Today we are 50…

Nearly 20 years into the onset of my disease I feel accomplished to be here.

It’s been a long, difficult road with pain my most stalwart companion.

However, as I enter the second half of my life I want to remember some of my most important lessons from the first half.

Spend time with the people you love when you can.

Make time to be alone.

Create strange, wonderful, silly things.

Make mistakes, lots of mistakes.

Try everything.

Don’t let someone else define you.

Keep company with furry creatures.

Find time to be in nature.

Move your body.

There are tastier and healthier greens than kale, especially if you forage. (Purslane and lamb’s quarter for example)

Find people who share your experience.

Grief doesn’t go away, it just gets weirder.

Love never dies.

I’m sure there’s more but it’s a chilly morning and I have coffee and infusions in an hour.

I guess that’s another one, try not to schedule infusions on your fiftieth birthday.

One foot in front of the other…

Two dogs walking side by side on a sidewalk, one black and one with a brown and white coat, both on leashes.

It has become my motto. Literally.
My legs are starting to wobble a bit, the feeling in them uncertain and my faith in them wavering. So with an aim to increasing their strength I am walking.

Rather a lot.

I have started mapping the Little Free Libraries within 30-45 minutes (on foot) from my house. Four to five days a week I load up a backpack with books we no longer want, clip on my leash belt, a water bottle for me, a water bottle for the dogs, a treat bag for the dogs, and lastly, Bear and Penny.

Then we walk. I choose a direction and we walk in search of the Little Free Libraries. When I find one I add it to the Google list, peruse it’s offerings, and then add several of my own. We continue on.

It’s been helping, I feel stronger. The dogs are happier. I have a TBR of about 45 books now. (I may have to start skipping the taking of new books for a little while.)

I am hoping I can keep it going. I am not embarrassed to say that I am scared to lose my mobility. It’s not a thing I am ready to be graceful about.