Something is set in stone

Quite a week. Not what I expected, much more complicated than I wanted it to be. My goal to navigate my life with grace is fairly elusive.

Accepting physical limitations, or any limitations at all, is pretty hard to adjust to, I'm finding. I am tenacious and tend to hang on long past the point of sensibility. But like the ER nurse said, embarrassment? That's nothing.

The sidewalk project was highly successful in so many ways. It was exactly what I needed to do, and it was a wonderful change to work on a physical project with my son in a way that left both of us satisfied and happy with the results. He's 21, and has grown up rather delightfully despite my imperfect parenting. He got the "Work Hard" teaching, and is strong and getting stronger. He was a good team worker with his friend, and it was a pleasure to watch them work together and get all the phases of the job done thoroughly and with positive energy.

He can think well and is a creative problem-solver, and amazing with physics, spatial relationships, and practical solutions. I will be happy to turn this property over to him someday, knowing that he will maintain it and extend its life after I am gone. Or he will sell it and it will end up a pile of rubble in the dump, who knows. I doubt I'll stay attached to it when I am gone, though I may not be able to leave my kitchen tile. I'll have to have a little piece of it on display in my retirement condo or, more likely, my shopping cart filled with empty boxes and wet sleeping bags.

Even though I now have a completely accessible sidewalk to my shop, or more correctly, a driveway for my bike cart, any subsequent steps to make my houses really accessible will be much more difficult. Fortunately this is a longterm goal and not something I need immediately. Even to use a walker I would have to remove some cabinets from the back hallway, so I will have to think about that at some point. It's not that I am convinced I will become disabled, but more that I am trying to ease my fears by preparing for what seems to be the direction my body is taking me.

I notice the way old people walk, our shoulders slumping, heads looking down, unsure of our footing and our spines compressed and sinking. I see that happening to me. I consciously correct all the time, but the chronic stuff is there and I'm not that much of a magical thinker to imagine that it will just go away. Being graceful about it involves feeling prepared, so I can get the emotional stuff sorted out first and then act professionally and personally as I make the necessary changes.

Gradually I have to stop screenprinting, that much is clear. I only have so many squeegee passes left in me, and I have to stretch out my own retail work as far as it will go, to secure my income. I've been trying to prepare my customers for this, but it really isn't something that can be eased into in any kind of transitional way. One day they're my customers, the next day they aren't. It is a terribly uncomfortable transition and I don't have that many customers, so each time it has a huge, shattering impact.

My sense of loss this year has been huge for me and I don't see it getting much easier. Maybe people get used to loss and learn to navigate it with acceptance and humor. So far it is just pointing out my poor social skills and tendency to painfully trip myself on my undeveloped capabilities for long-term planning and strategy. But I will muddle through and maybe in the process develop more compassion for the others who are facing similar struggles.

We all have challenges that seem major to us and are barely noticed from the outside. Trying to explain it gets glazed looks from others as they probably are besieged by their own fears on the common subjects of health and mobility. I feel defensive, as it looks like I am strong and perfectly healthy, and plenty of people have it much worse. I don't really want to talk about it, and would rather just stay in a world of positive thoughts and happy outcomes, but this year it is just not an easy place in which to dwell with any assurance.

So, remember to fill myself with love and gratitude. I did get to a new level of appreciation for my friend Richard, who so quietly stands by me and supports me in the ways he has learned I will accept support. He has to watch me make a lot of errors in judgement. He has mastered the art of not saying things that will stick out over time as pointing out my inadequacies as a planner and builder. If he hadn't been available to advise on the sidewalk, and then to commandeer the pour and show us how to do the edging, running the joint lines, calculate the cubic volume accurately, and on and on, it would have been a much different sidewalk.

I remember when I started building this house, when I was reframing the inside of the walls so that I could insulate. I would look at a wall and divide it by how many studs I thought would look uniform and though I did put them in the right places by doorways and such, I didn't even get why they ought to be placed 16" on center. I didn't even understand basic things like using dimensions that would limit waste with 4x8 sheet materials. There was a world of knowledge I found out the hard way, and it would have gone so much worse had Richard not consistently checked in, finding a way to respectfully drop the pieces of information in the places where I could hear them, and never feel disempowered. He never told me I couldn't do a thing, or that I wasn't prepared or knowledgeable enough. Over more than fifteen years he was patient, encouraging and so very helpful.

And I was often arrogant, impatient, and dismissive of his input. I was really attached to feeling like I built this house myself, and could and would do any task that came before me with great strength, competence, and skill. I did do amazing work and even surprised myself with how well I did, and how determined and persistent I was in finishing it and making it somewhere I live happily. But I would have more of a hovel and less of a house if it were not for Richard and his constant helping presence.

I have this American Independent Frontier Woman mythos that holds on from my heritage, from my grandmother who lived in a soddy and my ancestors who made moonshine in the Kentucky hills. I like working alone and I like learning at my own speed. I like feeling like I am in control of my own life.

So allowing my body to age gracefully and to continue to try to respond healthily to its limitations will be a continuing challenge, and I will have to apply all that I have learned. With the sidewalk, although I was right in there doing a lot of the shoveling, screeding, edging and finishing, it was such a relief to pay my son and his friend to do the really hard parts, and it was so warming to hear Richard tell me that I didn't need to worry about the pour, that it would be fun, and it would go just fine.

It went well, thanks to my neighbor Fred who manned the wheelbarrow at a crucial time, and to Rich who fetched lunch for us and made us think we were having some kind of a party. It went well, thanks to John and Eric who got up early and were ready to work, always cheerful and happy to be learning new skills. It went well because Richard came early and stayed until it was all finished, and lent us tools and worked hard doing all that only he could see needed to be done. And it went well because with Richard involved, I could stay grounded and fairly confident and even look kind of in charge, and I didn't hurt myself.

Concrete sticks around awhile. The old sidewalks we moved were here almost as long as the houses, and this one could outlast at least the little house, which needs to be rebuilt and probably will be at some point. It's way different from ninety percent of what people do all day, all the slippery human interactions that can be confusing, frustrating, and fraught with doubt and self-recrimination. Concrete is physical and real and now more or less stone. When I cruise out of here on Saturday morning and cruise back in Saturday night, I am going to love that sidewalk/driveway so much.

Glad I got a few pictures. It was nice to have something real, hard, polished and finished to rest upon this week. Now, back to work.