Staying Flexible

Definitely facing the challenge of life on medication. I had a dosage increase of my immunosuppressant which left me feeling fatigued and unfocused. My doctor and I were able to figure out a smaller increase that should still help, but my body is still weathering the change. A bit better on energy and ability to do good writing and thinking yesterday and today, but I’ve made little headway on the Kabalor rules this week. Frustrating to have that come right after a very good playtest of the first part of character creation, but I have my notes and will continue to plug away when my creative and energetic stars align.

Fortunately very quickly after the dosage readjustment I got more physical energy back and could do less-intellectual exercises. Caught up on housework and laundry. Even washed a couple windows! And, on the even brighter side, my second HobbyZone order arrived and I’ve been able to plod away at the slow work of assembling these lovely craft organizers.

In July of 2020, realizing what a long journey through the pandemic it was going to be, I spent $135 to get my first seven pieces: three cubbies, two bottle shelves, a brush/tool holder, and a paper towel dispenser.

July 2020: Cubbies on the bottom, bottles and brushes in the middle, paper towels on the right, and a fancy wooden box (from a bottle of Chartreuse Joe got) acting as a bonus cubby. 😄

When I got my basically negative result for COVID antibodies (after vaccine shots, whee immunosuppressants work 😬) and was faced with further hurdles to returning to normal activities away from home, I treated myself to an expansion. Nine pieces this time ($222): four more cubbies, three 2-drawer units, and two 3-drawer units.

Here’s where I’ve gotten to so far in the setup. Much slower going when drawers are involved since they’re each not that much less work than building the piece they fit in.

So much more storage—and there are two more pieces to add in to the top left between the tissue box and the paint racks.

Plan is for work in progress to live in the two-drawer units right in front, with large pieces in the leftmost cubby or up on top, and stuff I will grab as I work in the second cubby. That’ll free up that part of the desk to be my main work surface again, which will free the long arm of my L shaped worktable (out of sight off the bottom of this picture) to be usable for other projects. Not having to choose between having a terrain painting table or being able to bring out my sewing machine for a quick job will be fantastic.

So, it’s been the smell of MDF and wood glue around here, which smells like…creativity.

A lovely gif (from Chowhound, iirc, or was it Eater? Gone from their site last I looked anyhow) of Michelle Polzine of 20th Century Cafe making a honey cake.

Focus on the good things, and appreciate them while you’ve got them. I’ve felt good about my adaptation to having multiple types of projects to support my selfcare. If all else is too much, I can do a Headspace meditation and feel I’ve helped my healing.

20th Century Cafe will be closing, and as I said to Michelle, it’s been a great show and I’m glad I got to see so many performances. Just like a great play, it can close and still have been a success. Gonna miss those pastries tho’. And the Reuben sandwiches!

Time marches on. Here we are into May and the year is 2021. We’re most of us feeling the damage. A hard set of years for us all, especially so for me with tough events here at home. My biodad died in 2016, I got my rare disease diagnosis in 2017, and went on heavy meds in January 2018. Further life changes in the intervening years made the generally alarming prior administration and the specifically terrifying pandemic even more of a burden. But with 2021 I have emerged from the wreckage. Not free from challenges, but more fully myself and more determined to make the most of the time and energy I have.

Overall, I really am doing better this year than I have since, uh, the Obama administration? oof. What a long strange trip it’s been. But it sure helped set my priorities! More play, more time with friends, more games, more caring, more joy.

As is my custom now, part of reflecting on the present is putting away some of the past. Looking at old pictures and seeing the long path that brought me here.

Here’s me and my cousin hanging out on the original deck of the house I grew up in. My parents (largely my mother to the degree that I still associate the sound of a radial arm saw and the smell of sawdust with her) would go on to cover many more areas with good decking around the house. I’m sitting in that boneless way of kids and cats, with one foot on the ground and the inner side of the other foot resting flat against the bench I’m sitting on, knee sticking out in front of me. No more short Easter dresses and baggy tights; I’ve got long pants, sneakers and a long-sleeved turtleneck. Ready to run and play. It being the era it was, the pants are a light plaid and the turtleneck is red.

We are with my mother’s… well, what? Foster sister? Whatever the term is for a goddaughter of your parents? Odd that I don’t remember this. Younger than her. Maybe didn’t live with my grandparents until after my mother was at college? An immigrant… or refugee?… from… somewhere in Asia, broadly? Why has this family history completely evaporated from my mind? I think she was only around in my life for a few years and I was quite young, but it is odd to have this void of memory. I remember someone full of energy. Big smiles and excitement.

She’s doing that thing that is always shocking/exciting/dubious to a little kid: acting like a kid. Feet safely on the floor so as not to damage it, she rides the spring-suspended rocking horse. A thrilling toy, from which an actual kid could take a mighty tumble. Pretty sure my cousin or I managed to upend the thing at some point rocking too hard. Tears and wailing. A bump on the head.

The house is new to my family here. I think we were only there a month. It’s a pale color, like an unpainted model. In another picture of the same visit, my cousin and I smile on the front porch. We sit on the big cement bottom step, our toddler legs just the length to use it as a comfortable bench. Behind us is wall where the new front door would get put in years later. An overexposure blur at the left of the picture says “This is film. This is the past. Technology has changed. Most things have changed.”

My cousin grins in excitement. I hold myself more cautiously. Another picture, my cousin looks to me, connecting. I hold something up to the photographer. A little card or something? I present information. She is relaxed, easy, and free in her body language. I am composed, contained, doing things correctly. Some things have perhaps not changed so much.

The last of these pictures, my cousin rides the horse. I stand watching. I appear to be eating a snack. My mother watches me affectionately and she is astonishing. Dressed in a short tunic with a white rope belt and with a shaggy bob haircut, she is like a French film star crossed with a Franciscan monk. Legs and charming features and modestly covered in between. Her hair was always longer in all the rest of the years of my childhood, but here she is. A free woman in a bold world, newly moved into a big house with her name on the deed.

I think of this bright young thing, only a few years out of college, and how she would bear the mantle of work and parenthood and relationship changes coming soon. A different person emerging, tougher but still fully herself. I think of another picture of her in the doorway of the house she lives in now, a house with her name on the deed, which she had a major hand in designing. In that picture she holds big rocks up by her shoulders and graying hair, off to build another rock wall in the garden. Her shirt has figures dancing and says, “Who cares who leads?”

I am drawing on all these energies now. This mostly forgotten semi-family-member with buoyant energy. This loving cousin, always more of a natural at everyday friendship than I. This free spirit my mother as she launches into the great adventure of that grand house.

We have all changed and we’re all made up of the parts we chose to keep (and some that are just sticking around, a stubborn part of our construction). Things begin and end and alter. Life goes on.

Published by

Dinah from Kabalor

Author. Discardian. GM. Current project: creating an inclusive indie fantasy ttrpg https://www.patreon.com/kabalor

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