Dancing With a Stranger.....

 I just came here to look at the Blog stats/readership.  I don't get a lot of visitors here generally because it's not as active a blog as it once was. But...somebody (or a few somebody's) is reading it, apparently from the beginning.  

Whoever you are, welcome aboard. 

I tend to open up and re-read the posts that get the most views, and DANG.... it was a walk through some hard times.  The heart does its best to heal and cover over the scars, but... they don't go away, really.  It hurts some to read again what it was like in those days.  It occurs to me that I was extremely fearful THEN about what I NOW would just worry about, if you know what I mean LOL.  It is also helpful that the first year since this transplant has been infinitely less medically complicated than the first year after the initial transplant. 

It's more....in the background somehow.  Off the front burner. 

How does that impact day-to-day life?

We have more freedom.  We are more comfortable making plans (although travel insurance is not something I will EVER not pay for).  And there is more joy.

Our neighborhood hosts Porch Fest every year. This year there were 140 bands playing on porches in a a 3x9 block radius, with my house in the middle of the "food district." Streets are closed. Crowds are sizeable. The music goes from Metallica to Traditional Celtic within a few steps.  There is a funnel cake truck less than a block from my house. Bliss.

This year a bluegrass band around the corner included a square dance caller.  

I've done square dancing off and on my entire life. It was a gym class every year in high school. A local friend hosted an annual square dance party.  My dad took my kids square dancing every year on our Christmas visit. But it's been a few years.

I danced in a square with total strangers, on a city street on a perfect sunny day.  Not one of us had much of a clue what we were doing, and nobody cared if we could tell left from right, clockwise from counterclockwise. It was all smiles, laughter, and tolerance. 

I was, incidentally, counted as 5000 steps by my phone LOL.

Accidental joy. Unplanned simple happiness. Unanticipated blessed memories.

Zero headspace occupied by a worry. 

THAT freedom is the day-to-day impact.

DeeDee

Becoming.....Adultier....

 Babygirl and I went camping this weekend with a family of grandkids, and one spare adult. 

The first time I was The Grownup on a camping trip I was 33. I set off to a campground with a tent and a toddler.  I admit to having miserably failed the Adulting Test on that trip.  I crawled out of a tiny tent with a headache and had to go to a neaby campsite to find somebody Adulty enough to be willing to give me coffee and Tylenol. We didn't last the weekend.

My oldest daughter probably owes her life to the fact that a new neighbor invited us to go camping with her family.  Over the summer I side-eyed everything she did and added The Things one must have to successfully camp with a family: A small stove, a few garage-sale pots dedicated to the camping bin, and a small tool box. This set of equipment has been traveling with me ever since, with some variations for number of campers or remoteness of site. 

This weekend I got to watch my daughter and boyfriend be the adults for their kids.  I'll admit that I went into this assuming that I'd be doing ALL of the Adulting, but planning on doing some Here's How It's Done training sessions. 

Well.  

They have a way cool tent that attaches to the sides of a pop-up dining fly. They have coolers. They have gear for sleeping.  And they have structured set-up with expectations for what the kids need to do. Most of my work was done for me LOL.

They don't have a stove but they have an awesome rack for the fire. But they don't have a toolbox. Things were needed: Hammer? sure. Potholder? got it. Lighter? Absolutely. Salt and pepper? ummmmm, no, actually.

Clearly I haven't camped in a while, and I did NOT do a full inspection of my stuff before load up.  The tool box is where the seasonings live, and there were none. 

"You need to go find and Adultier Adult, because I'm retiring from the Keep-Track-of-Everything position." Her face was a study.  She's about the same age as I was for my camp-with-a-toddler adventure, and she is clearly much farther along than I was, but, "I don't WANT to be an Adultier Adult. YOU'VE always been the Adulty one!"

I'm flattered and a little choked up, but I pointed out my age. The fact that I can and did load the inside and the top of an SUV with enough stuff to keep 8 people going for a weekend says a lot about my stamina, but even if I CAN do it, is it so bad that I don't WANT to do it?

I told her she needs to get a tool box that includes a hammer, a potholder, a lighter, a first aid kit and some seasonings in small containers, as well as the bajillion other things that go in there: Deck of cards. Pen. Pencil. Multi tool. Knives. Scissors. Clothespins. Splenda packets.  Being able to go somewhere because I am prepared is not the same as being able to go because she is. 

I have faith. She's ready. And the boyfriend?  I have never seen such a ruthlessly well-organized camp teardown in my life.  Respect, dude. 

DeeDee

PS I have a favorite new problem-solving camping phrase:  "Go ask your mom and dad."

PPS I was the one who needed the first aid kit.  JuJuBee is the one who did the awesome wound dressing that made it unnecessary for me to go for stitches in may hand.