anxiety

Hunker Down – Day 998

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Arf! – Photo: L. Weikel

Hunker Down

Is it just me? Or are you guys feeling it too? Lately I can’t even walk into the grocery store without feeling an edginess in the air that’s unlike anything I’ve felt before (especially in the grocery store!). Even when the pandemic was first starting to rear its ugly head back in March and April 2020, I didn’t feel this level of anxiety in the general populace. If you ask me it’s time to hunker down again.

OK, I’ll admit it. That’s coming from a person who probably would choose ‘Hunkering Down for $200, Alex.” In all honesty, I’d choose it for free.

The last thing I feel like doing is getting into a discussion with someone in the produce aisle who’s on a hair trigger over the fact that I’m wearing a mask. And believe it or not, I felt the possibility of that happening twice this week. I nearly fell over.

No to the Boston

And then another time this week, I saw a person walking across the parking lot I’d just entered with a cute little Boston Terrier on a leash. Well. You can all imagine how I swooned. Ooooh, how this puppy reminded me of Sheila when she was just a girl.

I jumped out of my car, whipped my debit card in and out of the meter to throw some money on it and turned to speak to the Boston and her daddy. “Your Boston is adorable!” I called out with a big smile. “I have two!” (never fully admitting to myself that Sheila is really gone).

Neither of us were wearing masks (we were in the great outdoors), and I asked if I could pet his pup. “Aren’t you concerned with…” he asked, waving his free hand in the air.

I stopped in my tracks. We were a good 20 feet away from each other. “What?” I was genuinely puzzled. Surely he knew I had no intention of getting anywhere near him. I just wanted to say hi to his pup.

“Covid,” he responded. I was taken aback. Honestly, it had never even occurred to me that I wouldn’t be permitted to pet a dog on a 10’ leash. You don’t get Covid from pet fur. Or even from surfaces. You get it from aerosols in the air; hence why it’s wise to wear masks when indoors.

“Oh,” I replied. “Would it bother you…?”

“Yes, it would, as a matter of fact.” Ugh. His tone. It had turned so…icy.

Backed Off

Whoa. OK. Of course I immediately stopped in my tracks (still about 15 feet away from the dog dad and five feet away from the Boston, which had of course had immediately responded to my high pitched hello to it and headed my way). I felt like I’d been smacked.

My reaction was silly, I suppose. But his abrupt attitude took me by such surprise.

It’s hard to know where anyone stands anymore. Or how they will react to many of the circumstances we used to consider mundane.

Makes me just want to hunker down in my own safe place. I haven’t a clue as to how people feel about anything anymore. And the enormity of that almost brought me to tears.

Spartacus in Repose – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-113)

No Escape – Day 795

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Tohickon Flow 14 Jan 21 – Photo: L. Weikel

No Escape

There’s so much stress swirling around all of us these days. It’s in the atmosphere, on the news, in the grocery store, on the Capitol steps. It’s bombarding us on our phones, in our homes, and definitely squeezing hospitals all across the country – and around the world. It seems there’s no escape.

But there is. It’s called Nature.

I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir here. Nevertheless. Even if I am, I’m going to repeat myself. Because no matter how vigilant we are about maintaining our balance or taking a break from the news, it can be all too easy to talk ourselves out of it in times like these. Taking a walk, watching the flow of a creek, or sitting on the porch for 15 minutes to watch the sunset can feel entirely inappropriate when viewed through the lens of how dire life can seem at the moment.

Case in Point

Over the weekend, when I wrote about how so many of us are feeling under pressure, Spartacus was also feeling the stress. The very same day my tooth broke, Spartacus woke up with an extreme flare-up of what’s commonly called ‘Cherry Eye.’ I describe it as extreme because he has occasionally sported a red bump in the corner of his eye before, but never was it so huge as it was on Sunday. It was extremely disconcerting to look at him. It almost felt as though he, too, had been feeling the pressure – and while I took my stress out on my tooth, he manifested his where his body was the weakest.

Even worse than how awful it looked was how sad he became. He was totally thrown off his game by losing most of the sight in his eye – and sadly, that’s how large the prolapse was. Even when he slept, his eye wasn’t closing. He barely sniffed at his food. We even took a walk, but in spite of the mild weather, his heart wasn’t in it.

I’m glad to report that the ointment they gave me for his eye worked wonders – even on the bulge as big as it was. He feels so much better now. (I’ll post an ‘after’ photo tomorrow – or soon, at least. I promise!)

Spart’s Cherry Eye – Photo: L. Weikel

Lost My Point

Ha ha – as I sit here, I swear, I’ve lost the point of where I was going with this post. I didn’t intend to write in such detail about Spartacus’s affliction, but there it is. I’ll share it, since it has a happy resolution. I didn’t want to write about it while we were going through it because it’s one thing to write about a broken tooth and quite another to write about your puppy (even if he is 12 years old) looking like he’s been in a war.

I didn’t want to bum any of us out any more than we were already feeling!

I Remember Now

I was writing about the simple joy of being in Nature and how essential it is for all of us to be reminded of that fact, especially as we face these intensely stressful times. I related the story about Spartacus because this afternoon, he and I were hanging out on the porch for a moment as I filled the birdfeeders, and I was filled with gratitude that he was feeling so much better and was shamelessly basking in the sun.

We’ve had a satisfying array of visitors to our feeders, and Karl’s trick of hanging chunks of Irish Spring soap to the feeders seems to have quelled the deer from draining the tubes each night. As I listened to the birds chirping and cheeping in the branches and bushes surrounding the porch, alerting all their friends and neighbors that the two legged was finally refilling the feeders and maybe even putting out some peanuts, I recalled an article I’d read recently about the impact of birdwatching on our happiness.

Just another example of how being in Nature is a balm to our souls.

In spite of all the anxiety we’re feeling over extremism in our lives and the possibility of more violence over the next several days, give yourselves the gift of appreciating the simple, natural, pleasures in life. The cardinals and chickadees. The squirrels and goldfinches. The puppy who can see again, scrounging up shelled peanuts that fall to the ground when you’re filling the peanut coil.

It’s the little things.

(T-316)

Unmoored – Day 786

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Eagle on the Tohickon – Photo: L. Weikel

Unmoored

I’ll admit it: I was on edge all day. It wasn’t even truly conscious. I just felt a vague unease, an inability to settle down and focus on anything. I tried taking a break and visiting my refuge: the Tohickon Creek. Even there, I felt a bit unmoored. I even noticed and commented to myself that everything was shades of brown – and not a bird or an animal in sight.

Today, of course, is the Senate run off in Georgia. The stakes in that election are monumental. They literally stand to change the course of our country’s trajectory, and possibly even our future as a country as way we know it. That’s a huge responsibility.

And then, even just sitting at the creek, I became aware of the shenanigans afoot in Pennsylvania’s Senate. Occurring prior to tomorrow’s meeting of both chambers of Congress, I can see that this is just setting the stage for more outrageous behavior that will rip at the core of our democracy. As a Pennsylvanian, I am incensed with the behavior of our Republican led Senate.

Bereft

As I sat writing in my journal at the creek late this afternoon, I felt bereft. I want to have hope, but sometimes I just feel overwhelmed by the cynicism and disinformation being spewed into our discourse. It’s overwhelming and threatens to drown us all.

After expressing myself on my journal’s pages, I decided I needed to get back to the house and take affirmative steps to make things better in my little corner of the world. It felt like the only way forward in that moment.

As I turned my car around to return home, I groused that I felt I alone and definitely unheard. It felt strange that not even a woodpecker or duck, not even a sparrow had crossed my path as I sat beside the Tohickon, listening to her voice.

That’s when the white caught my eye. I stopped the car in the middle of the road, grabbed my phone and got out.

Yes.

The Eagle was sitting on a branch poking out of the water streaming by in a cocoa colored flow. I took a few photos, and switched to video. S/he turned, looked straight at me, and took off, extending its gigantic wings to skim upstream about four feet above the surface of the water. About four ducks freaked out and joined it in flight, acting as startled wingmen.

I felt heard.

Just In Case

I jumped back in the car and resumed my trek home. Not 1,000 feet later, just as I started to cross the bridge that spans my Tohickon, a Red-Tailed Hawk caught my attention, staring at me from a towering sycamore.

Yeah. Just in case I felt unheard – Spirit reached out to reassure me.

“Have faith,” Hawk whispered.

I do.

Red-Tailed Hawk – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-325)

Go Gently – Day 500

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Deer on Municipal – Photo: L. Weikel

Go Gently

I think it’s safe to say we’re entering uncharted territory. The next few days are going to herald unprecedented numbers of horrific circumstances that no one believed could or would happen here in the U.S. (We need to go gently.)

Weeks ago, we heard the stories and read the articles and twitter posts by people in Italy, and even though we comprehended the dire warnings intellectually, I think there was a deeply buried adamant belief that it will not happen here. Indeed, I think we’re still telling ourselves that. (We need to go gently.)

Only now, it’s cities, counties, and states across the nation that are telling themselves, “What’s happening in New York is unique to New York. It won’t happen to us.” (We need to go gently.)

A lot of us are realizing that the warnings and alarms about the depth of this crisis were not and are not overstated. We are right to be honoring our governors’ “stay-at-home” orders, exercising wisdom and compassion by isolating ourselves from anyone and everyone, including those we love the most – especially if we don’t live with them or they are in a high risk group. (We need to go gently.)

What’s the Message?

On Monday, Karl, Sheila, Spartacus, and I were trudging up the steep hill that eventually meanders through a horse farm, when I happened to glance into the woods to my right. Standing right there, looking right into my eyes, was a doe. She stood stock still, her eyes looking right into mine.

She did not move. Quite honestly, she did not give off any semblance of anxiety or stress upon knowing for sure she’d been seen. Mind you – this sanquine attitude was conveyed in spite of the fact that we were walking with two dogs.

“Hey Baby! What’s your message?” I cooed to her as I handed Sheila’s leash to Karl and fished my iPhone out of my pocket. “May I take your photo?”

She quietly obliged, even permitting me to take a couple shots from other angles as we continued to slowly climb up the hill, stopping every couple of steps to gain a different perspective and slant on the sun behind her.

“Go gently,” she said. “Risks are everywhere – for you and for me. In the end, the way you walk through these challenges will be the message you send. Remember: all that’s important is love.”

All that’s important is love – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-611)

Shredding of Tissues – Day Eighty Eight

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 2 Comments

 

Shredding of Tissues            

I can always tell when Spartacus is stressing out. He shreds tissues.

As far as obnoxious dog habits are concerned, I think we won big-time. There is no chewing. No swallowing of articles of clothing. No pooping in the house.

Just a raided bathroom garbage can, with evidence of the purloined contents strewn across their hearthside pillow/bed, with maybe a few extra shreds in a pile in front of the couch.

“Mommy. Where were you?” these strips of Kleenex communicate. “I was worried. I thought you’d never come home again,” they whine.

The difference between dogs and cats never ceases to amaze me.

It’s been written about ad nauseum, so I won’t go there tonight, other than to say I adore the palpable emotional connection I share with my two Boston Terriers.

I love my cats. I cannot imagine living without having at least one or two cats in my household. But dogs truly add a dimension to life that is precious and endearing. Not only do they seem to notice when you’re not around or when your routine changes, they also make their observation abundantly clear.

I wasn’t gone that long this evening, so I was surprised that my absence had engendered a couple piles of shredded anxiety.

Part of the problem is undoubtedly that Karl has been traveling. Another, though, could perhaps be a deeper issue.

I have to wonder if Spartacus can detect the decline in his mother, Sheila’s, health.

Karl and I certainly notice. And we’re worried.

She’s been with us for 15 years and has been the most surprising, delightful addition to our lives that we ever could have imagined. She sets the bar for all our pets – and it’s a darn high one, in spite of her slight stature. (She was the runt of the litter.)

I’m thinking I may need to write about her some more. Maybe tomorrow.

In the meantime, as I consider the prospect of losing her, I feel a need to shred some tissues.

(T-1023)