Thursday, October 12, 2017

CHECKING IN...



 I'm a little late reporting my reading for the past three months, so here's the score:

JULY:
16 mysteries (all re-reads)
  1 non-fiction (a new quilting book)

AUGUST:
12 mysteries (again, re-reads)
  3 non-fiction (another new quilting book and two memoirs)

SEPTEMBER:
  6 mysteries (yes, re-reads)
  1 sci-fi
  1 non-fiction


Total for 3 months: 40

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The two memoirs are: 

What Comes Next and How to Like It, by Abigail Thomas
  Abigail Thomas would not be everybody's cup of tea, but I was entertained by her rapid-fire short pieces that chronicled a long friendship.

Leaving Church, by Barbara Brown Taylor
 Taylor is an Episcopal priest who left parish work for a different kind of ministry. I'm told that she later returns to parish ministry so I'm looking forward to the next volume. She's another one who doesn't pull any punches--her life is not always exemplary, and she doesn't gloss over any of it.

The non-fiction in September was The Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, by Daniel James Brown
 There's a lot of information about rowing, but if you can plow through it, you'll hit gold yourself when you practically sit in the boat during the Olympics. The story follows all nine boys in the boat from their early years to college, through their training, and on to the Olympics, then afterward. Lots of good photos. And if you know anything at all about history, you'll appreciate what they did in a difficult time. Olympics in 1936 Berlin? 

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Mysteries are from my own bookshelves: W. J. Burley (Supt. Wycliffe series); Agatha Christie (Miss Marple); L. A. Taylor (various stand-alones); Josephine Tey (also various titles); Jacqueline Winspear (Maisie Dobbs series).

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Here's an update on our local library, damaged by fire on July 2nd:

Restoration has begun. Restorers have estimated 95% of the furniture can be restored. Paintings also. Books will be treated in special rooms of ozone (there may be other treatment as well).

In the meantime, a temporary library location is now operating out of a retail store area recently vacated. All new purchases by the library (they are constantly purchasing new materials in all media) will be catalogued and then available at the temp library.

In addition, Evergreen Indiana--God bless them!--makes it possible for patrons to visit other nearby libraries who are also in the Evergreen program--to browse, check out, and then return either to the library where the material originated or--easy-peasy--to our own library system! What I miss most of all is browsing--actually picking up a book, reading the covers, the inside flaps, starting the first page (if the author doesn't catch me by page 3, I'm probably not going to be caught later on). Now--browsing is back!

Last I heard, estimates for restoration of the original facility extend to around 12 months. That's next summer. Something to look forward to!

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Autumn is slowly arriving in all its usual garb--not so colorful this year, at least not yet, so there's hope for a little while longer. We're hovering around the 50-degree mark, with frequent periods of rain--then whole days of sunshine and wind--then back to clouds and, eventually, rain. The last of the summer flowers are having a final fling, and the chrysanthemums are taking up the slack. In the meantime, the rain keeps the grass green.

Have a blessed week!

Last year's beauty


Thursday, October 5, 2017

HOME AGAIN . . .

Returning from vacation--arrived at the airport about 7 PM, was picked up by my driver, and 45 minutes later I was home. Luggage inside, door shut, shoes off . . . .

I was hungry--had good meals the day I left my daughter's house (and every day prior to that); she fixed a generous bag of cheddar cheese slices and apple chunks to go with my rice crackers so I wouldn't faint from hunger on the trip home. Didn't get to eat anything until after 4:30 while I waited for my connecting flight in Chicago. And then I could eat only half, not because of any time crunch, but because a few crackers, a couple slices of cheese, and half the apple chunks satisfied me. After all, I wasn't getting real exercise flying in planes. I don't count getting from one gate to another as exercise.

But walking through an airport can be tiring, especially when pulling or carrying luggage. And because I'd had breathing problems on the outward bound trip while schlepping my carry-on through the endless corridors of Chicago's O'Hare, I made up my mind to ride in one of the carts.



And what a ride it was!

Our driver was fairly young, Hispanic (I christened him Ricardo), and apparently his pick-up schedule was over-booked. He kept getting requests from his dispatcher to go to Gate __ to pick up one or more passengers. It would have been comical in a movie--we in the passenger seats of the cart, practically glued in, definitely not moving out of that cart. Looking at each other. Give up my seat? Absolutely not! What a suggestion!

Meanwhile, Ricardo is rapidly rising to greater heights of emotion--he's batting along at a great rate, calling out, "Excuse us! Excuse us!" to get walkers out of the  way. He runs down a dog, a whale, and a giraffe (all stuffed) and sideswipes pink kiddie luggage, sending it skidding to the far walls. I expect to hear him scream, "Incoming!" any moment. But I am disappointed.

Back to reality . . . . We start at Gate K with four people--go to Gate H to leave one and pick up two more--back to K to leave one we should have delivered previously--again to H for three more the dispatcher has conned Ricardo into (by this time we are at full capacity). My expectation is that we'll begin shedding our load at K, then H, then on to G (my gate, and that of two of my fellow riders). However, one of us is delivered somewhere else, so now we're down to two--both of us panting for G Gate. 

Then--not in the script--Ricardo is flagged down by a gaggle of women just off a plane and looking for baggage claim. (Little do they know they have a 3/4-mile hike ahead of them.) Ricardo explains he has passengers he has to get to their planes (still me and a woman headed for Springfield, MO). Finally he consents to take one woman who claims to be ill and about to pass out; and he explains, as we careen down the concourse ("Excuse us!") that he can take her only as far as an escalator down to baggage claim. Which he does. 

My seatmate and I are gallantly hanging on, not complaining (we are both seasoned women with enough sense to conserve our energy for travel--complaining might relieve our feelings and keep us from boiling over, but it wouldn't change the situation--except, most likely, to fan the flames).

So we sit quietly, talking from time to time. We share info: books we are reading--hers is sci-fi, mine historical mystery. Dogs--TSA K9 personnel walk ahead of us for a time, sans dogs); she tells me her little dog, never a cuddler, began jumping up on her and licking her neck under her chin; when she told her doctor (or was it the vet?) about it, she learned the dog was responding to changes/drops in her insulin levels, and thus saved her life.

We pass a Starbucks and she says, wistfully, "I could use a Starbucks right now." We both inhale deeply as Ricardo weaves through the crowd. She tells me she has lost 100 pounds over some period of time, maybe a year.

Our conversation is in snippets, small paragraphs, until we reach Gate G--I am first off, wish her safe travel, and check with the gate agent to see if I have time to go to the restroom. Learn that the plane is just arriving--I have loads of time. So I get to eat some of my crackers and cheese and apple slices.

And that's where you came in.

I still think it would make a good movie.




Thursday, September 28, 2017

WHAT DO YOU DO ON VACATION?


If you're a 40+ hour-per-week worker, your ideas may run toward:
- sleeping in till a decent hour
- taking little side trips in your state because you never get to do that until there's a break
- spending some time working on your house/cabin/boat/quilt/birdhouse
- eating whatever you like, whenever you like
- not cooking three square meals a day
- not shopping any more than absolutely necessary to keep body and soul together

If you're retired . . . well, that's a different kettle of fish. Do you even go on vacation?


Linden Hills Co-Op
Great mural on the outside wall

I did. I came to Minnesota to visit my youngest daughter. So far we have:
- been to the co-op for food
- been to Cub Foods for other food
- been to two used-book stores
- driven around three (or more--hard to keep track) lakes in the City of Minneapolis
- toured neighborhoods of old-money houses built when the cities were being founded (reminded us of The Great Gatsby era)
- bought and cooked pork roast, chicken (in various configurations), roasted vegetables
- spent an evening with my daughter's next-door neighbor, Jane, who provided wine, tea, coffee, and key lime pie, plus entertaining conversation; we took a platter of caprese to share (made with home-grown basil from a pot on the patio, served on little skewers)
- sat on the patio and talked; enjoyed a nice autumn day
Lake Calhoun
- read
- watched movies
- talked
- read some more, talked some more, watched more movies

That's my idea of vacation--don't need a new wardrobe, cruise liner tickets, itinerary made up by somebody else. . . .

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So  . . . how do you know you're on vacation?

Different sights, sounds, people, foods, scenery.
Different magazines and books in my daughter's digs.
No telephone ringing other than mine when my daughter calls me (we usually text, anyway).

Did you know you can survive without television? Microwave? Toaster oven? Socks you forgot to pack? (Of course you knew that . . . you've been on vacation, too.)

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Well, what's the point of vacation? A lot of the above can be experienced without leaving your comfortable rut.

Time away from a regular job may help you to reconnect with your self--your family--your interests that may have gone by the wayside. 

And if you're retired, you get a change of pace--new perspectives on people, life, yourself.

Thanks for joining me in Minneapolis!


At Sunnyside Gardens, across
the parking lot from the Co-Op



Thursday, September 21, 2017

WE'RE ON VACATION!

Whee! A week off! 

What'll you do with yourself? Sleep late? Go to the circus? Binge on movies and Ben & Jerry's?

If you don't have the week off, you can take a few minutes--the ones you'd normally use to read Thursday Child's latest post--and think yourself into your favorite vacation spot.

I'll be, in actuality, with my youngest daughter in Minneapolis-St. Paul, seeing the sights, riding the bus (no bus around here), taking a walk around the lakes within the city limits, stalking used-book shops . . . .

Next time I'll upload a few hundred of my photos for your enjoyment--if you can't come along, you can see what you missed! (That promise holds good only if I take the pics!)

Have a great week, look for the blessings, and we'll check in again next Thursday.




Autumn will arrive for sure while I'm away!

Thursday, September 14, 2017

LEAVING HOME

I'm not a news watcher, but I get plenty of information--'way too many videos--about disasters in the world. They come to me via The Weather Channel, which I consult daily for settling questions of wardrobe, heat or a/c in the house, and should I even venture out.

Last Saturday my long-time friend from college days called on her cell phone to say she and her two "kids" (Border collie mix dogs) were on their way from Tampa to Atlanta to stay with family. She had food, water, etc. for herself and the kids; what she needed was fuel for her vehicle.

While she drove, she told me about the oncoming traffic--squad upon squad of emergency vehicles, all kinds, heading into the disaster area, mainly the west coast of Florida, hard hit by Hurricane Irma.

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Her phone call brought it all home to me. These things don't happen in a vacuum. They don't happen to "other people" and so I can shrug them off, change the channel, and say how thankful I am that I live where I do, in northeastern Indiana, where we don't get hurricanes or tropical storms. (We do get tornadoes, though.)

The rector of our church has kept us apprised of the best ways to help disaster victims--through our own church's disaster relief program and other organizations, such as the Red Cross. And we pray each week for those families and homes and cities in the path of destruction.

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All of this causes me to think how I would approach leaving my home.

What would I take with me--not knowing how much space I'd have when I got to a shelter? (See photo at left.)

What would I leave behind--not knowing if I'd ever return, and if I did, would I find anything left of the life I'd had to abandon?

In past years, when tornado watches morphed into warnings, I grabbed a gallon of distilled water, a flashlight, sweatshirt, pillow and blanket, and climbed into the bathtub. My cell phone was always with me for updates. When the dog, Joy, lived with me, I took her food and water bowls into the bathroom, along with a few treats and some newspapers for her potty needs. Then I shut the door and we listened to the wind roar and buffet the house. (I still recall Joy's puzzled look--she had a lot of  facial expressions--as we spent an hour or so in this tiny room, me in the tub, she on the bathmat beside me.)

Sometimes I took my laptop with me, if I remembered.

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What would I take now, if I had to evacuate the entire house and go with people I don't know to a shelter some place?

First, obviously, myself. Medications I have to take regularly. Bottled water. Cell phone.

Beyond that, my laptop; a book to read (preferably one of those 500+ pagers I can escape into); clothes I like--hoodies, sweat pants, tee shirt, walking shoes with heavy socks. (I'd probably have to wear them, with no time to pack a bag.)

If I had sense enough to think of it, I'd take my cell phone charger and the hookup for the laptop. But if I'm in crisis mode, it'll be whatever I remember in the seconds I actually have to think about those things.

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When I was a teenager, I remember how much my clothes meant to me. Looking back at it, I think that was because I had very little in the way of possessions. My clothes were me. I had very few books at that time, very few LPs. The house wasn't mine, nor the furniture.

Now, I can walk away from all kinds of things, mainly because I've had a lifetime of accumulating books and music, clothes and fabrics and yarn, furniture and dishes and ornaments. And a house and car.

Yes, I'll miss some of them, if I have to leave them to their fate. But I had to go forward from a house fire, when I was 14, in which we lost virtually everything, and not grieve about what I no longer had. Grieving didn't  bring anything back. And every time I've moved from one house to another, it seems some things never turned up in the unpacking. (Maybe they went to where all the socks go when we end up with one black, one blue, and one gray.) I could do it again. If I had to.

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What it boils down to is this: All the things in our lives are just that--things. Stuff. We won't be able to take it with us when we die. We could leave it to our heirs--but do they really want it? 

I hope and pray you and I won't have to go through the disruption of our lives that occurs when disaster strikes. But if we do, then I wish us strength and courage to go forward from where we are. We can spare a thought to the memories we have, but turn aside from grief over things.

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P.S. - My friend in Florida is home again--no damage to her house! Thanks be!








Thursday, September 7, 2017

BLESSINGS

Today is September 7th. 

This is my anniversary . . . 22 years ago today I underwent surgery for cancer. For all of those 22 years I have been--and remain--cancer-free. That is the greatest blessing of all.

But it isn't the only blessing I have. Recent routine tests about my health--mostly heart concerns--revealed that slight adjustments to medications would assist my heart in its work. Who wouldn't want that? A slight tweak and I'm looking forward to renewed energy.

More energy--definitely a blessing!--means my walks at the Y can have more impact on my health--weight loss being one of the most desirable, making my doctors (and me) happy.

Over the Labor Day weekend my youngest daughter made her 10+-hour trip from Minnesota to be with me for the above routine tests. That was on the first day. Then she had two and a half more days to stay with me. Blessings? Absolutely! She loves to do "little stuff" around the house and yard. I didn't have much of a list this time--all the light bulbs were replaced at one of her earlier visits, and the smoke alarms aren't ready for their new batteries. But we found something to keep her occupied. That was in addition to cooking, eating, a little shopping (neither of us is a shop-till-we-drop gal), and lots of talking.

Another kind of blessing popped up when I began laying out fabrics to make a healing quilt for a friend who just discovered she has cancer. My daughter helped me arrange strips of fabric and we finally agreed that these were just right. This blessing isn't just about the right fabrics--it's about creating something beautiful, and healing, for a woman who already has enough life situations to deal with. It's about being a blessing.

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In 15 days we'll celebrate the First Day of Fall, according to my calendar (Labrador Retrievers on every page). Days are definitely getting shorter--as in, less daylight, more nighttime). Temps are running in the 60s for highs and 40s for lows--and this is only the first week of September. We'll have another period of warmth in the 70s or above, usually at the end of the month, about the time of the Free Fall Fair--either heat and humidity, or incessant rain; we try to appeal to all tastes in weather.

One of my blessings is cooler nights--a little heat in the house to take off the nip in the air, then both heat and a/c turned off during the day. My wardrobe runs to long-sleeved tees with jeans or long knit pants, light jacket or sweater or sweatshirt for the early morning visit to the Y (that parking lot attracts a lot of wind over a wide empty space). So far I've managed to shun heavy jackets and sweatshirts, and I've yet to don a pair of gloves. But that's coming.................

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If I were to count all my blessings, like the old-time hymn says, "name them one by one," I'd have no time left to recognize new ones. I'll be revisiting this topic again, never fear. Blessings abound.

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Blessings come in all sizes--gigantic to miniature. Blessings come in surprising ways, and from surprising directions. Blessings can be subtle, barely noticeable until afterward. Or they can be in-your-face, demanding to be noticed.

Look around. . . is there a blessing for you just around the corner?

Wishing you a blessing-filled week.





Thursday, August 31, 2017

THERAPIES

[My last couple of weeks have been stress-builders, so I'm doing a repeat of a post from last year. After I read it through, I knew it was just right for me, and anybody else, who's let the stress accumulate. Hope you enjoy it this time around.]

1. the treatment of disease or disorders, as by some remedial, rehabilitative, or curative process: speech therapy.
2. psychotherapy.
3. a curative power or quality.
4. any act, task, program, etc., that relieves tension.

Before we go further, this is not a medical advice article. If you need professional help, you should search for it. My intention today is to offer some thoughts on #4 above--relieving tension, bringing back a feeling of well-being. 

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If you’ve lived this long beyond the beginning of the 21st Century, you’ve seen a proliferation of therapies available.

If you have had surgery or are waiting for surgery to replace/repair some body part, you may have had Physical Therapy both before and after.

If you’ve been inactive for a time, you may need Occupational Therapy to help you become independent again.

Most of us have had antibiotic therapy at one time.

And if your needs are emotional or spiritual, there are therapies to help you rebound: music, art, crafts; outdoor activities; writing, especially journaling; working with youth, or the aged, or the handicapped, or the illiterate.

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Many years ago one of the most active elder women in my church shared her secret to continued good health and commitment. When her husband died, her family doctor said, “Get involved in something.” He wasn’t telling her not to grieve—he was telling her to work through her grief in a positive activity. She had been an elementary school teacher before retirement, so she began to work in areas of the church that involved teaching. The last position she held before she went to live with her daughters was working with adults who were training to be lay ministers who assisted with all manner of needs in the congregation.

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A friend of mine is going through a time of grief for a recently deceased family member. Her usual beloved activities are sewing and writing; she now feels as if she’s “going through the motions.” But she’s still doing them.

A family member has a degenerative illness that could have resulted in “retirement from life” but she’s chosen to continue with her normal activities as long and as well as possible.

My own experience with those times I want to crawl into my cave and pull the hole in after me have made me look for what I love about my life and focus on that for a time.

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Here are some thoughts on therapies we may have hanging around the house:

Music – If you play an instrument, do that. Who cares if you can’t hit the right notes? It’s for yourself you’re playing. Or, sing—talk about not hitting the notes! That’s one I struggle with but I do continue to find joy in making a joyful noise.

Don’t sing or play? Put on a CD or turn on a radio or TV show or find tunes in your phone resources or check out YouTube on your computer. Music is literally everywhere. Let it wash over you. Feel it. Dance, if your feet tell you to. (It’s okay to listen to your feet from time to time.)

Art – Art isn’t just the visual arts—Art comprises painting, sculpture, writing (also music, but that’s a separate category today). My painting looks pretty bad—though if I were 6 years old it might be pretty good. Clay isn’t my medium. Writing is my thing. . . I write in my journal every day. I write emails. I write letters (the old-fashioned kind on paper that go in envelopes and have to have stamps and addresses and get dropped into boxes outside the post office). I’ve been known to write poetry. And if all my handwritten lists had been preserved through the decades, I’d have a tremendous body of work—not publishable, but definitely voluminous. 

Remember, we’re not looking for a letter grade here—we’re achieving something outside any grading system.

I can’t claim all my writing is art, but it functions in the same way—it allows me to explore things I’ve experienced, what I’ve felt, any meaning I can glean from it; and it rids my physical body of the effects of negative feelings simply by writing those things down on paper. (This is why many therapists—the professional kind with framed certificates on their walls—include journaling in their advice to people going through rough times.) You don't need to take a class to write a journal; just get some paper or a notebook, your favorite writing stick, and...well, start.

I am ready to try a new thing: coloring! If you haven’t seen the wide variety of coloring books/journals/calendars, you’ve been shopping in the wrong department, because these are all over the store: with the books, in office supplies, and on end caps near nothing related. These art coloring books feature intricate designs. All you need is the book (or whatever) and some colored pencils. Some include pencils so you buy a ready-made kit. Adult coloring has been popular for a few years. (I’m always slow to get into the act.) I’m told it’s a great stress-buster. Sounds good to me.

Crafts – You don’t have to be a basket weaver to experience the joys and satisfactions that come from making something with your own hands. My dad was a carpenter; he built houses, but he loved best the finish work that made the house look complete. His satisfaction came from the precision needed to make a house with good proportions (he designed from scratch on the backs of old envelopes), walls that were plumb, windows and doors of the right size for the house and placed in the proper places for the space they occupied.

My son also likes to build and has made a number of items, large and small (a quilting frame for me and miniature furniture for Christmas tree ornaments, to name a couple); he can sew a dress for his granddaughter or a pirate costume for his grandson; and he’s a creative cook. Plus he has a day job.

Sewing and other fiber arts seem to run in our family—I make quilts and knit; all my children can knit, though a couple of them have given it up in favor of other pursuits; two of them make quilts; one loves to decorate; one crochets. We get a sense of accomplishment from our work, yes; but there’s more to it than that. While we work on our project, we focus outside ourselves, and our thoughts and good wishes run to the person who will receive the gift we are making. Getting outside ourselves is probably the best gift we can give anyone, including ourselves.

Origami frogs
Cooking—and creating a new recipe—can be a drudge, or it can be exciting. Take your favorite old recipe and give it a new twist. If you’re bored with your current recipe box, look online for something different to make. There are more cooking blogs than you can shake a wooden spoon at.

If your ideas run in different paths, take up stained glass or origami. Then teach it to someone else.

Outdoor Life – I’m not a gardener, and my birdwatching is limited to whoever comes to my feeders. But I do walk. Formerly I walked outdoors, early in the morning, in residential neighborhoods—my day was brightened by the changing seasons and the beautiful flowers, shrubs, and trees I saw. My spirits were lifted by the knowledge that people cared enough to take good care of their little patch of Planet Earth. Best of all, I had all the joy and none of the scratches, mosquito bites, or aching back pains.

I’m told, though, that gardening is one of the greatest activities for losing yourself. Kneeling on the ground to weed a bed of annuals can make time seem to stop. There’s nothing but the flower bed, the trowel, and you.

Helping Out – So many opportunities abound that there’s no excuse for not helping someone, somewhere. Schools in my neck of the woods welcome volunteers (many are retirees) to read to the children—or, perhaps, have the children read to the volunteer. If you’re not up for that, you can help out wherever you’re needed—make copies for the teachers, move stuff that needs moving, sort books and magazines, ask the librarian what you can do for him/her.

One of the local churches used to have a literacy program to help adults who can’t read. Reading is not only a skill, it’s a confidence builder. If a person can read the job applications they fill out, they feel more able to fill the position.

Another type of literacy program uses readers to record books on tape (nowadays they’re books on CD, but the old name sticks).

The hospital needs volunteer docents to show people where the various departments are (yes, there are signs, but if you’re in bad shape or grieving, you may not even notice there’s a sign; tunnel vision applies here). Other docents take folks from one place to another in wheelchairs. Or they serve at volunteer desks to sign patients in and point them to the next available clerk to register the patient.

My own helping out is done in my home—and sometimes at my fabric-and-craft store (buying trips)—when I cut out kits for blankets and pillow cases, or sew them myself. I prefer to work alone; it’s my time for meditation and for giving thanks. Once a week I work with my sewing/knitting group at church and my focus expands to each of the members and her life. I will not miss my Friday morning time with the sewing ladies. It’s a life-enhancing group. What better way to get out of my own way and celebrate the good things of life?

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The above is not a comprehensive list of possible ways to help yourself out of a blue funk or lessen the toll grief takes on you. You will have your own ways to deal with life as you live it. Just keep celebrating the good things.