Category: Life Skills-Creativity-Art

This has been an extremely long and emotional week. Last weekend it appeared my youngest rescue dog, Casper, had a severe stroke. I could tell he’d not been feeling well for some time and would occasionally go into “frozen statue” mode when walking around outside. It would only last a minute or two. But this latest seizure-like experience appeared more serious. So on Monday morning I called the veterinarian and made an appointment to have things checked out. The next day I dropped him off for the exam. It only took a couple of hours to get the phone call and terminal diagnosis.

When I went back to pick up Casper, the veterinarian confirmed that Casper had a large splenic tumor. It was surrounding his spleen and invading the liver. Surgery was not a good option due to potential heavy bleeding and medications would not cure it. The cancerous tumor was growing and had been for some time. His side abdomen was notably enlarged. Casper was terminal and had days, maybe weeks, to live.

Meanwhile, the vet said, although Casper didn’t appear to be in any pain, his quality of life would soon deteriorate. And although Casper exhibited moments of energy outside and active movement around the house and yard during the day, it was followed by long naps and lethargy. He had already stopped drinking his usual water, and exhibited loss of appetite and reduced weight. The vet said it was likely he could die suddenly in his sleep at any time.

I made a euthanasia appointment; the soonest opening was in three days. My tears have been flowing since I got that initial phone call from the vet. They still leak down my face and cloud my eyes every time I get near Casper or stroke his fine, white hair-like fur.

Casper’s early life (before me) was one of being caged and drugged. When he was rescued by a group at two years old, they had to wean him off of three doggy-downer drugs before he was eligible for adoption. After reading his bio and seeing his photo, I knew he was the dog for me. We brought him home on Halloween 2016. A trick and a treat for us!

I wanted him to experience love and family for as long as I could. I’ve done that. We adopted Zoey the same day. I wanted Casper to learn how to be a house dog, but be taught by a smaller breed. Casper is Schnauzer/Bichon Frisé (22 lbs. and almost eleven years old) and Zoey is Schnauzer/Westie Terrier (at 9 lbs. and fifteen years old). There haven’t been too many fights between them. Zoey is still the boss.

It took almost a year before Casper would actually come to me when I called him. I worked hard to build trust between us. While aloof in nature, eventually, Casper became my buddy and protector. He still follows me from room to room or checks on me throughout the day. Several folks (mostly family members) have been nipped by him through the years when getting too close to me or surprising him with their quick movements. I’ve always had to keep him away from any guests at our house – for the wellbeing of everyone.

From the very first weekend we brought the dogs home, we discovered Casper was a runner. Fortunately, we’ve been able to track him down, bring him home, and create better security each time. His last escape was the week we moved to Oregon when he jerked his leash from my hand and decided to saunter down the four-lane highway in Coos Bay! Lucky for him (and us) the traffic slowed and stopped and laughed at him, and us as we ran after him, trying to recapture our wayward pet. THAT was a scary experience! Since our return to Colorado, he’s enjoyed our securely fenced backyard and occasional van trips to the vet.

It is now the third day since we were given Casper’s diagnosis. This period of release over the past few days – this long good-bye – has been a blessing and also a very difficult time.

On the blessing side, we’ve been able to take a family photo, a video, share quiet moments of love and extra kindnesses, and allow ourselves to grieve before Casper’s transition. Our previous dogs all died so suddenly, we were left only with shock and sorrow. I want to be fully present for Casper in his final moments with us. We want Zoey to be there, too. I have no doubt that she will join him in the next year or two.

I have many photos of all our dogs, but more of Casper and Zoey than the others. They’ve grown older in the digital camera/phone era; it’s just easier to take pictures. Today I also made sure to snip a bit of Casper’s beautiful white hair/fur. Both pups have been treated to special “soft” food all week, especially today, and I’ve showered them with more hugs, soft strokes, and kisses than ever before. They have been brother/sister for more than eight years and have rarely spent a moment apart in all that time. I’m already thinking about what I can do to be here for Zoey as she wanders the house in confusion, looking for her absent barking partner.

The difficulty in having all this time before he’s gone has to do with my own self-doubt. Could I have prevented the tumor? Why didn’t we know sooner? Would the prognosis have been different? Does Casper know how much I loved him? (An internet search told me that dogs do know love – giving and receiving.) Am I saving him from additional pain? I hope so. While death is part of Life, and the experience is familiar, it is not any easier than the previous times. I started the grief process days ago. It has been deep and painful, yet it is already changing. We are remembering his antics and challenges and dedication to our family.

This afternoon Casper will cross the Rainbow Bridge. I want to think that our previous dogs – Sparky, Zeus, Xena, and Zelda – will greet him there. Like them, Casper has had a loving home and a good life. And he will remain in our hearts for years to come.

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In that prolonged empty space, between activities or seasons or marriages or moving houses, I’ve usually been tempted to fill it with numerous means and ways to avoid any sense of boredom. The constant busyness numbs my frustrations or irritation of waiting for people’s assistance or for things to happen, while transitioning from one step to the next. However, as my husband and I now make one final house move, I’ve decided to embrace this period of limbo. Enjoy the calm. Rest the body. Review the plans. Breathe.

This time the move seems easier. We’re returning home to Colorado and a place we’ve lived before. Also, because I’ve moved so often in the past, I know the expectations, most time frames, and various steps before us. I easily anticipate what’s needed and work to eliminate possible obstacles before they arise. I’m confident about my abilities to address and overcome any difficulties. I can present numerous options to facilitate the move, thereby reducing the stress (in my mind) and, hopefully, sharing that sense of calm with my husband, too.

For example, while I’m writing this – in my camper van parked in the driveway, with our dogs by my side to keep them quiet – the house is being inspected for the buyer. My husband is inside to answer any questions. Our realtor is there to assist and be the liaison between us and the buyer’s agent. My job for the next three hours is simply to keep the dogs quiet and out of the house so the inspector can do his job efficiently and without distraction. It also allows me to take a much-needed break from the chaos of endless paperwork, packing boxes, and whatever requirement the next email or phone call brings.

I’ve discovered this limbo period to be extremely enticing and am reconsidering its value. I might let the van be my “satellite office.” In addition to being a space for writing or reading or naps, and taking breaks with the dogs, it could be my mini-retreat spot where the stresses of a busy life are simply put on hold or allowed to slip away.

There is a much different mindset to the practice of embracing the limbo period, rather than resisting or ignoring it. A practice worth developing. A practice filled with gratitude. I’m willing to practice welcoming the space between.

It’s well after ten in the morning and I’m still in my pajamas. I’ve made several phone calls, read the news online, scanned social media, and finished my allotment of coffee. My daily “To Do” list is almost done. Now what?

We’re as unpacked as we can be at the moment. Every room has been cleaned. More will be completed this week. Several big pieces of furniture will be moved (with professional help) from the local storage unit into our home in a few days, just before the majority of our possessions arrive early next week. Finally! Then there will be a flurry of unwrapping, unboxing, and reorganizing as things are set into place. Until then, life is in a holding pattern.

I find this space of waiting uncomfortable. The longer the inactivity goes on, the harder it is to step into the maintenance of life. I can find tasks that need to be done; they’re just not the ones I want to do. And the things I want to do require the supplies, files, equipment, or furniture that isn’t here yet. A first-world dilemma, to be sure.

A key part of this “problem” is my addiction to work, to busyness, to needing to feel tangibly productive. It’s important to explore what I’m feeling and to find a means to resolve these outdated ideas in some positive way, especially as my activities in future days and years are meant to lean more toward relaxation and/or creative endeavors. However, right now, it feels skewed toward endless drudgery.

I prefer to think of this period of life as “re-wirement” rather than retirement. I choose to have an active life… creative outlets… community connection through service or business… new and fun experiences… that are balanced with the tasks required to maintain a home and daily living. I also prefer large blocks of time for painting walls, writing, sewing, embroidering with beads, or planned recreational activities… not to jump from one chore to another that only gets repeated tomorrow or the day after or the week after that.

The solution, it appears, is to allow myself to enjoy this period of mostly inactivity and repetitive tasks until the rest of our boxes show up. To give myself the freedom to explore empty hours. It’s harder for me than you might think. Meditation is helpful, but the planning voice is loud and constant. The planning voice wants results! Projects started! Long-term goals achieved! Transformations completed!

I think it’s time I had a chat with that annoying voice. Wish me luck.

When there’s no going back, the only way to go is forward.

After making the decision to move from Colorado to Oregon, and then selling our house as quickly as we did, there was no time for doubt or regret. We had moments of grief about leaving Colorado and those we knew. And now, ten weeks since making the decision and two weeks after arriving to this coastal community, we can reflect on how easily everything has unfolded.  (CLICK HERE FOR MORE ABOUT COOS BAY.)

First we decluttered and put a few things into a storage unit. Then, due to the hot real estate market of 2021, our house was under contract within a few days of listing it. That’s when the packing fun really began. We ended up filling ten U-Haul storage boxes (like pods) to be shipped to a new address when requested. The process provided us with a few box bruises, increased muscle strength, tested our balance, and provided the knowledge to utilize moving tools to make it easier on our bodies. (Think “shoulder dolly” straps.)

On closing (departure) day, I pulled away from our former home in the van, pulling a small cargo trailer (with a few important boxes, suitcases of clothes, and the motorcycle), and Mike followed behind, driving a 22-foot cargo truck with large, heavy furniture that wouldn’t fit into the other ten storage boxes. 

We arrived in Coos Bay after three-and-a-half days of careful, slow driving and no known mishaps.

Along the way we received a call that one of Mike’s siblings had been admitted to hospital with serious pneumonia. As a result of this illness and other eventual complications, she made her transition a few days later. She had just sold her house and was also preparing to leave Colorado for good. That memory will always be a part of our move, too. She will be missed.

Children, grandchildren, friends, and new acquaintances greeted our arrival with smiles and open arms. Family members also had arranged a large storage unit for all our road-weary belongings. Its size was more than adequate for what we brought with us. The other ten storage boxes will be requested once we have a new address.

We stayed at a hotel the first night of our arrival. The next morning, before taking our belongings to the large storage unit, a scary incident occurred involving one of our dogs.

As we were trying to load up once again and get to the storage unit to unload the motorcycle and other items, Casper somehow managed to get free of his leash and took off running through traffic. I tightened my grip on the leash to our smaller dog, lunged to grab the escapee, and fell over the cargo trailer hitch, bruising breast tissue and sternum bone. (Nothing fractured.) Traffic slowed or stopped as Casper made his way through two lanes of traffic on Highway 101 toward the intersection, where he paused to consider his next step.

Mike and I were running down the sidewalk after him, calling his name, and dragging little Zoey in the process. Casper made a right turn into a lumber yard. Then, with the help of lumberyard employees pointing out the direction, Mike managed to corner him between piles of wood. I threw the leash over the fence, and we brought Casper back to the hotel. A dreadful incident had been averted. I’ve been triple-checking the leash clasps ever since. Apparently, double-checking wasn’t enough.

It only took about an hour to unload the moving truck, cargo trailer, and van. Thank goodness I hired professional movers to assist. While one of the straps holding the motorcycle in place had snapped, the bike had managed to stay mostly upright. The surrounding boxes gave it some support. We had more than enough help to get the unloading done in record time. Both the rented cargo trailer and the moving truck were returned to vendors within hours of unloading. Whew!

The next step was to move into the guest room of Mike’s son’s house, retaining a few boxes with day-to-day items until we find our own place. They made space for our stuff in closets and cupboards and refrigerator and shelves. We are grateful to have such a welcoming place to reside while we search for our “forever home” one more time. It’s comforting to be surrounded by people who care about us and are willing to share their home with such generosity.

Almost immediately we had appointments with our realtor to tour home options in person. We had done several virtual tours with them, even placing long-distant offers on potential homes, but nothing had solidified.

However, within a week of arriving, we placed a contract on one that appears to meet all our requirements. It will need some minor repairs, but is practically move-in ready. While the house is much older and smaller than the one we just sold (think 1960’s mid-century modern), it suits this next phase of life as we learn to embrace a more relaxed lifestyle. With the formal inspection already provided by the seller and the appraisal waived, we pray that the closing will occur sooner than currently scheduled… perhaps before the end of 2021. It’s possible… and what a nice Christmas gift that will be (photos coming later).

Meanwhile, we’ve been focusing on moving funds from Colorado to Oregon, updating medical options, staying healthy, and driving around town to get familiar with the area. On one of our driving outings I backed into the steel edge of a low-hanging mall sign and put out one of my van’s rear windows. We also have an appointment with a body shop next week. The sign had no damage whatsoever.

Mike’s car is scheduled to arrive Monday afternoon, thanks to a former neighbor who was willing to drive it West and deliver it to us. Thank you, Alec! It will be easier to drive Mike’s car on these narrow streets than my big van.

With the major tasks complete, we find ourselves sleeping long nights and sitting… a LOT! It’s a good activity for me as my sternum is still a bit sore from the fall on the hitch. And now, each of us has a sore shoulder from yesterday’s COVID booster shots.

I’m finding it easier to meditate and have started reading again (a practice I put aside a few months ago). We’re getting to know our two young grandchildren and reconnect with their parents. We’re exploring decorating ideas for our new home, too. Then, once we take ownership of the property and the ten U-Haul storage boxes arrive with the bulk of our belongings, it’s back to muscle-building, balance-testing, and lots and lots of steps for a few days.

At some point we’ll visit the beach; it’s only about 15 minutes away and vast. The bay waters are just down the hill from here and visible from everywhere in town. The dark clouds of winter have arrived. Evening fog fills the gaps between evergreens on the hillside to the west. The air is moist; winter rain is predicted. It’s a great time to be indoors, writing, sharing this adventure with you.

We made the right decision. The only way to go is forward.

We have assembled, packed, and loaded into storage crates two hundred and sixty-six boxes so far in this moving process. Each box has been organized and inventoried with care before being placed into a large wooden storage crate for later shipment to our next home.

So many boxes, so many precious items collected over decades of life, are evidence of the Abundance present all around me. I am grateful for what we have… for what we have released… and for the unlimited possibilities before us.

In this process of preparing to move to another state, the energy required to pack, lift, shove, stack, and organize our possessions into five-by-seven-by-seven-foot crates has also allowed me to release several pounds of excess weight. In just the past five days the bathroom scale displays three pounds gone! In nearly three months, more than ten pounds have disappeared.

While I’m not inclined to exercise at this pace for the rest of my life, I am inspired to increase my activity level from what it used to be a few months ago. More walks. More outings. More energy. I’ve also established an eating pattern that appears to fulfill nutritional requirements without being excessive.

Finally, there are now eleven days until we sign the closing papers on our house and move to Oregon. We have loved living in this house; it’s one of the nicest we’ve owned. And while it’s a bit unsettling that we have not yet found another that meets our criteria, we trust it’s out there, waiting for us to discover its merits and make it our last home. I know, I’ve said this at least once before… maybe twice.

What’s different this time is our age. We’re both over 65 and, thankfully, both relatively healthy.  However, doing most of this move ourselves has been difficult both physically and emotionally. I really don’t want to go through this again. Finding the “right” house has become paramount, more logistical than emotional.

Each day provides its own disappointments and successes. Spending so much time together under these stressful circumstances has revealed even more hidden aspects of our relationship to work through. Communication has been raw, direct, healing, fun, and always filled with love. We’ve become physically stronger with all the furniture-lifting and box-dragging. We also enjoy the evening salt baths to rejuvenate and restore our sore muscles. And we keep going. Pacing ourselves. Taking HGTV breaks with hot pads on our lower backs. Taking a walk through Target just to be around other people and away from the boxes. Eating regularly throughout the day; sometimes at home, sometimes at a favorite restaurant. Laughing at the seeming insanity of how we’re being led into this next adventure.

We’ve put offers on a couple of homes already, but they haven’t panned out… so far. Weird obstacles appeared and we knew it wasn’t the right house for us. Our mantras are “This, or something better” and “It only takes one, and what if it’s easy.”

Through it all I have to trust we’re doing the right thing. I don’t feel overly anxious about not having a next address. My ego voice (Naggy Maggie) has been quiet… likely in shock at what we’re doing. I know there’s a house out there, waiting for us to find it. Thus, I do my part every day (several times) by searching realtor.com to check for new listings.

It truly feels like we’re being guided toward something special and that we’ll recognize it as soon as it comes into view. Yes, we get impatient for it to show itself so we can make this move more easily from one house to another. Then we pack another box. Put padding around another piece of furniture. Have another storage crate delivered. Keep moving forward as we do our part of the process.

It’ll be interesting to see what’s waiting for us.