The best thing about growing older, I think, is that you’re able to pretty much choose what (or who) is positive and helpful to you. You realize that you can amplify/multiply what’s positive, and you ideally have no time for what’s negative. Also, I find you gain a superpower — invisibility. This is especially helpful if you’re an introvert like me.
Invisibility is easily achieved. Two points —
1. In the mood to be left alone, I have purposely gone to the store wearing pajamas and slippers, with my hair uncombed under a hat, bringing my walking stick even though I might not really need it just then. I proceed to move at a very slow, leisurely pace; which I prefer anyway. Works like a charm. No one sees me. Invisible!
2. If you choose to look presentable and noticed on a particular day, you’re able to make an odd choice, and it’s celebrated rather than fussed at. I like that, and have taken full advantage. You probably know that I have blue and purple crazy hair, and without exaggeration, I dress like a wizard. (I have my choice of several drapey cloak jackets, extra long scarves, and harem pants.) I’m comfortable, and it’s fun.
Cannabis is legal here in New York, and we have a store downtown. Know who I see going in there? Young people? Nope. Not at all. Middle-aged+ people who look like they could be your grandparents.
What of the aches and pains, middle-aged health issues, and even surgeries? It’s going to happen to all of us, and has already happened to many people you know who have simply not mentioned it.
You learn to manage it. I think of it as the price of knowing what I know, being respected, and having a certain freedom to do as I wish.
Sure, there will be a few people that don’t like this or that, and they will fall by the wayside. That’s on them. I find that miserable people often want everyone else to be miserable too. To those people I say, “I wish you well, no hard feelings, and don’t let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out.”
Speaking of doors, I’ve amended the old saying — When a door is slammed in your face, make sure you’ve brought a hammer … so you can nail that shit shut.
Hooo … am I tired! Tomorrow I’m off to the airport hotel, which sounds dreary, but it will be very nice. It’s supposed to be a quite decent hotel, and it’s attached directly to the airport. This way, I’m already there for my flight the next day, no rushing, no public transportation issues, another spa day.
A foggy, wet day; but no actual rain. Just a light wetting-you mist. Well, ya know. Fog.
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“A foggy day in London Town Had me low and had me down I viewed the morning with alarm The British Museum had lost its charm.”
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A bit of a rant today concerning the visit. It’s an entertaining and surprising rant, but if you’d like to skip it, just scroll down to the photos.
Lots of walking and standing today, and I’d have to say unfortunately, Westminster Abbey does disabilities very poorly. I went 15 minutes before opening, and after I’d walked around the large yard to get to the main entrance line. The employee out front sort of talked in circles when I asked whether there was a disabled entrance. I was tired of asking about it (and I was already there), so I waited in the line with the normals. They opened at 9:30 on the mark, but all the folks that worked there already seemed very much “on guard.”
When I didn’t want a free tour headset, the person-wearing-a-robe kept going on and on about it. After two or three go-rounds, her last sentence to me was, “But why don’t you have an audio guide?” Um, hello? I guess they don’t like people to refuse headsets. Maybe we try to talk to them too much otherwise. That impression was further confirmed as the day progressed.
Of all of the places I’ve visited in the past week, The Abbey staff has been the least friendly/helpful by far. And I’m not even very needy or demanding. The Docklands Museum and Southwark Cathedral absolutely both destroy Westminster Abbey in this respect. (I should mention, I had a very nice conversation about Jenny Lind with the lovely young headset-collector woman in Poets’ Corner.)
Later, after saying the same thing three or four times to different docents before they “got” what I was talking about, I realized they’re programmed to parrot this and that, and prefer not to be bothered; that I couldn’t possibly have anything useful or interesting to mention. In one instance, I mentioned a fact about some burials in the Stuart aisle of the Lady Chapel. She disagreed. I told her she should really read her very own Dean Stanley’s book … he documented all the royal burials in the mid-1800s.
At one point, I really needed to sit down (or fall down) for a while. I explained to a verger/docent/person. She told me I had to walk all the way around to get the 24 inches forward to where she was standing next to the chairs, rather than just picking up the rope hook for literally two or three seconds.
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I mean, c’mon.
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I was briefly in the vicinity of one absolutely hysterical docent — every time you took a step towards him, he either exaggeratedly turned his head the other way or walked to another corner. (For real. I tried it a few times to make sure. LOL)
This kind of crap filters down through the layers, and of course, as they’ll often remind you, this is first and foremost, a place of worship. As a career churchy myself, to say I was less-than-impressed is a gross understatement. And I’m looking at you, Dean Hoyle.
That’s plenty of complaining for today! Let’s look at some awesome pictures! I took dozens and dozens, so we’ll just do the highlights here.
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Henry VII’s stunning Lady Chapel
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I guess I can now say that I was once in the quire at Westminster Abbey
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Chaucer’s tomb. Interestingly, he was not interred here as a great poet, but due to his job as an upper-level government functionary.
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QEI — The lady, the myth, the legend. (She’s not in the box. She’s stacked in the crypt underneath below the floor, with her sister Queen Mary. Elizabeth is on top. Poetic justice.
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Edward the Confessor
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An aisle in the Cloister
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Remarkably preserved medieval paintings!
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I’m a bit of a scholar on the subject, I’ve done my own research, I’ve read Dean Stanley’s book(s) at least two or three times, and I’ve been to the Abbey in person several times, this being my last.
Yes, sure, I felt a little unwelcome. Big deal. However, combined with feeling physically uncomfortable without any way of helping myself, I don’t need to return. There was an Evensong later in the day I’d considered, but I hopped on the boat for an afternoon cruise instead.
One of the crew came over to me (a few of them know me by now) to mention that a more comfortable window seat had just opened up on the starboard side, and I realized that I felt very much more welcome on the Uber Boat than inside Westminster Abbey.
I got my hair did the other day. By July (when I was in the hospital) it already needed attention badly, but that would have been a silly time to bother. It was time to get back to my eccentric professor look.
Totally worth the four hours in the chair. It needs cut, but I keep putting it off because a bunch of wavy hair is fun to play with.
I’ll put the blue stain in tonight. Time to grab an old T-shirt, tin foil, and a dark towel! =)
It’s the old story I suppose — feeling a little better but acting like you feel a lot better.
I noticed today that pretty much every time I was home this week, I was sleeping. Like, all the time. So I reviewed my week.
Sunday is a five hour day, and much of that is playing the organ, hyper-focusing, teaching some parts, handling social anxiety when in a group. Blah blah.
Monday, I didn’t have anything going on officially, but I had errands to run and a bunch of music stuff to do at home. I wrote an arrangement for one tune and started on another.
Tuesday was a palliative care doc appointment and a run to the store on one side of town, and then a run to a store way on the other side of town. Then, 90 minutes of teaching and some house cleanup stuff.
Wednesday was a nutritionist appointment, and a bit of teaching. In between, I did some leaf blowing and dug up and replanted the three plants in the front yard. (Unknowingly, I originally planted them in a very buggy spot. The bugs were eating them.)
Today is Thursday, and of course, I woke up exhausted. I had a prescription to pick up, and a few things to grab at the store, so I forced myself out and did all that so I’d have the rest of the day with no commitments. Ugh. I was getting to the point where I was unknowingly dragging my feet and tripping every once in a while.
Real Life of course, does not go away. Adding to the usual tasks, there’s medical stuff that has to go on in between times, my food to be monitored and cooked, and pills to remember to take on a schedule. Not a huge deal, but another set of things to think about that all take time. Never mind liaising with Jonathan and getting basic household stuff taken care of. At least I moved the plants. 🪴
Yep. It takes a bit of time and effort to keep me standing, alive, friendly, and looking like I can accomplish something. And now, of course, as I’m reading this weekly roundup, I’m thinking, “What’s wrong with you?!” Simmer down!”
I had to pick up a prescription (it’s nearly my hobby at this point), so I grabbed a cup of my favorite coffee and grabbed some ice cream for a sequestering treat . (Recommendation – Oreo brand Cookies & Cream.)
I can’t believe it’s 2 o’clock already, however, now we rest for two days! If an asteroid hits the planet or the Hudson River breaks its banks, Tell Jonathan. He’ll wake me up. 😴
I am at eight weeks post-surgery, and I’m now permitted to do a little bit more.
1. I played my first church service last Sunday (and had a great time catching up with friends), and 2. I taught an hour’s worth of piano lessons yesterday. A nice, slow start.
3. I got very lucky this morning.
I’m groggy in the mornings, even without major painkillers. So, I’m very careful. I wear slippers with some tread into the bathroom, I make sure I always have a hand on a pole or a niche while I’m in the shower. I step in and out very carefully, holding on. But today?
Today, a blowing fan got me.
Fall is close, and temperatures have been dropping into the 50s at night. It’s been cold in the morning. I got out of the shower today and realized the blowing fan was pointed directly at me. Freezing, I took a few steps away — off the rug, and onto the hex tile some of you probably remember I layed a few years ago.
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Of course, I ended up on the tile floor. I was flat on my back, which happens to house my recently-operated-on tailbone. I don’t know how I managed to land completely flat, but whatever Deity arranged it, thank you. If I had landed on my butt, this would have been a very, very different story. I’m fine, albeit a few steps backwards in the pain department.
I’m sure you expect our loving dogs ran in to see what the commotion was all about. Eli barks if he hears a footstep; nevermind 180 lbs. of adult human hitting the floor. Nope. Not a creature was stirring. Thanks, dogs.
Higgins and Eli
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Historically, when I’ve slipped and landed flat on my back (winter ice, usually), I’ve started to laugh. I mean really laugh. For some reason, I’ve always done it. I laughed today, staring up at the exhaust fan. Which is filthy.
However, I now have a strong health reason to order a re-do of the bathroom with vinyl plank. (Wink.) See how that works?
Sit Still Phill 