovery window did not manifest.

John and I had to cut our trip a day short; his 91-year-old mom was dying.

He arrived at her bedside 2 minutes before her last breath.

Then came...

Searching through photos for my daughter to put together a slide show in honor of Gran.

A 4-day trip to The Smokies, where Gran lived, to attend her Celebration of Life and to help ferret through some of the huge inventory in her home.

At the Celebration, I briefly spoke about Gran's love for nature and shared an incident when she and a fellow hiker survived 3 nights lost in The Smokies in dead winter. They ate snow for hydration. 

Also, we had...

Our own back porch--putting furniture back after 17 months of being without.

Our downstairs--having to move furniture and cover staircase rails and other furniture with sheets to help keep dust minimized when workers drilled 11 nickel-sized holes into the floor and foundation to inject polyfoam.

Then having the downstairs cleaned and furniture put back until it has to be moved again in latter July to complete the project.

I helped as best I could, trying to uphold the previous Carol who was once able-bodied...

But again, I paid a price...

Increased popping and pain in my back.

Injury to my shoulder from carrying a small luggage piece.

Severe spasms in my lower left ankle and foot at 4:30 AM, the pain a 10 out of 10 as I (typically a non-screamer) screamed in agony enduring the 4-minute seizure. John came rushing in. I managed to holler, "Mag Phos 6X!" Within a moment after it was under my tongue the pain ameliorated. I followed up with a couple more homeopathic cell salts, a red-light laser treatment, and then Xanax. I guess one could call me an integrative patient. 

Then there is...

My brother with stage 4 pancreatic and liver cancer and side effects of treatment. He was diagnosed in March. Today he was transferred to in-patient hospice care. 

Our housekeeper's daughter in a head-on collision, but she's still with us and will heal.

One of my tooth crowns dislodging at 4:30 AM when I got up to pee; at least I didn't swallow it

A new-to-me car and adapting from a 1999 to piloting a 2016. Yes, I'm thankful for the new vehicle, but I'm having to learn new skills in order to safely maneuver. More for my already-overloaded brain

I feel I've lived through a time warp.

It has felt very strange.

But Carol, some of this is good and you lived some magical moments in spite of it all.

Can you flip your downtroddenness into gratitude, without denying the realities of what you live day to day?

The suffering, the pain, the sleeplessness, the fatigue, the discipline to stick with the protocols.

The rage, the depression the anxieties.

The isolation.

Carol, what good happened in this three-month June?

Plenty, but I do not want to gloss over the suffering as if it doesn't matter.

As if it's not real.

Don't gloss. 

Allow. 

And also recall the good.

Recall the suffering of others who have it so much worse than you.

They too know the isolation.

Like Barry, who you met last week at the greenway.

He gets it.

~*~

Follow Your Heart by Michael Franti ^& Spearhead

Saving both...

Finally, our beloved screened-in back porch and deck are complete, or complete enough. 

Our previous deck and porch were demolished in December 2024. Our house foundation needed repairs. Thus, the demolition. The deck needed replacing anyway. 

The first waterproof professional told us we could either save the house or the tree. According to him, the tree roots were the cause of the foundation issues. 

Do we sacrifice Hiram to save our manmade dwelling? Or do we let the house go, and allow it to take its natural course of aging and decay?

The tree isn't just any tree... 

He is a giant, beautiful scarlet oak whom I named Hiram. He provides homes to squirrels and birds and insects, shade over our house, and companionship to me since I've been disabled. Sunday night I sat on the now-furnished, completed porch as Hiram and I sang together--soft love songs to tunes and words that bubbled up while Hiram's leaves gently danced.

Obviously, Hubby and I didn't heed the advice of the first water proofer. Else, Hiram and I would not have communed. So, what happened? 

Back in 2024 we called our master arborist, Drew, to tell him the news--Hiram needed to be felled. Drew had already saved Hiram some 15 years prior when a tree cutter informed us Hiram was diseased and could fall at any moment.  That's when we found Drew, the master arborist. Hiram wasn't diseased after all. 

Drew answered, "I think we have a way to save both Hiram and the house. We do waterproofing and have had success with a certain technique." 

I could barely believe my ears, but my heart was thrilled. I had no idea Drew and crew waterproofed too! 

After Drew and Will's team demolished the deck and porch, they discovered our septic pipe was rusted and being held together by Hiram's roots and a bunch of hard dirt. (Thank you, Hiram.) Within 5 hours, a plumber replaced the old, rusted iron pipe with a PVC pipe. 

Once the team got to the foundation, they discovered that it was disintegrating from all the back yard water runoff. Plus, the cinder blocks were not waterproofed when the home was built in 1965. Will and crew fixed it, and we now have a bunker holding the foundation secure.

Around March 2025 we hired Juan to build the deck. By May he had finished, but there were problems. He'd used the wrong type gutters for the new porch and had damaged part of the gutters on the house; but he couldn't properly repair any of it. So, we hired Greg the gutterman to repair all that. Then there was the porch roof; it was holding moisture and black mold began growing on the ceiling. So, we hired Tom the roofer who had to replace the entire roof and install the proper rubber tile needed for flat roofs. 

We waited seven months to allow the wood to cure. Then it was time for staining. We hired Warren, and we got more problems. There were drips-runs, boot prints, sweep marks, and uneven coating. It stayed tacky for five months until Mark the painter could fix it. He corrected it beautifully. 

But before Mark could redo and correct Warren's stain job, we had to correct more of Juan's work. So, we hired Trey who fixed it all. Trey's attention to detail and craftsmanship are par excellence. 

Seventeen months from demolition, I have my outdoor therapy room back.

Hiram is now the host and greeter of the Olive Deck and Red Oak Bamboo Porch, named for their colors. Hiram quietly welcomes our guests--squirrels and chipmunks and songbirds and crows. And some nightly visits from feral cats. 

We love you, Hiram...

Sir Edward and Crew(s)...

Sir Edward the Explorer rolled over 321,000 miles last week. I thanked him, and he replied that he is going to make it to 400,000. *wink* 

I'll be surprised if he makes it that far, but maybe? 

Back in 2008 when the 1999 Explorer was gifted to us, my son suggested "Edward" as a name. So, Edward it was. When he turned 200,000, he became Sir Edward. When he turned 300,000, I asked if he would like to become King. He declined and said he preferred serving as a Knight. 

I think it's not unusual for vehicle owners to name their vehicles. But to have the vehicle communicate back? That might put me in the weird category. No surprise there...Haha.

Why have I not yet purchased a replacement vehicle? 

Because Sir Edward meets my specific disability needs, and he is very comfortable--the headrest, the seat, and the manner in which I am able to load and haul my bicycle. That said, little things are starting to wear out that aren't worth the investment to fix at his age. (I think of my own body, in that regard...)

In the movie Cast Away, Chuck Noland (played by Tom Hanks) finds himself on a deserted island after a plane crash. In the wreckage he finds a volleyball made by Wilson Sporting Goods. Using his blood from a cut on his hand, Noland paints a face on the ball and appropriately names it "Wilson." He is stranded for almost 4 years; Wilson is his companion during his long isolation. 

I can't recall exactly when, in my disabled life, that I began regularly naming and talking with inanimate objects.  But I do recall chuckling and saying to myself, "Well, this is understandable. It's like Tom Hanks and Wilson. I'm isolated and am finding ways to feel connection."

One example is stuffed animals.... 

One day as I was again grieving the loss of connection with pets and the fact that I am not able to care for a pet, I thought, "Stuffed animals! I have plenty from my preschool-teacher days." I later read online that I wasn't alone with this idea.

I think maybe when a person is faced with the reality of their limitations--for whatever reason--and has to adjust or completely release their life work or dreams, they begin to find meaning in seemingly insignificant things. They might notice more detail in things they didn't pay much attention to before.

Like when I make my bed and place the pillow just right so that the butterfly on the floral print pillowcase is facing the window so it can fly free.

In January this year, as I looked around my home, I realized that even the floors and walls pulse with life. I wrote a prose about that at this link: Pulsing with life....

A crew at sea saved Chuck Noland.

Sir Edward depends on A Crew Auto Repair for his maintenance.

I depend on Sir Edward to help keep me cruising.

Let me introduce you to some of my other inanimate crew mates,,,

All help me to keep on cruising...

My Trek bicycles: Olivia, who now stands on my indoor trainer for indoor pedaling; Black Beauty (Bleu for short); and Midnight Rider (Midnight for short). When I drop them at Ken's Bike Shop for servicing, the service crew gets a kick out of the names. 

Wally: My first walker, inherited from Mom. Wally is a simple, basic walker. 

The Phoenix: My deluxe rollator walker, named for her metallic burgundy color and the fact that she's helped me rise from the ashes. 

Dr. Echo McCoy: My low-level, red-light laser named for its brand, Erchonia,  and because it echoes light through my body; and for Dr. McCoy on the original Star Trek series. 

Sequoia: My inversion table, who I bought after I shrank 3 inches in a 2-year span causing kyphosis. Think Quasimodo, except my hunchback is in my lower thoracic area. I quit shrinking after I began inverting. Has Sequoia helped me? I'd like to think so but can't say for sure. 

Rocket: My furry, puppet raccoon--named after Rocket in the Guardians series--who now accompanies me on my bike rides. A stuffed Baby Groot used to accompany me. I also purchased extra Baby Groots, which I would haul in my bike trunk and give away along my rides. I hope to purchase more and again be a Groot ambassador. 

Uhuru: My little SE iPhone, named after the communications officer in the original Star Trek. 

Cane and Able: My two trekking poles that help enable me to get around.  

That's all I can think of now...
I may add more as they come to mind, or as my inanimate crew grows...

Happy Birthday Sir Edward!
May 22, 2026