Snow

At 14" to 19"+ totals - to several feet high - depending on where the storm last night decided to leave it.  And this on top of the snow that's come before.  Temperatures have been too cold to melt it to any degree.  This makes storm Number 6 for the winter season. 

The snow's been storming since Christmas.  Seemingly it's been falling every week.  In addition to the traffic woes, cabin fever is on the rise!  We usually don't get any significant snow til February.  And it's not quite the end of January (assuming Mother Nature cares for calendars).  Yes, snow is beautiful if you don't have to deal with it or employers.  It's also a great bloody nuisance in the amounts that we've been getting. 

None of us realized we'd migrated to the Artic Circle.   O.K. an exaggeration.  The joy's worn off for everyone over school age. Instead, to borrow from Charles Schultz' Charlie Brown cartoon...... "Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhh!"

Other Handedness

Without anything happening to our "main" hand, we never give any thought to all the uses for which we use our hands.  My surgery was to my right hand, my dominant hand which I usually use without any thought for a myriad of things.  And if there's a choice to be had between hands, the right one usually gets volunteered before I even have to think about it.  Its fine motor skills are highly developed.  My left hand is usually there simply to add balance, strength and holding skills.  It excels at holding things.  The fine control, and decision-making, if you will, is left with my right hand.   

What's so amazing to me is the degree of conscious attention I have to give my "other" hand to do some of the simplest of things.  For instance, holding a knife and buttering toast.  I find I need to angle the butter dish the opposite way, get the butter on the other side of the knife and then butter the toast.  However, I've found the simple act of buttering is also very difficult.  I end up fiercely staring at my left hand while heavily concentrating on applying pressure while I attempt to make smooth stroking motions.  Mind you, this is assuming the butter is soft.  If the butter is fresh out of the fridge, you're in deep trouble.

Except for sneezing, everything takes so much longer.  Like brushing my teeth.  If I'm not careful, assuming I manage to hold onto the brush, I end up brushing my cheeks or over compensating on the pressure and jamming the durn thing against my gums which is very painful!  And try cutting some food or fruit using a knife with your other hand.  It's a whole new adventure.  For me, it was like my left hand was divorced from my body.  It seemed to have no idea how to use pressure while sawing back and forth.  I felt like I was creating new brain neuron pathways through the sheer force of will.  Some times it worked.  Some times, not so much.  For the past week my inability to use my right hand  for eating has reduced me to the skills of a toddler.  I either eat with the fingers of my left hand, try to stab things with a fork, or I need to have my food cut up for me. 

Practice makes perfect.  It's such an old saying, and it's so true.  I'm very fortunate.  My relegation to "other" handedness has been temporary.  And as the time has gone by, my other hand has been able to perform more easily every day.  Once my right hand finishes healing, I'll probably be back to my old, unconscious ways of doing things.  Part of me will miss it.  Why?  It is rather refreshing to have to be so conscious, and concentrate so fiercely.  That intense concentration doesn't allow room for a lot of the nonsense that my mind usually throws at me.  It's also kind of cool to see how you DO get better with time and practice and healing.

Setting The World on Fire

Looking again at the way I'd signed off in my last post, I realized that "setting the world on fire" is something of a misnomer. Usually it's a phrase applied to very young people, graduates of ivy league colleges, game-changing software engineers or meglomanics who want to take out a bunch of people in as painful a way a possible. It probably also features in the dreams of those who feel that nuclear war is a viable option. So I need to come up with another way of describing how I plan on re-launching myself back into the world.

Truthfully, inertia is a misnomer as well. For while I haven't been doing a lot of anything I can point to - like a well-manicured lawn - or, as is the case in winter snow, a well-shoveled driveway - I have been working very hard to change the way I approach the world. I truly believe that whatever attitude, behaviour, action or energy one gives out to the world, you get it returned to you without fail. So it behooves me to approach the world in the best manner I can manage. It makes living that much nicer. And...there is that small matter of healing. Healing after my surgery, definitely. And there's also been healing going on from living in ways that made my life more an obligation than a place where magic is possible.

I've also been learning that there are other ways of living. There are many, many people living in the United States who do not go to an office every morning. Who do you think all those people are out on the streets every day. They can't all be tourists, can they? There are others who work solely from home, creating their schedule as they go. There are others who have jobs that even I don't know about that have them earning a living without wearing a suit-and-tie (or its equivalent) and reporting to the "man" or the "woman" everyday.

Yes, of course, there are many different industries that I haven't even considered. You see, I grew up in an area where the office was king. Everyone (seemingly) aspired to great success in the white collar world wherein money could be made, luxuries achieved and escape from the lower classes was possible. In fact, it was almost a prerequisite for living. [Yes, we do have a class society here in the United States - it's just economic rather than politely correct upbringing as in England. It's more about hard cash than family blood lines.]

Now, I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this. Except I've come to understand that there are other ways of living. I just need to suss them out. I'll let others set the world on fire. One time honored way would be to marry very well - i.e. rich - and not worry about making a living. However, that possibility is not available at the present time - nor am I at all certain I'd be willing to make the requisite trade-offs. I'm a romantic. If I'm to marry, it would have to be for love. Surely there's a place in this world for an honorable woman with a big heart, a facility to learn and grow, a willingness to work hard, who has a desire for variety and an eagerness to live to earn her way in the world - perhaps even thrive.

The secret here is finding that direction. Then who knows? I may just set the world on fire one of these days. To use the old arrow and bow parable (or is it analogy?), once I find my target, I believe the bow will appear to fire me winging on my way. I am creating it.  Should be an interesting ride.

Of Sound Machines and Carpal Tunnels

Quick update on my neighbors and a sound machine. For the upstair wanderers who roam about nightly above my head - whether sleepwalking or awake - the sound machine definitely helps. Either that, or since I got my sound machine (which, as far as I can tell, is a small fan in a plastic casing that creates steady noise), they've found a way to sleep through most of the night. Whatever. I'm happier with the machine. You know - law of averages - that if I stopped using the machine, they'd be up wandering about more frantically than ever before through the wee hours. (I was going to say Stygian darkness to sound v. impressive, but any one who's lived in a condominium complex knows that it's never that dark - except possibly in a closet.)

Now, as to carpal tunnels. They are the areas in our wrists (if you're human) resembling a tunnel through which our nerves and blood vessels flow. For whatever reason - my hand surgeon says there is no definitive cause - I have managed to have bi-lateral carpal tunnel syndrome. That means my carpal tunnel areas in both wrists are inflamed which causes pressure on the nerves. The result is numbness in both hands, most specifically in the first three fingers of each hand. It's most apparent in the fingertips. Untreated, the nerves will die. So, surgery was called for. I'll let you look it up. It's a very simple day surgery.

Yes, it is simple surgery, but it is surgery. When I was discussing this all with my hand doctor, it all made sense and so we went forward with it this past Friday. Then on Saturday after the anesthesia finally wore off, it dawned on me that my hand really hurt, had a large wrap on it and I really needed to treat it carefully. There's also been the small matter of doing everything one-handedly. O.K. No big surprise there, it's just that I'd been thinking about the pros and cons for so long, the whole process became more hypothetical than real. So much so, that I've been a wee bit bummed with the fact that I need to give my hand time to heal. Oy. I'm also a bit spooked at the bruising that's growing up from the dressing. Reality vs. hypothetical.

All in all, the whole process has been very good. My hand is healing well. I swear my fingers are already feeling better. Sore palm, happy fingers - which is good, 'cause otherwise this post would be taking all afternoon to type without a little assist! Now...just need to get the other wrist done. When? Probably in a month. Thinking again. The difference here is that this time I have the surgery, hopefully, I'll be more prepared for the patience I need to have with myself to heal afterwards.

Then, with freed nerves, I can get out of this incredibly attractive inertia, and start setting the world on fire - metaphorically speaking!

Neighbors

Neighbors are a fact of life. Well, unless we live in the middle of a dessert. We all have neighbors. Some, more than others. Me? Until recently, although living in a condominium (formerly an apartment) complex, I only had two immediate neighbors. One below, and one on one side, both of whom were single. They also are very quiet. The spaces above me, and on the "other" side have been empty since I moved here six whole years ago. I've been very lucky. And it has been lovely. My apartment has been my retreat, my refuge from the world. In fact, it has been so quiet, I completely overlooked the possibilty of ever acquiring two more sets of neighbors.

I have been very spoiled in my life. The only time where I have lived surrounded by people was in my dorm college room. And honestly, I was never in there except to sleep when pretty much everyone else was sleeping. So neighbors were never an issue. Before six years ago, I've always lived in places with other folks, but I was always on the top floor and, at most, always had just one immediate neighbor. So, my experience at hive living has been non-existent. Yes. Hive living. Like bees. An apartment building (whatever it's legally called) is like a hive where everyone lives going about their business. And the constant busy-ness is very much like a hive where there's always some activity going on with the worker bees. The only difference being no queen.

So you see? Complacency can be a dangerous thing. In December, rather like early Christmas presents, I got two new families as immediate neighbors - above, and next door. It's amazingly challenging to me.

Upstairs, they are generally very quiet except for their penchant for dropping things. What's challenging is that at night, they only seem to sleep for 3 hours before getting up and running around over my head (dropping things) for about an hour each time. (Yes, sadly I've watched the clock - royally ticked off.) If I'm lucky, I'll maybe get 6 hours of sleep. My sister who's been "hive" living for years poo-poos my reaction. She basically told me to suck it up, and get ear plugs and a sound machine. The art of napping is looking more and more attractive. Now, if only I can do that at work.

As for my new next door neighbors, they are lovely people. They just tend to live their lives at extremely high volume. Especially the 5-year old girl who only seems to be able to communicate by shrieking. Happy, sad, terrified, busy, it's always in shrieks. Life is often conducted in the hallway directly outside my front door before slamming theirs. Contentiously, the mother and father will yell at the children from their bedroom (which is on the other side of my living room wall). Alternatively, they have a noisy bedroom life which can be disconcerting in the evenings while I'm trying to work or wind down for bed.

My sprititually-minded friends like to remind me that challenges help to teach us to grow and become more tolerant of others. I understand this concept in theory. My sister says I need to learn to live with my neighbors' noise. Obviously, I'm on a steep learning curve, because so far I've been simply sleep-deprived and cranky.

It's Twelfth Night!

Today is "Twelfth Night!" (or 12th Night). I've always liked 12th Night because it extends Christmas for me. Also, remember the song "Twelve Days of Christmas" wherein the singer had received a whole crowd of folks, animals and things by the 12th Night? Someone had to put a stop to it somehow. The composer had probably been crowded out of house and home by that time! 12th Night is also known as "Epiphany" and the "Feast of the Three Kings." All of which are variations on various Christian themes. Tho' according to Wikipedia, the celebration may also have its roots in Celtic or Roman pagan observances which predate Christianity.

In spite of the fact that my parents were both raised with comprehensive training in the Anglican church, our family usually celebrated the main holidays (or holy days) in a much more pagan fashion. (Still do.) By the time my sister and I arrived on the scene, religion was no longer observed in our house. However, in my parents' English/Irish cultural lexicon (duly inculcated upon us children), 12th Night signalled the end of the Christmas season. They taught us that 12th Night marked the time when all one's Christmas decorations needed to come down, and be put away for another year.

12th Night was made ceremonial by the giving of one last gift (if you wished) to each other, a special dinner was made to mark the occasion, and sometimes, Christmas music would be played. Afterwards, all the Christmas decorations were put into boxes to go to the storage room the next day, and the tree was relegated to the garage where it would wait to be taken to the town chipper to become mulch. (A practice I heartily endorse in the spirit of recycling and renewal.) When we finished, the house would look weirdly naked - not to mention, really boring to my young eyes. Fortunately, my parents would keep the outside lights on in the evenings 'til the end of January, so the transition didn't feel so completely damning.

These days I tend to stretch the meaning of 12th Night to the following weekend simply because a mid-week celebration is sometimes impossible to pull off. As long as the Christmas tree hasn't become a fire hazard, I figure we're good. And I confess - since the early winter evenings can be very gloomy and depressing after the joy of Christmas - often, I will keep the Christmas lights up in my window through February to give me something cheery to see.

Happy 12th Night to you all! So long Christmas spirit. See you next time.