Caleigh O'Shea's Blog, page 11

Playing With Pain

The first wealth is health. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson, American essayist, philosopher, and poet

One drawback of playing in a small musical group is that every musician is “exposed” and every part is important.

During the school year, I play in a symphonic band comprised mostly of college students and adults from the community at large.

Some of the students are music majors playing a secondary instrument; others played in high school but don’t have room in their schedule for a group that meets several times per week. Most of the adults played when they were in school and have actively sought to continue playing in a group.

Over time, the intricacy of the pieces we’ve played has blossomed, yet the number of musicians really hasn’t grown much. That means every one of us is crucial to the whole. None of us can “hide,” thinking someone else will cover the passages we can’t perform.

I was feeling the pressure as our three concerts loomed. No way did I want to be the Weakest Link! So I must’ve overdone my practice sessions because since our final concert in April, I’ve noticed a growing pain in my right arm. Holding my flute has become difficult.

In early May, I consulted my chiropractor, who advised me to apply ice twice a day, 10 minutes per time. My flute teacher suggested I rest the arm, use pain relievers as necessary, and quit playing until things could heal.

Argh!

How could I, with summer band starting so soon?

As long as I was “resting,” my arm felt okay, but our first hour-and-a-half long band practice negated that.

Then my flute teacher asked me to show her how I’m holding my instrument.

“Ah, there’s your problem,” she said, pointing out my stiff-as-a-board right thumb. “You really should have that bent a bit.”

Seriously?

Turns out, the rubberized device I was using to help me hold my flute steady was actually encouraging my thumb to stiffen! Playing wrong for so many years now makes playing right feel wrong. Make sense?

When I relayed this to my chiropractor, he agreed that could be the source of my tendonitis. He recommended continuing to ice, as well as adding a tennis elbow strap for when I practice and a rubber ball to roll around inside my palm as passive exercise.

Things are slowly beginning to feel better, but it’s sure been a long haul. And you know? I played tennis for several hours a day almost every day when I was younger, yet I never had these issues.

Must be old age.

Blooming Nature

May your search through Nature lead you to yourself. ~Author unknown

Peony in bloom

I

Back-tracked

From my walk

With Monkey and

Found again what I

Was seeking — this gorgeous

White Peony all in bloom!

Best of all, I’m fairly certain

It’s the same flower I saw before.

Nature is bursting all over these days!

Note: Poetry form is Etheree.

Expecting Elegance

Whoever understands life loves flowers and their innocent caresses. ~Auguste Rodin, French sculptor

Pregnant with promise

Fragrant flower fully formed

Sublime scenery

Walking with Monkey in Spring

A fine spring is good for everybody. ~Russian proverb

I Monkey here.

Back-to-back posts from me within a week’s time? Yes, indeed. Count yourselves lucky, people, that Mama is busy with stuff and lets me use her computer!

Saturday dawned sunny and mild, so I Monkey badgered Mama until she agreed to take me for a nice stroll. Join us as we look at some of the Spring-stuff.

Here’s a patch of flowers. I guess the blooms are already gone, but trust me, there was an interesting smell about them:

Mama likes pink trees. How about you?

And this dogwood (I love that name!) was all white:

Oh, look — tulips! I Monkey wanted to “water” them, but Mama said No. She can be a real Debbie Downer, heh heh:

Have you ever seen a purple bush? (Now you have!):

I Monkey wonder what these pretty blue things are (Mama didn’t know either):

And these little yellow stars are kind of interesting:

Here’s another pink tree:

Mama kind of liked these tulips beside a lamppost, though I Monkey think they look pretty scraggly:

Here’s another purple bush. This one’s color is a deep purple:

These are nice. Mama calls them phlox, but who knows if she’s right:

I Monkey really like these lilac bushes. Mama had to get up real close so she could inhale the scent (I Monkey was more interested in the ground beneath them). Anybody know why they’re called “lilac” when they’re clearly white in color?

Okay, people, our walk is done, and I Monkey am going to SnoozleLand. Hope you enjoyed the scenery!

Monkey’s New Job

Many people quit looking for work when they find a job. ~Author unknown

I Monkey here.

For a long time (I’m two, so that’s a long time!), I’ve been trying to figure out what my job is around these parts.

Everybody has to have a job.

Some get paid. Others don’t.

But a job keeps us busy and, as Mama would say, out of mischief.

So I Monkey have been trying on all sorts of jobs, hoping to find one I like.

One that Mama approves of.

Those aren’t necessarily the same thing, you see.

Anyway, here are some of the ones I’ve tried, along with our reactions:

1) Barker at the doorbell. (Huh. Mama’s got good ears, and she doesn’t need me to tell her when there’s a package — or a person — at the door. Or so she says.)

2) Jumper at Mama when she sneezes or blows her nose. (Mama doesn’t seem to appreciate how much I’m helping. That noise hurts my ears, and she really shouldn’t have to sound as if she’s exploding just to get a sneeze out. Right?)

3) Picker-up of stuff on the floor. Or our walks. (I never feel full, so why does she chide me for licking up crumbs and finding interesting smelly things somebody else left behind? You’d think she’d be grateful not to have to mop. Huh.)

4) Yowler at that screechy flute-thing. (I ask you, Does Mama have to drag it out every single day? No, I don’t think so either.)

5) Shredder. (My personal favorite, but Mama fusses. Every time. Gee, doesn’t she realize how much fun it is to snatch a scrap of paper, carry it off without her knowledge, and tear it to itty-bitty bits all over the rugs?)

Mama seems happiest when I walk nicely (read: calmly) on the leash with her. When I curl up in her lap for cuddles. When I fetch my toys. When I do something that makes her laugh (Zoomies in the back yard, anybody?). When I finish my foods. When I potty outdoors (even in the snow and rain).

Gosh, Mama, I do those things sort of automatically now. I’m not a baby!

Needless to say, it was a surprise when I learned she likes me to Find Money.

Seriously.

One walk, I found a five dollar bill, and she almost danced with glee.

A few weeks later, I found a twenty! You’d have thought she’d won the lottery. She scooped it up fast as you please, looked around to see if anybody was out searching for it, and when nobody was, she pocketed it.

At first, she didn’t think it was real. Because some idiot back in October had given out fake, oversized hundred dollar bills to the Trick-or-Treat’ers (who’d have probably rather had chocolate).

That twenty was real though, and Mama was joyous.

I guess now you can call me Monkey, Finder of Money.

You know, it’s not half-bad, having a job.

Spring 2023

This is the sensory season. Trees are in leaf… It is a green world… Walk through an orchard and you can smell as well as feel the strength of grass underfoot, new grass reaching tall toward the sun. Boughs naked only a little while ago, then bright and heady with bloom, now rustle with leaf and tingle with the strength of fruition. Listen, and you can almost hear the pulse of sap and the mysterious workings of chlorophyll. The air vibrates with bird song… All the senses tingle, alive with the season as the world itself is alive. Nothing is impossible at such a time. ~Hal Borland, American writer, journalist, and naturalist

Happy Spring, my friends! I’m taking a few days off — see you after Easter!

Singing with Abandon

A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song. ~Chinese proverb

I
Looked out
My window
And saw these two
Curious finches
Perched in a dogwood tree,
Glancing into the distance.
I couldn’t help wondering what
Their tiny, beady eyes were seeing
As they peered into space … and perhaps time.

Flitting from branch to branch, the two finches
Kept up a constant chattering sound,
Filling the air outside with a
Delightful round of music.
Would that people, too, felt
Free to sing their songs
Shamelessly and
Fearlessly,
Without
Qualm.

Note: Poetry form is Double Etheree. You can find out more about this form here.

Welcome, Spring 2023

In the spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of four-and-twenty hours. ~Mark Twain, American writer, humorist, and entrepreneur

Raining again, Mama?

Lesson Learned

A house was not a home without animals. ~Abby Geni, The Wildlands, 2018

My neighbor got a flock of ducks;
Six, to be exact.
Two were white and four, brown.
I confess, I was gobsmacked.

Every day as the clock chimed three,
The ducks emerged outside.
Where they lived the rest of the time
I never learned (though I tried).

They picked and scratched at stuff on the ground;
They stretched their necks and wings.
Where was their water, I often wondered;
How did they know these things?

One day they ventured into my front yard,
And Monkey had a fit.
They couldn’t know he’s a herding dog,
Bred to chase a bit.

But Monk could only watch them strut —
His back yard is entirely fenced.
And one day, to my complete surprise,
A truck pulled up and commenced…

To load the pretty ducks all up
And carry them away.
Sold, or given, to a nearby farm
Where they’ll have room to play.

The truth is, my neighbor confessed,
Ducks make a lot of poop.
And having to clean his yard every day
Was worse than banishing the group!

Note: The best I can tell, this poetry form is in common meter — alternating iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter.

Too Much to Ask?

No one is useless in this world… who lightens the burden of it for any one else. ~Charles Dickens, English writer and social critic, in Our Mutual Friend, 1865

I just want to be a daughter. Is that too much to ask?

For nearly two decades now, I’ve taken care of my mom.

At first, it was fairly easy: transport her to doctor and hair appointments (she doesn’t drive), cook a few meals when she didn’t want to, iron (she’s always hated to), and so on.

But as time went by and Mom got older and feebler, I found myself doing much more: all the grocery shopping, much of the cooking and cleaning, dealing with handymen and contract workers (electricians, plumbers, yardmen, and more). I had very little time for me, and a lot suffered, including my writing, my web design business, my inner calm.

Still, I carved out a niche for the things I refused to give up — daily exercise, eating healthy meals, sleeping sufficient hours, music (Band and practice), blogging, Church, and playing with Monkey.

Recently, Mom had to go to the hospital and upon her release, she was transferred to a local rehab facility. The idea was for her to get stronger and return home.

Insurance (Medicare) is the determiner of when a person’s rehab stay is up, and she was sent home last week.

Still needing care.

Personal care (bathing, ambulation, toileting) as well as help with laundry, meal preparation, light housekeeping, appointments.

But try to find care in a small rural community! We have a steady parade of home nurses and physical therapists, but eventually their time will run out, leaving the burden on me once again.

And Heaven forgive my “selfishness,” but I don’t want to do it anymore.

Is it asking too much for me just to be her daughter? And let a paid helper do the rest?

One of these days, Mom won’t be here, and we’re wasting valuable time in the day-to-day minutiae of living.

I want to sit beside her and hear the old stories again. To write down the special recipes she carries in her head. To talk about her memories. To do the things others have told me they miss, now that their moms are gone.

Caregiving eats up all the time I have, and I find myself resenting it.

Before my dad passed, I didn’t have a chance to just be a daughter either. Oh, sure, I was there for him and regularly sought his advice in matters of business or another area of his expertise. But I didn’t ask him the hard questions, like if he was afraid or worried or sad to see the end of life drawing near.

Not that he’d have answered. He was a very private person and didn’t go in much for reflection.

But I feel remorse over it, and I don’t want it to happen that way with Mom. And she’s not keen on going to a facility (if a nice one even could be found without forcing her to relocate out of town).

It’s a dilemma for sure.

Lightening the burdens of another is a high calling, one that demands great personal sacrifice. And finding just the right caregiver is a Godsend, freeing up a family’s time to say proper good-byes while the necessary work is getting done.

Medical science has made it possible for us to live longer than ever before. Sadly, no one seems to have figured out just what that’s supposed to look like.