Crazy Cats

So the cats have gone insane. Or rather, I suppose I should say they have gone MORE insane. This weather has addled their brains to where they can't tell hot from cold. And sadly, this isn't the first time this has happened. Our late cat Fluffy used to sprawl over my legs during the heat of the summer and look at me expectantly, as if I could suddenly make him cooler. I am guessing his logic was 'well, when I lay on her during the winter, I get warmer. Surely it works that way in reverse right now.'

I suppose Rowan is using the same logic at the moment. During the evening, while it is still humid and hot enough for things to be sticky, she now insists on sitting right next to me. Actually, she's next to me when I am lucky. The rest of the time, she will wedge her body against mine and push down into the chair. Unless I move her (and if I do move her, she will certainly come back), I have a furry, heat-producing cat with as much of her body against me as possible.

Her sister spends most of the winter buried under a blanket on the couch. In winter, of course, this is perfectly logical and acceptable. But in the summer? For some reason no one understands, this cat will insist on being under that blanket no matter how hot it is outside. It can be in triple digits and she will still get under that blanket. She will stay there for hours and sleep.

Of course, one of the reasons people love cats is because they are strange little creatures. I know this. Cats seem to thrive on developing habits and patterns that defy all logic and reason. However, I just don't get the point of wanting to spend a hot day being as hot as you possibly can.

Then again, maybe the goal was to get me to think about them more.

End of the Light

My bedside table lamp died today. It's been with us for a while now. It's one of those things that my roommate had before I lived with him. It ended up in my room because it was difficult to knock over. As you know by now, I'm not the most graceful of flowers. Anything we can do to keep me from breaking things is usually done. This worked out pretty well. I had the lamp for quite a few years.

The lamp was plastic. Part of it was black and the other part was a very pretty sapphire blue. It was an office lamp, utilitarian in design, with little compartments on  the base to hold pencils and rubber bands and such items. For the most part, these were just dust collectors. Occasionally the cats would puke on them. They were a bitch to clean.

I will miss my lamp. It has been with me through so much. In this last year, for instance, it has witnessed me almost dying from blood loss. It has witnessed my sleepless, terrified nights worrying about cancer. It witnessed me with stitches and staples and drainage tubes. It has been  there as I began to recover. It's hard to lose this lamp because it's like losing a part of myself, and I think I've done enough of that lately.

My roommate moved one of the spare lamps into my room. It's pretty. I think it's one that I put together from bits and pieces of other lamp parts. I think I wired it. I can't quite remember. If I did, I hope it doesn't burn down the house. I like the light it puts out. It's soft and gentle. I've never been one to like harsh lighting. I welcome it into my room and my life and hope that it can witness better things than the last one did. Seriously, I'd really like that.

Rain, Recovery, Progress

You would think that it raining and cooling down would have made things really great for me today. I thought it would as well, actually. I was wrong. Somehow, the weather just managed to make every part of my body ache and protest. I didn't do as much exercise as I intended and my nap was unpleasant. Overall, I was pretty disappointed by how the weather made me feel.

I have to admit, this summer has been mostly mild. As I've said before, that has been a blessing for me, considering the surgeries and stuff I've had to deal with. I really shouldn't complain that things have been unpleasant at the end of August, but the heat has profoundly affected me. Then again, any change in weather, especially extreme ones, can cause issues when one is in recovery.

The scar on my arm is still in the process of leveling out. This process is slow, but I'm seeing more flat bits every day. I don't think it will ever look NORMAL, but then again, I don't think anything about me does . . . or should. What interests me about the scar flattening out is that it looks so healed and complete. To go from open wounds held together with staples to skin with no lines on it at all in such a short amount of time amazes me.

Speaking of progress, I did NOT look at the neighbors when I was out walking today. I was a good girl and kept my thoughts on the road and on nature. NOT on what they were doing. So go me. I may not turn into my grandmother yet!

Grandma Ism

So now that I go outside and walk, I've started to actually notice a whole lot more about the world around me. Part of this is a survival thing. I'm not graceful and I'm really trying not to fall on the pavement. With this in mind, I pay attention to the loose rocks and the broken bits of pavement. I not where the grass clippings might be slick and certainly where the flowers dropped from the bushes might trip me. Oh, and I always look for animal poo.That might not make me fall, but it does make life quite stinky.

In a more pure way, I've started noticing other things as well. Our neighbors now have a fountain and it's fun when I get close enough to hear the trickle of the water. I like watching the day to day breakdown of the bits of plants that fall onto the driveway. It's interesting to watch the little birds hop around. This hasn't been as much of a thing this year, but last year we had an abundance of dragonflies and it was really great to see their various colors. It's also amusing to watch the outdoor cats scurry from place to place.

In a less than pure way, I'm starting to act like my grandma. Grandma would walk the neighborhood and take notes of what was happening with the neighbors. Then she would come home and call me to tell me all about it. My roommate and I have a theory  that one of the reasons she kept up with her walking was so she could gain said information. It was a perk of the exercise.

I didn't realize I was doing this, not at first. I would walk and just innocently mention things I saw . . . like a bird or a pretty flower or . . . 'the fact that the neighbors parked their car in a strange spot. I wonder why they did that? It's odd. Why would they do that?' I didn't mean any malice by it. I was actually just curious. AND yet, here I was, doing the same thing Grandma used to do. I would notice if they were home. I would notice if their yards had a strange smell . . . I would note when the strange smell went away. It was getting bad.

This morning, when I walked past my next door neighbors' house and kind of found myself kind of straining to see WHERE they got pizza from . . . because it was trash day and they had a pizza box out and I was just curious . . . I knew this had to stop. I am becoming my grandmother when I walk. That can't happen. It just honestly can not.

Tomorrow when I walk, I'm going to make note of any hazards. I'm going to look at the birds and the flowers. I'm going to make sure I don't get stung by that evil wasp out there. And that is all I am going to do. I'm not going to pay attention to my neighbors. I'm not going to look at their houses or their cars. I'm going to mind my own business and walk like a decent person.  See, even exercise has moral lessons.

Hot

Today wasn't as hot as it has been, but it was more humid than any day has the right to be. I just overheated pretty horribly in the bathroom and now feel like a wilted leaf. Well, a wilted wet leaf that wants to give up on life. I can not tell you how happy I will be when summer is gone. I know I've been spared the horrors of a truly hot summer, but days like this still get to me. They get to me badly.

Overheating isn't fun. You feel like your brain is dizzy and slowed. Your body feels like you've been beaten up. You're wet from head to toe with this kind of slight belief that none of this may ever end. It does, eventually, but it takes a while.

That is all the post I can manage tonight. Blame the weather.

Praise for Pedaling

Back when my roommate bought the pedal exerciser, he read some reviews about it. Most of the reviews talked about how stationary pedaling isn't that good of a workout. It doesn't burn the calories that biking does, not even stationary bikes. At the time, I found this to be a bit discouraging, though I'm not sure why that mattered as I only tried to do the pedaling a few times before deciding it was too unstable for me.

However, as I am more mature now (or maybe just more practical), I've been using the pedaler almost every day. It's something that I'm trying to just make a regular part of my life and routine. And given that, I want to take some issue with the reviews that say pedal exercisers aren't that great. As far as I am concerned, they serve someone like me in many ways.

To begin with, a stationary pedaler is very small. It's basically just a stand with two pedals on it. No wheels. No seat. It can sit very comfortably in a small corner of your room, which is such a rare and wonderful thing for workout equipment. I don't have to devote a third of a room just to keep it around. No one runs into it when they walk by. It's not a bitch to move whenever the floor is vacuumed. And even if a cat pukes on it, it's fairly easy to clean. However, cats rarely HAVE puked on it because there is really no where for them to stand or lay on it.

Secondly, I like it because it's an indoor thing. I think a lot of professional health people underestimate the importance of being able to be indoors when you workout, especially if you're starting from a place of being very out of shape. On days when it is too hot and certainly this winter when it's too cold or slick, I can use the stationary pedals to accomplish the moment I need to accomplish. Now understand, back when I just walked, do you know what I would do instead of walking if it was too hot/rainy/slick/wet/whathaveyou and I couldn't go outside? Nothing. Nothing at all. I would just skip that day and have no extra movement. Now, I can pedal and still get some workout accomplished.

This brings me to what I believe is the most vital point about this piece of equipment. While people who may be in wonderful physical health might not see much in the way of results from the pedaler, for someone like me, who weighs in the 400s, pedaling IS a very good workout. I may not burn the level of calories on it that I would burn on a bike (stationary or otherwise), but I also cannot GET on a bike (stationary or otherwise). There is so much exercise equipment that is not designed for people past a certain weight and even what few bits are, often are good difficult for them to manage. A pedaler, on the other hand, is easy to manage and easy to deal with. No, you may not be burning massive amounts of calories, but you ARE burning calories. SOME is better than none at all.

There needs to be so much change in the way that we approach exercise and people who are out of shape/overweight. It seems like the dialogue has always been "here is this hard and painful stuff you can do that is also really boring and humiliating. Do that or you'll never be healthy." That is honestly such bullshit. If you're starting from ground zero in your workout routine, don't go to the gym and try to do All the Things. Walk out your door and to the end of your driveway. If that is too hard, just walk around your house until you can do more. Find some small things you CAN accomplish and focus on making them an everyday part of your life. More movement is better than no movement. Overtime, you may be able to add to it. If not, at least you have that small bit. You might even want to look into a stationary pedaler. They're not that expensive.

Speaking of the Dead

Tonight I was talking to my best friend about pregnancy. It's a topic that comes up a lot, as she's expecting a baby at the first of November. She was telling me how tired she is and commented that her grandmother and great-grandmother probably knew NOTHING of tiredness during pregnancy, and just kept going until the babies showed up. I wouldn't be surprised by this. Toughness is a virtue in the women of her family.

I mentioned that pregnancy was very hard on my own grandmother. She spent most of it leaning against the bathroom wall, trying to support her back. She threw up everything she ate. It was probably why she didn't like her children, but soon added that even if pregnancy was easy, she would have found a reason not to like them. My friend, who I know was joking, chided me for speaking ill of the dead.

The thing is, I don't think it's wrong to speak ill of the dead if what you say about them is true. Even if they were awful, even if they made you mad every day, I think it's fine to talk about that. This is who they were and I believe that people would rather be known for their actual selves that some whitewashed version. I certainly know that is what I want when I die. I want to be remembered for the good and the bad. It's far more accurate of who I am. I think it helps to keep the real memory alive. To me, that is how you honor the person.

My grandmother is a good example of this. I loved the woman. I loved her deeply and I miss her a lot. She influenced me in so many ways and she is one of the first people who defined my reality. Having said that, she was a pill. She could be vain and stubborn and judgmental. She could be hard to have a conversation with. We didn't always get along. And yet, I love her both for the good parts of who she was and the not so good parts. When I think about her, there is a certain affection attached to it, even when I'm thinking about what a pill she could be.

I never got to meet my dad's mother. She died before I was ever born. And yet, all of my life, I was told stories about her. Only a few of those stories paint her in a saintly light. Most of the time, she was displaying a lot of temper and personality. Sometimes she was throwing pop bottles at hunting dogs. Sometimes she was dishing our retribution to my grandfather and his mistresses. Apparently, she wasn't all that easy to get along with. Even still, instead of some kind, saintly, fake version of her, I have a vision of someone who was strong and fierce and unpredictable. I love that. I love her.

I don't think you should tell lies about the dead. Even if those lies make the person sound better than they were, I still believe it is wrong. Telling lies about someone who has passed means that their true stories aren't being told. The true stories about them is what helps to keep their memory alive.