Rabid Racoon

Last Saturday I went out for a run on my usual 4-5 mile route. I was running down the road that leads into a round-about - or “cul de sac” as some might call it - when I saw a dark blob by the side of the road near the curb. Often there are cats on or beside that road so I figured that it was just one of them. But as I got a bit closer the blob moved away from me, off the road and into a yard. The cats never run away from me so I was thinking maybe it was something else. I could not make out many details of the animal aside from its general size and a bushy tail even though I might have been less than 30 feet from it. I know cats can have bushy tails but this one perhaps looked too bushy for a cat. I thought that maybe it was a raccoon. When I ran past it I thought it might have hissed at me and then I feared that it was a rabid raccoon. I had my radio headphones on so very well might not have heard a hiss, but nevertheless my imagination started running along with me.

As I ran out to the round-about I worried that the rabid raccoon would attack me on the way back; I had no other choice but to double back on the same road. As I ran around the circle at the end of the road I thought about how much it would hurt to get bitten by a raccoon. As I exited the circle, I was on the lookout for any abnormal blobs on or beside the road. I ran in the middle of the road to be safe. When I got back to where I had seen the animal, it was gone, or at least nowhere in my limited range of sight. With relief I continued my run but for the rest of that night my mind was bothered off and on by how I just did not know what I saw, despite the fact that it was relatively close and any other normally or somewhat-normally sighted person would have easily been able to tell whether the animal was a cat, raccoon, or whatever.

It has happened before, where my mind is triggered into a frenzy of imagination because of an ambiguous visual stimulus. These experiences are frustrating because they are accompanied by a feeling of powerlessness. I could have empowered myself by approaching the creature to get a closer look, but if it WAS a raccoon I might really have gotten attacked (I was already quite close to it!)! So, I stayed safe and just wondered and ran with the mystery.

Gardening

We just about finished planting this year's garden yesterday – got in tomatoes, corn, peppers, radish, okra, watermelon, cantaloupe, and pumpkin; the spinach and peas will need to wait until later in the summer. Larger-scale gardening is a tough task for someone with poor vision and OCD tendencies! OK, it is not really THAT difficult, but my OCD-ishness kicks in and I want to make all the rows perfectly straight; find a way to make the garden edges smooth, well defined, and free from grass clumps; and make the dirt in the garden completely smooth. My mind tugs at these ideas until I think how much work that would be (the garden is perhaps swimming-pool sized) and then I let go, realizing that the things we plant will come up even though the garden might look “messy” to me. At least this year I will put the tomatoes in cages to make them a little neater!

My vision also makes it difficult. When planting the seeds, I cannot actually see where they fall in the row. I just move my hand along the row and drop in seeds at (seemingly) appropriate intervals. I mowed the grass around the edges of the garden, but when the grass is really short it looks very similar to the dirt in the garden (green and brown can look very similar when not seen in color), and I can’t easily discern where the garden ends and the grass begins. It is also very difficult to see where plants are sprouting up since my acuity is poor, and there is very little contrast between green plants and dirt. Tearing up the ground for the garden left dead grass clumps in it, which I don’t like partly because it does not look “neat” but also because the dead grass clumps look very similar to the live grass, tricking me into thinking that weeds are coming up in the garden. The corn, which we planted several weeks ago, is coming up but the plants are very small and I need to look very hard to find where the rows are. I accidentally pulled one of the corn sproutlings up, not thinking I was in a row and mistaking it for a weed!

Hello, neighbor?

Last Sunday I was out running and ran by the house of a woman that I know. As I got to the middle of the block, about where her house is, I heard people outside on a front lawn. Since my vision is so poor (due to the achromatopsia), I was not entirely sure if it was her house or the one next door. I also, of course, could not identify the people outside. I felt nervous running by. If people I knew were outside, would they see me? What would they think if they saw me running by and I did not acknowledge them. I don’t like running down that section of street because this is the dilemma I face. I don’t like ignoring people unintentionally. As I ran by, I just waved in their direction. Maybe they did not even see me, maybe I was waving at strangers, but at least if it was the people I knew and they saw me, I was friendly and waved hello to them.

I don’t like feeling so disconnected. I do the same disconnected-type gesture at intersections when I can’t tell if a car will let me cross before it goes or not. I just wave my hand for them to go, and hope they’re not waving back for me to go. If they wait too long, I get insistent and wave again. I don’t even know if a nonverbal communication is taking place, I just wave for them to go in case they’re looking.

It was always difficult to go to large social gatherings because when I got there I could not tell who was there that I knew. With small groups it is a bit easier because I have a chance at recognizing people’s voices as I enter a room. But, with large groups, the noise upon entry is often overwhelming and disorienting. I would usually just have to flounder for awhile until I found people I knew.

I am definitely an introvert, but have wondered how much more of one my vision has made me. I imagine having full sight, going to parties and waving at friends who are there as I enter the room (if they see me!). I imagine stopping to talk with the woman I know if she is outside while I run by her house. I imagine being more confident when entering a room full of people because I can see all the nonverbal communication, to which I am generally blind. I imagine walking down the sidewalk towards someone and not being nervous about where I am supposed to look; eye contact for me is basically meaningless unless I am very close to someone and I just don’t know the etiquette for it, like how long do you look at someone before it becomes creepy for them? Usually, I just look away and give a brief cursory glance as I get closer to the person, but again the whole interaction just seems empty and disconnected because I can’t see that person’s eyes.

Stream of Consciousness

I can't keep up with this blog thing very well. Maybe if I KNEW a lot of people were reading it I could, but....who knows! My real excuse: I have been busy with work lately, plus have generally felt uninspired. Tonight I cannot sleep. I don’t know why. I had lain in bed and, among other things, thought about this neglected blog, trying to think of something good to write. In the end, all I came up with was just a bunch of disjointed thoughts, so here goes.

We moved our bedroom from the front of the house to the back today. We’re now sleeping in the “remodeled” room with the gleaming hardwood floors and new semi-fancy window treatments. When in there, it feels like we've moved into a new house. The old bedroom is now my office, very sparsely furnished with just a desk and small table so I can plop baby L in there with me while working without worry that she’ll get into something she’s not supposed to. It has been storming all weekend but I did manage to get in my seven mile run today. It felt crappy, but I am glad I did it. K mentioned today that he’s itching for a road trip. I was lost for ideas. Tonight in my insomnia, with the help of the internet, I discovered that I want to go to Cumberland Island. I wonder if baby L is up for a camping adventure. We ordered some carnivorous plants online several weeks ago and they have not arrived yet – what’s up with that? It is strawberry time again and we need to go out picking earlier than last year so the gettin’s not as sparse. The bees are doing well and, as K recently discovered, they are starting to fight off the ants that are invading their sugar-water food-store.

Ummm, I guess what I have on my mind would be better written in a bulleted list. And, of course when lying in bed trying to sleep I get the “worrisome” thoughts about bad scenarios. I don’t want to write about them - that would give them too much justice. I am turning into my mother…she does the same things apparently.

I can’t think of any more non-bulleted bullet points, maybe a good sign that my mind is winding down for the night. Oh wait there IS that looming dentist appointment. I have a phobia of dentists and I know I have dental work that needs to be done. I just need to think of it in terms of baby steps….just get in there for the cleaning, that won’t be so bad, at least maybe for the right side of my mouth that does not suffer the extreme sensitivity to cold (and certain foods like sugar and radishes) that my left side does. I am afraid of that cold water they spray in there to rinse, eeek!

Insomnia

I can't fall asleep tonight for some reason. Maybe it was the extra cup of coffee I had today - who knows. Anyway, my ear has been plugged up since yesterday when I made the mistake of trying to clean wax out of it with a Q-tip only to jam the wax further into my ear (I assume), muffling all sound. It is disconcerting to have partial hearing in one ear. Last night I went to a consignment sale in town with a woman who lives down the street. I felt odd and off-kilter the whole time because of the darn ear. I don't like talking much as it is, but hate it even more when I can hear myself inside my head through a stopped-up ear.

I also feel like I cannot breathe well when I run. This has been a problem for awhile, but now feels worse. I heard the other day on TV how Superman's wife died of lung cancer several years ago at age 44. I then was afraid I have a tumor growing in my lungs. I also have this phlegm problem in my throat, diangosed once by an ENT as the result of possible acid reflux problems. I feel like its getting worse again, so made an appointment with an ENT in town. Can't see him until about a week and a half. I hate waiting sometimes. I also wonder if I should get my lungs checked out, just to set my mind at ease (hopefully). But then I'd feel like a real "case" going in and asking for a chest X-ray when I am not wheezing or coughing up blood. There's also a sore spot on my tongue that concerns me, though likely is just a burn from coffee or hot food. Finally, I keep making mistakes when typing tonight and feel like I can't spell well - am I having an early stroke? Oh, and there is ringing in my bum ear and pressure in my head. Is this aging or hypochondriasis?

On a lighter note, I did have a pretty good time at the consignment sale (despite feeling "off") and bought baby L several outfits, among them this one:

Waiting for My Mojo

Back in college, now some 17 years ago, I was amazed at people who could run long distances. I joined a running club for awhile at UW-Madison but was intimidated by the members that could run 10 miles or more, plus there was a super fast girl who got the spotlight. I also recall being amazed by a guy on the rowing team when he told me that he ran 5 miles in the morning as a part of crew training. I did run a Valentine’s Day 5k with the running club, but it was difficult.

Fast-forward about 15 years, and I actually amazed other people with my running. One day I was out on a long marathon training run in Minneapolis. I was about 10 miles from home, on the bike trail in Hopkins, when I came across some friends who were out bike-riding/roller-blading. One of them said in amazement “Jenn, what are you doing out here?”; he has since retold this story many times.

For several years, from 2001-2006, I was in the honeymoon phase of running. I ran my first marathon in 2001 just hoping to finish under 4 hours; I finished in 3:36 actually qualifying for the Boston marathon, which I did not know was kind of a big deal. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised with my performance. I was hooked, getting a GPS distance tracker watch and subscription to Runner's World. The next summer I put in more miles in order to improve my time, logging around 60-70 miles per week, most of them up and down the Mississippi river. To my surprise, I finished my second marathon in 3:18 (or so) – I was elated.

It was such a great feeling to be so in control of my body. In those days I could not run fewer than 8 miles at a time and 15 miles was a “short” long run. I tried to train even harder for my third marathon, this time introducing speed workouts until I was sidelined by some kind of injury in the groinal area. I was discouraged, but went nuts with alternative exercise: I took up spinning classes (which kicked my ass) at my sister’s suggestion. Some days I would do back-to-back classes: 2 hours of spin followed by weight training and maybe even 30 minutes on the eliptical trainer. I started running again about one month before the marathon and found that my running hiatus did not hinder my pace much since I finished in 3:19. I was back with a vengeance for my 4th Twin Cities marathon, where I had a PR of 3:17 (give or take some seconds).

I ran two marathons in 2004: the Twin Cities and Boston. I think it took a lot out of me to train for two of them because that was the year I peaked. I purposely said I would take some time off from marathons but still try to run a lot. In the summer of 2005 I joined a running club, with which I had a lot of fun. I did a bunch of half-marathons and other races, usually finishing pretty well (except for the race before which I was up most of the night at a poker party…and yes, there was drinking!). It was liberating to feel good and run fairly fast in races even though I was not actually training for anything. I felt powerful. I felt good, physically at least.

I noticed that my running was declining in the summer of 2006. I tried another marathon (this time Grandma’s in Duluth) and, to my disappointment, finished in 3:46. I was discouraged that this was my slowest time ever. But, my training was also the most lax ever. I tried to train hard, but work and school interfered and I was only able to put in about 40 miles per week. I still tried to run a fair amount during the fall and winter of 2006, but I let my mileage slip, and felt it. I frequently ran with my husband (who was then just my friend and running partner), which was great, but the pace often felt fast and I struggled up the hills while he would just chat away barely winded.

I really felt my running ability start to wane in early 2007. I injured my calf in February of 2007 and then struggled with it for quite awhile. I tried to make a comeback in spring 2008 by running the Nashville half-marathon with my husband, but the long runs just did not feel all that great anymore, so I did not log the miles I needed. I finished that race in the low 1:40s, which is still pretty decent, but I just felt crappy in the race. To my credit, I was coming down with some kind of stomach flu (which I fully discovered the next day), but still the distance seemed too difficult.

Then I got pregnant in 2009 and my pace and distance plummeted, as I found it will do for women in that condition. I kept the faith that my running mojo would be restored after the baby came out, but alas it is still gone. I struggle to run 20 miles per week, have a strained Achilles tendon, and run at about a 9 minute mile pace – a good 1.5 minutes slower than it used to be. My attitude to running has come full circle, though landing at a different vantage point from where it began. I am no longer amazed by others' running (unless they are Kenyan or of similar make) but I am amazed by how I used to run.

I try not to get discouraged, focusing on being thankful that I can run at all every time I go out. But I am still waiting…..waiting for the day when my running mojo will return, and my feet will feel lighter and my lungs bigger. It is the same attitude I have for a box of pictures and computer CDs that has disappeared since our move to the South; I often ponder where it has gone, wonder where I can find it until I am nearly obsessed, at which point I step back, try to relax, and tell myself not to worry - that it will turn up again someday.

Small Dreams to Live Big

Baby L and I have a routine established: get up around 10:00 (why does L sleep so late? –I guess she got my genes for that!); put L in her fish seat while I eat breakfast, check email and facebook, and move on itsyourturn.com; take L out of her fish seat after 15-20 minutes when she starts to get fussy; plop down on the couch with L to feed her and watch TV, which often is House Hunters and other HGTV shows; feed L cereal or carrots (other foods soon to be introduced) around noon; do some housework; watch more TV, do stuff on the computer, and play with L and feed her more; lift weights while watching Dr Oz or Tyra (she’s actually pretty cool for a supermodel); watch more TV, do stuff on the computer, and play with L (and perhaps feed her more) until K comes home. Yes, my days are filled with way too much TV – I need to change that somehow.

Today on House Hunters there were two episodes with people looking for condos in NYC. I got a pang in my heart when watching; I have always wanted to live there, at least for a few years. It got me to think how I used to dream big when I was younger. I would fantasize about being a famous artist in NYC or an actress in LA. I don’t really have such fantasies any more – they left me many years ago. I suppose I stopped dreaming when I decided to abandon studying art. I often wish I would have stuck with art, just to see where it could have taken me. But then realistic thoughts set in: I probably would be stuck in some lackluster art career (I am no artistic genius as you can see by my post Life in a Box) and I would not have K or baby L. I might have some other baby, but I look at baby L and realize she never would have existed if I had made other choices in life. This helps put any regretful choices in perspective.

I would like to regain the ability to dream big again someday, but don’t know if it is possible. I think it becomes more difficult to dream as we get older and more aware of life's constraints. Also, we get more set in our ways and it does not seem possible to start anew when in middle age. My dreams now are smaller: a remodeled kitchen, a room just for our pet chinchilla, a remodeled bathroom, an entirely new house, vacations to the beach, et cetera. At times, like today when my thoughts flew to life in NYC, these dreams feel too small. However, when I try to dream big, I just can’t because I don’t see how it could work. We have financial, career, skill, and habit constraints. How could we find jobs in NYC to support ourselves? It would be great to live in another country, but how could we find well-paying jobs abroad? It could be fun to start a business, but what and how? If we got out of the “standard of living” box, perhaps we could do something crazy, but I don’t think we ever will.

Instead we are living in a place that is about as far as NYC as you can get: population 8,000 with no good restaurants and Walmart as the major shopping venue. We have a museum that is open only half the year and not much else culturally. There is church, but we don’t do that; such a place has just never felt like home to me. I try to bring myself back to reality and think “after a month or so, on a day-to-day basis, how would life in NYC differ from life in bubbaland?” The realistic answer is “not much.”

There has been a show on PBS called This Emotional Life that is relevant to how I have been feeling today. The show talked about how bad humans are at judging what would make them happy in the long run. We are not good at this because we are overly influenced by how we’re feeling at the moment and also very good at acclimating. Right now I am feeling a bit bored, so I imagine that life in an active city would make me happy. But, tomorrow I might not be bored and thus might not so strongly desire to live in NYC. Also, if we did move to NYC, I am sure I would acclimate fairly rapidly and be left with spells of boredom after the initial novelty had worn off.

It has been a recurring theme for me to think that a change of place will change me. But I have come to know that it will not (at least without a HUGE effort). Back in high school I realized this. I was very miserable at school and my parents looked for an alternate school that I could attend. My first choice was to attend the arts high school in Milwaukee, but that was apparently too far away so my parents came up with a Catholic all-girls school - initial reaction: "yuk!" But I tried to have an open mind about it because my current situation was so miserable. I thought that maybe an all-girl environment would be better since there would be no boys to bully me, but I worried about how cliquey girls can be. In the end, I realized that the only way the change to that school would work is if I reinvented myself in the new environment – I did not feel that I could do that at the time, so miserably stayed in my old environment.

Thankfully I am not miserable today, just bored from time to time. I have ideas for things to do, but they need to fester for awhile longer before coming to fruition. My ideas are simple nowadays…listen to audio books and do one of my collages. I am trying to appreciate the simple things in life, so am coming to terms with my small dreams.

Megachurch of Mind and Body

I often look at baby L’s fingers and toes and feel as if they are mine. It is an odd cognitive sensation; I don’t get any sensory input from her skin, but yet still think her fingers and toes are mine, probably because my body created them. I remind myself that it is her body, not mine. Her hands will do countless things for her once her brain is better developed. Her feet will aid in keeping her upright and maybe even help her traverse thousands of miles, if she takes after me. Baby L’s body is her personal ship, one that will sail her through life and the varied weather that it offers.

A wish I have for baby L is that she is good to her body, that she realizes early-on what took me 30-some years to discover: that our bodies give us life and should thus be respected and not abused. Oh how so many of us abuse our bodies: some eat too much, others eat too little, still others ingest lots of toxins, many criticize body parts for not being good enough, and many more do not give their bodies the exercise they need. Our society simply does not teach us to appreciate our bodies. We exalt some god, go to religious places of worship, try to love Jesus or some other religious figure, all in an attempt to make our lives better – save ourselves perhaps. But why can’t we worship our bodies instead and do everything possible to nurture them? I am not talking about hedonism; I am talking about respect. Some religions might say that this is heresy, but like some god, our bodies do give us life.

Also like some god, they take our lives away. Maybe on some level we disrespect our bodies because of this. Many of us have been conditioned to love a god, even though the god also has the power to end our lives. Perhaps we resent our bodies because they have ultimate power over us and we have not been taught to love them unconditionally. Without guidance, it is difficult to fully love something that will kill you. We all know that our bodies will kill us someday through illness, disease, injury, or just becoming worn out.

I hope that I can help guide baby L to worship her body and appreciate it as others do the abstract notion of god.

Life in a Box

It has been a lazy week. K has been off work for the holiday and we’ve just been vegging at home for the most part. During the week I reorganized a box containing what remains of my personal artifacts; the first 30-some years of my life stuck away in a box. It struck me that, in the end, this is all we’re left with from our former selves. Like ashes in an urn from our cremated history, after time is burned away we are left with a few memories, some photographs, school papers and projects, letters received from others, notes written to parents, pictures drawn, booklets from commencement ceremonies, and other miscellanea. Like a pack rat, I filed it all away. I suppose I hang onto this junk because it is a part of me, just like my fingers and toes.

Yesterday K started poking around on ancestry.com. I looked around there a little for my grandparents and realized how much smaller our boxes become over time. If the boxes in our attics and basements are not passed along to our children, over time the only things that might remain are census and death records - not much from a rich, long life.

Life is so fleeting, so hard to capture. Imagine the supercomputer that would be needed to store all that you have ever perceived and thought in your lifetime. The attempts to capture life are interesting. I found one man’s attempt to record his face every day over a six year period here. Speaking of self-portraits, I came across some in my boxes. I was never able to adequately draw myself. Of course, when I was a child this is to be expected:

circa kindergarten

But, even as an adult I was never satisfied with what I could reproduce – here is what I could do in my 20s:

circa early 1990s - I look kind of flattened in this one

and here is an unfinished self-portrait that I did in my late 20s:

circa late 1990s - not too bad, maybe I should have finished this one!

I suppose I should also post a comparative photograph of me, so you can see how "off" (or not) I was. I hate how I look when not smiling, but I'll post a picture anyway:

circa 2007

Because I could never really get it right and don’t like looking at myself in the mirror anyway, I abandoned the self-portraits. I did try again several years ago, but this time my goal was to draw how ugly I felt one particularly bad day – here was the lovely result (hopefully I don't actually look this bad but ironically this might actually be one of my best self-portraits!):

circa 2005-2006