Honoring these hands

Honoring my hands today.

 I have moved into reading, composing and posting here on blog these days. This is from a relatively focused life making things with my hands over many years. In the last 12 years before my final retirement I would wake up at night thinking about creations in clay, and how to sell them. The latter was not half as much fun, nor as therapeutic as the former.

Now I comment on blogs of my friends with whom I catch up frequently, and am among the few bloggers who reply to comments. It has to do with time available, and maybe lack of other interests to pursue. 

I'm basically an echo of my former self. My word-finding ability to express myself usually happens eventually, or I can find a work-around. But my hands will continue to shake more and keep me from doing much but typing on keyboards…avoiding all hand activities which most creativity depends upon.  Even mouse-movements sometimes are difficult. This is the life with Essential Tremor.

I think this leads me to take some photos of my hands and do some grief work - which I may or may not share here. But it has been interesting to go back through a few folders to capture what these hands were doing. The photos miss the actual creativity of my clay work, painting watercolors, and fiber work, like knitting or quilting. But here's what I've found. (Just in the last year.)

Now...as I started this process. Just the right hand for now.

My right pinky finger has begun to bend in a new way from middle knuckle in the last year, and I often have painful joints. I was recently examined at Asheville Arthritis and they say it's osteoarthritis, which still means only pain relief to consider, but nothing will stop it from continuing.

Dec. 2025, these hands show their bones and veins!

Just one glove for this iPhone photographer at the Christmas tree store in November 2025. I can usually capture a photo but have a lot of trouble writing texts on the phone. Thank heaven for audio dictation even with all it's glitches.

In Aug '25 I pushed myself to go see these waterfalls with friends, with my handy walking stick. (Next month I was in the hospital for second time in 6 months with pneumonia!) Having Bronchiectasis means my lungs work harder and cause almost constant coughing to clear the mucous.

July 2025, many Sunday mornings I met friends for coffee and pastries at Four Sisters Bakery, where eating outside was enjoyable. So far I can hold a cup without too much shaking, and most bites of food arrive in my mouth on my fork. Finger control seems to be the worst of my Essential Tremor so far, which is slowly deteriorating, though they work better in mornings than evenings. Drugs do not help though they did for a while! Now I have to balance breathing needs with the shaky fingers in considering drug help.

April 2025 saw me in Colorado and Utah with son and his wife...and borrowed a walking stick for short hikes. Mainly out of breath from the altitude and recovering from first hospitalization for pneumonia in March. (But I  had skipped quite a few years since last time, so I guess that's a good thing.)

A very small silly goal was to make a snowball on the way to Telluride...where snow was still piled next to overlooks.

And this was the take home antibiotic which I carried with me to Colorado, recuperating and yet having a wonderful time. 

So I'll stop with my hands of 2025. Maybe share some more sometime down the road.

How do I feel about the loss of hand-usefulness? I'm sure not happy about it. As an artist all my life, I've had a screeching halt to my creative loves. But I can still see what I like, and for now taking photos can convey sharing beauty with others.

I finally started telling staff at a doctor's office that I have a disability in that I cannot fill out forms (which they want me so much to do!) I'm going to start asking for that to be flagged on my charts.

 I have a daughter-in-law who also has hand difficulties as a result of an accident when she was in her teens. She has proved she can do just about everything as a loving wife and mother of three beautiful daughters. So her drive and positive attitude are an inspiration for me.

Coping. That's the term I think I've embraced as a senior. Coping with life's many changes. Reduced expectations definitely. But finding small things that are satisfying, and sharing gratitude.

I'm perhaps a bit foolish in some of my decisions, but am not going to skip the wonderful times I can have because of my weaker systems. It's strange to find oneself at 83 with some things that still work fine, and others that have decided to just go kerplunk! 

I'm very very grateful for the muscles in my legs which now allow me to climb a flight of stairs, without having to pull myself up with the railing. That's a big accomplishment at this time, and I owe it mainly to staying with my son over Thanksgiving where I had a bed and bathroom on the second floor of their home.  Plus I try to climb a flight of stairs every other day. I still get out of breath, but the handrail now is just in case I should trip.

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I did a quick search and found that exactly two years ago I had an Occupational Therapy evaluation of my hands, so here's that post, though really not that interesting.

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Additional info on an old church

 

The church in Madison County NC has more information, so I'm giving a new post to cover what I've learned.

Here's the marker which stands near it.

"Early sessions of Madison County court were held in a log house on this site between 1851 and 1859. Bell Institute, a school operated by the Presbyterian Church USA, served the area. The school house and a dormitory stood a few yards west."

Location. 35° 51.037′ N, 82° 44.183′ W. Marker is near Marshall, North Carolina, in Madison County. Marker is at the intersection of Walnut Drive and Barnard Road (County Road 1151), on the right when traveling south on Walnut Drive.  

From Historic Markers

An enlargement of the area, showing "Academy St." and the area churches which are still open, but not the little unnamed church where the marker stands. I'm pretty sure the school house was on Academy St. or School St. which  is right off of it. The community is still known as Walnut.

And another great source of Madison County historic information, friend Vicki Lane commented in this way:

"It's not been a church for many years. I think it was Methodist or Presbyterian but not sure. It's a gorgeous building and was recently given to a local charity but what their plans for it are, I don't know. It has no rest rooms and, with the graveyard all around it, no way of putting in a septic tank."

I'm always interested in the background of an area...especially old buildings which even have historic markers in front of them!

And since the cemeteries are so near to this church, I imagine many of the ancestors buried there used to worship in the church.

 I offer this meditation which I came upon from "A Network for Grateful Living" which sends me a quote every day. The other day this came and was very appropriate for grieving the loss of life, which continues in so many unexpected places. 

A Meditation on Grief by Jack Kornfield

Not that anyone is interested in this, but I need to write it.

Sorry friends, this is a sharing that is beyond my usual journalling, because I do want to touch base with someone that might have a similar experience of loss.

Yes, grieving as I get used to living without my cat.  I find all this time that is now available, where I would have been thinking about how to help her, or would have been helping her in her critical last days, or would have been looking to see what would next be happening in her decline.  Now this time is mine to do with, and mine to have all these emotions with, and mainly mine to be so utterly alone with.

There's the standard stuff, suddenly being shocked as I walk into the next room, and it doesn't have her in her regular places.  I have gotten so I tell myself before I go into another location at home, "she won't be there."

There's the jolt of energy when I see something in the kitchen which was associated with her, all those bowls and plates to try to get her to eat something, anything.  I took out trash yesterday with the last of the little tidbits I'd been enticing her with.

Yes I have to gird my loins (whatever the heck that means) but mainly clinch my jaw and be strong enough to write a letter requesting the management to return my pet deposit, and include a copy of the invoice I paid the vet for her euthanasia.

I no longer have anyone to talk with.  I know, you would think I could just continue saying strange little things, like calling something (rather than her) a cute little poo-poo and asking her if she is ready to take her medicine, which I've hidden in yet another kind of nibble...instead of just being the strange old lady I often think I am.  But that isn't happening. I am quiet.

Nobody is mewing at me when I wake up. Nobody is cuddling next to me when I lie down in bed in the very particular way a formerly-feral cat would do...never a lap cat, but she would walk up and down beside me, using my hand to sort of pet herself, then settle in just that way that felt right.

I sing mental songs - little tidbits like "we're only here for a short while."  I pray, I meditate, I do all the things I'm remembering to do to honor the life that was shared with me.  I cry.

I remember she's the third death (in that series that old wives tales give us) and there were those really important humans that I've also lost in as many months.  But I wasn't living with them.  I do miss my daily talks via emails with Rosie, especially at the times I would most want to share and hear (read emails) how she was doing.

My dear friend had what would have been her 76th birthday last week, and I wrote her husband to share it...and he said their anniversary was also that week.  I'm sure he's living in a home which is soaked in her life still.

My cat, my friend and my sister are all honored on a little altar that has new photos of the cat centered on it.  When her ashes come home, they will join my other deceased cat that I lost 2 years ago.  I miss them both.

I'm working some clay therapy at the studio, sculpting some cats.  Not so much to look like Panther, but to give me some time to concentrate on catness.

Panther's spirit, wherever you may be, you made a big impact on my life for the 6 years we shared.  I hope I didn't let you down.  I fear I did. I will try to fill the gaps that you've left with joy and sharing with others the beauty that you shared with me.

She used to love sitting in front of the TV when Nature was showing. (See this old post about it.)

She had been feral and a friend had gradually invited her to come into breakfast, though she still lived out in the woods.  But by the time my friend died in 2012, Panther was used to being fed by her daily...and was even using a litter box.  So I asked if I could have her, though she would become an indoor cat.  She was the second "queen calico" in the house until Muffin died 2 years ago.

Panther used to love when people would come over to visit.  She would shyly watch, then lie in the middle of the floor, not to be petted.  She would start chasing her tail to amuse my guests.  It happened most of the times anyone visited.

The water bowl in the bathroom was her favorite place to drink.  A bowl of water by food in the kitchen just didn't taste the same somehow.

She started losing weight, and being very weak, but we found thyroid problems and started giving her pills for that.  Then the vet thought her mouth had problems, so we were looking to relieve pain by giving her transdermal pain relief on her ears twice a day.  It may have helped, but the last couple of months were spent mainly asleep.

There were many times I would throw treats across the floor, and Panther would chase them, and gobble them up.  I kind of limited it to 10 treats at a time.  Later she couldn't chew them, so we stopped doing that.  There are probably some (as well as other toys) under furniture which I haven't found yet.

I've donated all her paraphernelia to various sites and people who care for cats...but the scratching post is still here (where she never used it.)

So long, Jinni

May her journey to the summerland be easy, and may her friends and family know peace. 

Last night, not having stayed awake till midnight, I had some emotions churning away that prodded me awake around 2:30 am.  (It could have been the delicious but high fat dinner as well.)

Anyway, I couldn't sleep, and decided to write (journal, not publishable) what was going on.  And eventually I saw what years of therapy would show me.  Would I remember it this time?  I hope so.

(And the heading of DON"T POST THIS didn't work, so it was actually out there, my totally bare psyche for about 20 minutes this morning.  I will not try journalling in that way EVER again.)

After my journaling, I checked my emails, and there was "bad news."
That subject line, especially from the husband of an old friend, made me take a deep breath before opening the email.

She was failing and not expected to live through the night.

Jinni on the left while a teen in 1957

Oh no.  I thought how she had just gotten back in touch on emails, after a month or so of silence.  During that month I knew she and her husband had been moving to get the treatment that they both needed for medical care.  And I knew she wasn't happy about it, since this is a very strong, independent woman.

So I answered Jim's email, saying that if he got a chance to talk with her in her coma, I'd appreciate his giving her my personal message.  I knew he was having a tough time.

I posted my sadness on FaceBook, but since I'd just posted my wishes for a Happy 2014 including a picture, the sad message disappeared from NewsFeed almost immediately.  It doesn't matter.  I will talk with my good friends soon and experience my grief in person.

Then I lay down in bed...suddenly unable to get warm.  I couldn't sleep.  I couldn't cry.  So I thought of communicating through the other ether, the web of the spiritual connection that we all know of, but seldom try using. I started singing the chant that Jinni and others had sung back in the days when we gathered in circles as women, as pagans.

I sang and sang and sang...the cats immediately came to my side and gave their homage to this goddess woman.  Hours later, and a few tears as well, I turned off the light.

When I woke during the night, it was again tossing and turning, not being able to accept and let go of my friend.  I imagined a version of Pagan heaven, with great images of all the young people having a good time (and I won't give you details, because if you're Pagan you already know them, and if you're not, you have your own images to put there in front of you.)  Everyone had gone back to the prime of their lives, rather than the old or infirm physical states that they left their bodies in.

I thought at one point of how I've been emailing Jinni for the last 13 years, as well as another friend who I knew from the same time in school (high school and early college years).  I thought I could consolidate all her emails and send them to her husband.  Then I remembered that her emotions sometimes weren't that positive towards him...and I wanted to respect that.  But there are plenty of other emails that I could gather together.  What a job that would be.

The things that I remember from those emails were her great stories about her life...and her father who died in WW II.  Jinni could spin a yarn in an excellent way, touching the fiber of your being.  She also had an alter ego of Motorcycle Mama that let loose her wild side.

She spoke of having belonged to circles of like-minded ritual followers.  She spoke of friends she had lost.  And she shared a CD of goddess chants with me.  I'll be digging that out and playing it today when I cast a Tarot spread in her honor, and meditate as I let go, as I see her true being, and send love to her family.