Still Polly

  "Get in here," I hollered. "There's great art in here and it's CHEAP!" Bob was pacing on the sidewalk outside a shop in some little town in Michigan. He was being very nice about letting me wander in and out of shops, and it was a pretty day out so he didn't mind waiting outside. We had discussed shopping for original art on our short trip, because we both love original pieces and have been wanting to slowly grow our collection. I thought I had struck gold. It was exactly the type of boutique I love. Lots of variety, something for everyone, and the prices were decent. You had the usual touristy shwag, but a little more elevated than the tee shirt shops. Housewares, jewelry, home decor, fashion, you name it they had it. But the big draw for me was finding some original pieces of art that weren't break-the-bank expensive.  Bob and I started flipping through one bin of prints and I was oohing and ahhing, but when I looked at him I had my answer: not h...

Oh no, I thought. Here it comes, I sighed. "Go around the room and share."  Going around the room and sharing is an introvert's worst nightmare. Especially with strangers. I can't go first unless forced to. But the more others share, the more nervous I start to get. At some point it always happens that I decide to just get it over with, and trip over someone else who has spoken up at the same time. Awkward. I defer to them of course so I can hold off talking for as long as possible. But inevitably it's my turn. I don't actually hear what I'm saying, but something comes out, and usually I have to get some kind of humor in to try and calm myself, so I hear people laughing but it's not much consolation.  I'm participating in a thing from October through next May called the 19th Annotation. This is a form of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola, and it's really an Ignatian retreat "in daily life." It's led by a Jesuit priest...

 "Why would they let me book a flight if there was no way for me to make the connection?" It wasn't a rhetorical question.  When I looked at the time my first flight landed, and when my next flight was boarding, it seemed like there would be very little hope of me making it.  Bob, who is a much more seasoned traveler than I am, looked at the airline site and told me that there was a "warning" to check the time of the connection. This is when the anxiety started ramping up. "I made these reservations six months ago! I don't know this stuff! Maybe something changed! Why would they let me book it!?"  Gettin' shrill.  I had been pretty proud of myself preparing for this work trip. I was headed to a four day conference in Baltimore, and for the most part I felt okay about it. I was pleased with my wardrobe choices, I had everything confirmed, I was checked in online with the airline and the hotel. I was all set.  I had also had a "practice trip...

"My style is evolving," I told him. "I'm trying new things," I said. "I'm rethinking my style for my age and my size and shape." At this point of course, the man glazed over, probably thinking about what time the game started, or when he would next mow the yard. At the most when I start saying these things I will get, "mm-hm." At the least I get nothing at all, no acknowledgement of any kind, and I wonder if he needs hearing aids. If you know me you know I like clothes and fashion (and shoes), but you may also know that I do most of my shopping for those things in thrift stores now. The idea of recycling clothes is the noble-sounding-reason-why but the truth-reason-why is that then I can have more of it and feel little to no guilt because all these things cost like four bucks a piece. Welcome to the "cheap and lots of it" method of finding your personal style. The "cheap and lots of it" method has its advantages. First...

  "Wow, you are shaky." Yep. I was shaky. I was in a doctor's office, sitting on the butcher-paper liner on the oddly shaped exam table, and the doctor was just starting to look me over. I had called that morning asking if I could see a doctor for some new, loud, and persistent ringing in my ears. They were able to see me the same day, and I was grateful. But I was shaky and anxious, and it was obvious. There's nothing like exam rooms to bring back childhood memories of our frequent visits to what my mother referred to as "the blood and bucket" which was our gritty, grimy small town clinic. When we were taken from the large waiting room to the smaller waiting room aka the exam room, we would be left alone for what felt like hours. So to soothe anxiety my mom would start randomly opening and closing all the drawers in the ancient cabinets and we would giggle at all the medical stuff inside. Exam rooms now are simpler, all the bits and bobs are less accessible...

"You're just doing it for the exercise," Bob told me. And he was right. But, there were some red flags starting to pop up for me. I had been doing "yoga" for a while now and I decided to stop. I just want to explain why.  I just love having a streaming fitness app on my TV. It includes tons of different classes for all levels, and has some very brief ones so when I was in between projects or needed a short break, I could just run in the living room and do a 5 minute stretch, or a 15 minute dance party, or even a 20 minute weights class. (Working from home has its benefits!) I was working my way through the classes, discovering which instructors I liked best, and which ones I definitely didn't like, and saving lots of favorites to do again and again.  So it was totally natural for me to try some "yoga" classes in the mix. There were several instructors, but I found one I liked best. He seemed pretty down to earth and not "spiritual" - at ...

  "Dang, I didn't get credit for any of those steps." It was a beautiful, sunny, Saturday morning, and we were excited that some friends were going to come over for a little grill-out and a boat ride. It also gave us a deadline for something that was sorely overdue: cleaning in and around our garage where the guys like hanging out. It's got a great view of the lake, a nice parking area, and is also, importantly, the location of the beer fridge. So while we were still grubby, we decided to tackle the job. It was typical of a Bob-and-Polly style project - a lot of running up and down stairs, moving things from one spot to another, around and around for hours and what feels like a million steps. At some point during the sweaty, messy cleanup I realized I wasn't wearing my smartwatch. I had a few anxious moments thinking: I really need to track all my steps. At the same time I thought that, had I been wearing the watch, I may have been disappointed that it didn't ...

I have been doing a lot of thinking lately.  Well, honestly I do a lot of thinking period. But lately I've been thinking about why I do certain things, why I try certain things, and then why I usually quickly abandon those same things.  I recently read the book Wanting , by Luke Burgis. I'm not a big nonfiction reader (except for my Catholic or spiritual reading), but I ran across a YouTube video in which Burgis was talking about "mimetics" which is a term used to describe why we want the things we want, and this is the topic of his book. So I got the book and plowed through it. Think of mimetics like mimicking and you've got the basic gist. We want things we want because someone else wants it. So we essentially "mimic" someone we admire or want to be like (for good or bad). There's a lot of deep psychological and sociological stuff that you can unpack with this, but I'm not a psychologist or sociologist, so if you want a more coherent explanatio...

  "You want to get in the line for me please?" One of my favorite ladies who works at my favorite Goodwill store had made eye contact with me. I was in what I thought was "the line" but clearly it was not. I snapped to attention, looked where she was pointing, muttered "sorry" and hightailed it to the end of the line. Very far from where I was standing, which was very close to her register. "I'll get you!" she hollered in her normal, good-natured way. Surprisingly, the long line fed into three registers so it moved pretty quickly. And sure enough, I did end up at her register. "I told you I'd get you!" she said with a smile. I laughed and said something to the effect of never knowing how the lines are going to work on any given day, and I was telling the truth. That Saturday they formed one long line along the ends of some clothing racks in front of the registers. Other weeks the line forms the opposite way, down an aisle betwee...

There was a time when the incident I am about to describe would have sent me utterly reeling. But now, it's just a disappointment but not the end of the world. I have one of those goofy memo boards in my kitchen. You know the kind with the felt backing and the little white letters? I bought it on clearance somewhere years ago and I usually post a verse or a quote from a saint or something. Below the memo board is our Google Home Hub, a pothos plant, a hand made wooden box that holds the letters (sorted by vowels, consonants, and numerals in zip lock bags of course..), a bottle of Holy Water, a ceramic Celtic cross that I have no idea where it came from, and my beautiful statue of the Blessed Mother that was a gift from my mother-in-law. All these things work for me - they are pretty, useful, and grounding.  The verse that has been on the board since Lent was, "A clean heart create for me, God; renew within me a steadfast spirit." I left it up throughout the entire Easter ...

"You have the blahs?" he messaged me. The blahs? I thought. Well, that's one way to put it. There's an entire litany of reasons why I'm not my usual chipper self. (Note: "chipper" for me isn't like the dictionary definition of "spritely good humor," my version is less high-spirited and vivacious and more like "just not sad.") A little over a week ago I had an appointment with a nurse practitioner who will be my new primary healthcare provider. It was just the first meeting to get to know each other, or more for her to get to know my history and any concerns I have currently. It was a fine first meeting, I liked her.  But. On my list of things I wanted to discuss with her is my struggle with losing a little bit of weight. I explained that I've been upping my exercise and activity a lot, but nothing seems to be budging. Without much hesitation she asked me if I track my calories. I told her no, I had done that in the past but no...

"If you don't want to go I'll tell them we can't make it." That's just it, though. I never want to go. Bob had called me to say that some friends wanted to meet us in town at one of our favorite little places to have some drinks and hear a band. And while to most people this sounds really reasonable and fun, to me just the invitation sends me reeling. So the excuses just start flowing. That's too late. What about dinner. I'll have to leave Riley. We're going somewhere tomorrow. I'll have to change clothes. It'll be too crowded. I'm having a bad hair day. I don't want to run into anyone. It's too cold out. It's too hot out. It's windy. (Yes, it gets that ridiculous.) The man is used to it by now, and mostly he understands my anxiety and respects my deep introversion. And here he was, ready and willing to let me off the hook. But this time it felt like I really needed to say yes to this. It was something he really wanted t...

Just kidding. I'm not going to tell you or show you what I eat in a day.  But, apparently the entire world is fascinated, obsessed, repelled, or some combination of all three, by "what I eat in a day" videos on the YouTubes.  These videos are created by "influencers" of all shapes, sizes, and levels from physical fitness experts and nutritionists to "regular people" on some form of fitness or wellness journey. The former record their "what I eat in a day" videos to inspire or challenge or teach. The latter record their meals presumably to track their progress on these journeys. Some have paid sponsorships, some don't. Many of them have hundreds of thousands of views. Then there is another level of influencer that makes videos critiquing the "what I eat in a day" videos, and give them either praise or criticism or some combination of the two. These are also created to inspire, challenge, or teach (or some would say, shame). Nearl...

"I really don't know how to keep from scaring you," he said. This was after he walked into the room and said something - my name maybe? And I screamed. Very loud. And jumped. Very high. It's not an exaggeration, it's what really happens. Every single time. I told him, as I have probably a million times since we've been married, "It's not you, it's me." He said it still makes him feel bad, and I get that. I really do. He has tried whispering. I still scream and jump (maybe even more). He has tried making noises to announce his presence. If anything was close to being effective to prevent the freak-out, it's probably that method. But it doesn't always work. I am a jumpy person.  It's not just Bob, either. My coworkers have also witnessed the full blown freak-out. Usually a first-timer dies laughing and then says, "I didn't mean to startle you." To which of course I say, "It's not you, it's me." One fo...

"Just take a deep breath," people tell me.  And it's not bad advice, really. I think there are studies that show that breathing exercises can calm the central nervous system. Breathe in for 4, breath out for 6, that kind of thing. So I try, but sometimes it comes out sounding like Darth Vader. Or I have to put my head between my knees. Or I have to pace the floor. Drinking cold water sometimes helps, too. There is probably some science behind that, but I'm not a scientist. When I'm having an anxious day, everything feels off. There usually isn't anything specific that I can put my finger on, instead it's very general. Today, thankfully, isn't one of those days (so far, it's always subject to change). I've been thinking how to describe my particular brand of anxiety, and there are several analogies I could use. I'll give you one today. I was recently at an event where champagne was being served. In this case the party planners wisely chose p...

"I think I have my fitness program figured out.," I told him. "Well, almost figured out. I don't want to be too rigid, but I want to be more deliberate about it. I have a couple of goals that seem achievable, but I'm not sure. I'm probably overthinking it."  "Yes, of course you are," Bob said. "But if that makes you happy, overthink the crap out of it." True story. I overthink. Then I overthink overthinking. What's wrong with overthinking, I think. Then I think: is overthinking sucking the life out of it? But underthinking may lead to abandoning the whole thing and sitting on the couch with a bag of Cheetos. (I overthought that sentence for quite a while.) I hit a big number this year. I've been practicing saying it out loud to people, but it still comes out as a question instead of a statement. I'm sixty? I am sixty. Shudder.  Most of the time I don't feel that age . But this year I decided to go on a mission to keep ...