I was reaching into my pocket and missed, catching the edge of the watchband on my belt instead. There was a tiny snap and then the watch was hanging halfway off my wrist.
I took it the rest of the way off and realized the pin holding the watch to the band had snapped. This wasn’t a ‘quick-pop-it-back-into-place” repair – it was broken.
And it really – really – bothered me.
I sat down with the broken pieces in my hand and considered the ruined timepiece. It was a great watch – waterproof, a nice shade of blue that went with all my blue shirts, digital (because I don’t like guessing what time it is), and a good size that didn’t make my skinny wrists look even more skinny.
I half-heartedly looked for replacement pins online, but when I looked more closely at the band to get the size I realized the plastic was damaged as well. A new pin wouldn’t stay in place.
So, that was it. The watch was done.
Until I got a new watch, I would have to rely on other instruments to keep track of time. Which, I know, are everywhere. My phone, in my car, every computer, the appliances in the kitchen, and the clocks on the wall (analog, but I can make do).
But not the same. Not the same as that familiar and reassuring weight on my wrist. Always knowing at a glance exactly “when” I am.
A bit obsessive, granted.
For the past few days I’ve caught myself checking my bare wrist. I’ve looked at a few stores and gone online – not finding anything that really caught my eye.
And so I’ve been a little bit…off. And not quite sure “when” I am.
—–
This week also marks the anniversary of Jeff’s passing – 10 years ago.
His brother texted me just to check in – we traded a few messages as we do until we both faded into each other’s backgrounds again. There’s never much to say, but we try.
I’m noting the absence of the weight of time on my wrist – and feeling the weight of it in my head.
Last weekend, as my family was getting ready to head home after a visit, the snow began to fall in earnest. It was pretty, but it just didn’t stop.
That was Sunday.
On Monday, I spent 6 hours shoveling out the driveway. I tried to clear a path for Jim to leave and while his 4 wheel drive car got him down the driveway and to the street, it wouldn’t have been enough to get him out of the unplowed parking lot at his office. So, he turned around and came home.
I eventually got the rest of the driveway clear and thought I would be ready to go into work the next day. Classes were canceled that Tuesday but the campus was open. I got out the shoveled driveway and about 10 feet down our unplowed street before I got stuck. With a shovel and a lot of swearing, I managed to get back in the driveway and out of the way – but I wasn’t going anywhere. I worked from home that day.
The plows finally got to our street and it was sort of clear and on Wednesday I tried again. I got to work, but it wasn’t a quiet ride. The skidplate/undershield under my car – already not in good shape – had been obliterated by my attempt to get unstuck and was now dragging on the ground. When I got home after work I was able to get partly under the car and got it partly bent back up, but it was a lost cause. I worked from home the rest of the week.
This past weekend, more snow. I was out shoveling again for a few hours – trying to keep up – and the best I can say is that it wasn’t as heavy. The piles of snow were getting so big I was running out of places to fling it.
I worked from home again today and afterwards I was out again with my shovel. I was almost done with the driveway cleared again and saw my neighbor across the street shoveling.
He’s 80.
I hustled over there with my shovel and got the bulk of it for him. He slowed down and chatted while I shoveled and we got it done soon.
And as I was wrapping up my driveway again for what seemed like the thousandth time, I stopped and leaned on my shovel and looked up at the sky as dusk began to settle in.
For all the work – and it’s been a ton of work – it really is quite beautiful out there.
I was reminded of another snowfall – many years ago.
Jeff and I had just moved in together and it was our first winter in the apartment. We didn’t know the area well yet and decided after the first big snow of the year to go for a walk down the unplowed streets. This was out away from the city and the only light was from a full moon. The snow muted all the noises and while it was cold, there was no wind to make it intolerable.
We walked maybe a mile down this quiet road, marveling at the crisp air and a sky full of stars. It was incredibly peaceful.
Something broke the spell – I don’t recall what. Maybe we got cold or realized how far we had walked. Perhaps there was a car or maybe the wind picked up. In any case, it was time to walk back home.
We didn’t walk much and never went again in the winter. And enough time has passed that my memories are fading, as they do.
But, standing in my driveway looking up at the cold sky, I remembered a happy time. And it was enough.
When that spell was broken, I went inside to check on the dogs and have my dinner. And wait for my husband to come home.
I had a rough swim on Friday. The only open lane – thanks, high school swim team – had two people already swimming there. And we couldn’t do a circle swim since one of the women was doing the “I can’t get my hair wet” breaststroke. Sigh.
So, I waited for about 15 minutes before one of them got out and then started my laps. The “can’t get her hair wet” woman remained and she took up most of the lane – crowding me near the barrier between us and the swim team.
And, of course, I got kicked. Not enough to hurt, just enough to throw me off my stride.
I kept at it, though, and finished my laps.
In the parking lot, I ordered dinner for Jim and I and then headed out to pick it up. There were several routes I could have taken, but the most direct route was right through the middle of town. At 5:15 on a Friday.
But, the likely delay with the traffic meant I’d arrive just as the food was ready. So, I headed out, picked my lane, and turned on the music and heater.
I was comfortably loose from my swim and the car warmed up quickly. The music was from my collection and the songs were familiar to sing along with, if the mood struck me. And it did, from time to time.
I made my way through town at a steady and unhurried pace, safe in my warm mobile cocoon.
And it was peaceful. As much as driving can be – I didn’t take a nap or anything. But, I didn’t get upset or swear at any other drivers. And the density of traffic didn’t bother me. I knew my route, I had a plan, and the drive was unremarkable.
I pulled into the lot of the restaurant with 1 minute to spare and the food was just being put on the shelf as I walked in.
As I made my way home, a curious thought occured to me. That I could just keep driving and hold onto this peaceful feeling. I could tap in any destination to my GPS and just…drive. I strangely didn’t want it to end. Everything was just lined up and simple, with easy goals and no conflicts.
Remarkable.
But, I was down to a quarter tank of gas and Jim was waiting at home for the food slowly cooling in my passenger seat.
Instead of some far-flung destination, I tapped the “home” button and dutifully followed that route. I knew my way, but the GPS has a nice voice and I like to give her easy routes occasionally to make up for all the construction detours she’s gotten me through.
And as I pulled into my driveway, the moment passed. It was time to take the food inside and end the quiet adventure.
A few miles of road in a warm car with good music and an easy destination.
I recently finished up a giant origami wreath to donate to the Akron Holiday Tree festival and posted a photo on Facebook. This is something I’ve done for a few years now – I usually get some help from a committee at work and the donated wreath is auctioned off to benefit Children’s Hospital.
My friends and family liked the photo and had really nice comments to say – and I feel like I contributed in a positive way to the conversation online.
At the same time, though, I also got a direct message that was… less pleasant.
When Jim and I started dating, we would occasionally hang out with one of his friends from when he was younger and with her boyfriend. We didn’t have a lot in common with this couple, but tried our best to find some middle ground. When we got invited to Hilton Head for a week by one of my former co-workers, the trip coincided with this couple’s wedding, which we went to. And on a later trip, we shared a condo with them.
Instead of getting closer to them, though, the gap began to widen.
We rarely saw them during the beach trip – they stayed away from the beach and indoors most of the day. Dinners were strained from lack of common topics. And, as a game night was wrapping up, Jim’s friend turned out to be super-duper racist.
Later on, it turned out that her husband had a sort of “inapropiate relationship” with someone he’d interacted with on Second Life, but never met in person. I’m not sure which is odder – the interaction or the fact they’d met on Second Life. I mean, really? Second Life?
From there, it was full-on Trump – and Jim and I casually backed away from them both with regret but a sense of relief.
So, in the middle of enjoying sharing some fun artwork, I got a direct message from this couple. They share a facebook account – and an ideology – so it was impossible to tell who it was from.
The message suggested that Jim and I should be regretting voting for President Biden and that if we were still “riding with biden” we are responsible for the increase in gas prices since the president was planning on shutting down a pipeline from the north. The rest was Pro-Trump and something about being “woke”.
I hadn’t posted anything political in eons and nothing about gas prices. I’m not friends with them on facebook and we don’t have any friends in common. And we’d never had a conversation by messenger – this was the first connection in literally years.
I read it a couple of times and didn’t respond. I didn’t want a conversation with them – though I was a little curious as to why. Why any of it, really.
I told Jim about it and he suggested I block them. I didn’t – because that could also be communication and I thought the best response was none at all.
It was just this unpleasant and slightly toxic – completely random – message from people that I had nothing in common with and hadn’t spoken to in years.
I suppose they intended to ruin my day – that was the tone of the message – but I had no idea why. Nor did their opinion of me matter enough to bother me. It was just mean, and pointless.
There is so much bad and negative in the world and the thought of making it worse for anyone just strikes me as so very sad and exhausting.
For my third eye appointment I went to a new eye doctor – a “second tier”, I suppose since my regular doctor wasn’t quite sure what was on my eye.
The new doctor, while knowledgeable, was kind of an idiot. Or at least really bad with people. He was half an hour late getting into the exam room and spent the entire time spouting medical jargon at me. Well, except for when he gave me the treatment options and said “this next part is going to scare you.”
The diagnosis is proteinaceous deposits caused by a breakdown of the membrane in my eye. The treatment is to scrape the cornea and put a contact lens in while it heals – and hope it doesn’t get infected.
I’m also “pre-glaucoma”, so, added bonus there. He didn’t find that out until they dumped a bunch of drops in my eye to dilate, then had me stare into the sun (or the eye doctor’s exam room equivalent). And then he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.
I went in there feeling anxious and cranky – and left feeling anxious, cranky, and confused.
With throw-away sunglasses in place, I headed back to work.
For the fourth appointment, I had another follow up with my regular eye doctor. She explained that I don’t need to do the keratotomy right away and that while my optic nerve is “bigger than average” (I’m not boasting or anything), it also doesn’t mean I’m going to get glaucoma.
But, I did need to get progressive lenses for my new glasses. Sigh. I might have the butt of a 20 year old, but my eyes are almost 50.
Kinda makes you think – all that our eyes have seen and taken in. So much light over all those years.
I had narrowed down the frames to two while I was waiting for the appointment – because I’m very efficient – and had my decision in a couple minutes after sitting with the clerk. Medium progressive, no to the transitions, and yes to the anti-glare. My new glasses will arrive in a couple of weeks.
That will make 5 trips to the eye doctor before I have new glasses. Too bad they couldn’t just give me a shot of Retinax – though I’d probably turn out to be allergic.
I had been due for an eye exam before the pandemic, but put it off until a week ago – when I broke one of the nose pieces off. I always thought they were flimsy, but they lasted me quite a while as it turned out.
Anyway, I made an appointment, took some time off, and headed to the eye doctor. And resigned myself to the fact that I would likely have to get bifocals. Over the past few years I’ve found myself having to take my glasses off to see up close. Eh, it happens.
During the eye appointment it turned out that my vision in my right eye was much worse than I thought. Upon closer exam, using a light source that was brighter than the damn sun, the doctor found…something. Corneal deposits was her best guess and instead of new glasses I was sent on my way to use over-the-counter gel “tears” for a week to see if that would wash them away.
They also couldn’t fix my existing glasses. Of course…
So, I did the drops three times a day for a week and went back in yesterday. And there was no change – which I had guessed even on my own just by looking at things with one eye and then the other.
I’ve got another appointment, with another doctor in another office, on Wednesday to get the deposits addressed. I’m hoping it’s just another kind of slightly stronger eye drop, but no way to know until I get it checked.
Once that is done, then it’s back to the primary eye doctor to get a prescription and then new glasses.
Oh, and my first copay was $10 since it was an eye exam – but the second was $45 since it was a “medical appointment” . They did the exact same thing at both appointments, naturally. Could have been much worse, I guess.
I’m vaguely worried about this whole thing. I’ve worn glasses since I was a kid and while I wasn’t looking forward to bifocals it wasn’t a huge deal. But this unknown, like so many unknowns, has me a little disconcerted.
Nothing to do until I get it checked so it does no good to dwell on it. The one-nose-piece glasses aren’t as uncomfortable as you’d think and I’ll get by.
For now, I’m going to go stare intently at some sandpaper and see if that helps smooth things out.
On Sunday morning, I woke up to see two safety alerts from UA about a shooting that had occured off campus. We’re required to send out these alerts by email within a certain amount of time and it seemed more serious than some, but not enough details to really get a sense of it I let it go – though I felt bad for a coworker that I knew had to have gotten up in the middle of the night to send them.
Later that day, Jim and I were in a store and I randomly decided to check my email. There was a message from UA’s President – one of the victims had been an 18 year old UA student.
I literally stopped in my tracks and read the message again. We didn’t stay much longer and on the drive home I kept thinking about her – this nameless and faceless young woman that had lost her life.
Over the next few days, more details emerged. There had been a big off-campus party after the football game with many non-students there. There was a fight, then someone pulled a gun. Of the shots fired, two young men were injured and taken to the hospital. The young woman was pronounced dead at the scene with a gunshot to the chest. None of them were the real targets – all innocent bystanders.
Amidst the calls for better security and safety measures – and justified anger and sorrow on social media – one more fact emerged.
Her name was Maya.
There was a press conference today – more sorrow, more anger, more calls for action. And a reward for information. The short term plans are aggressive and even with the expected amount of finger-pointing, everyone seems largely on board with “making things better” – though nothing I heard will really address the root problems.
She was one of ours and nothing will bring her back.
I might never have crossed paths with Maya during her time at UA even if she had gotten her full allotment – it’s a big campus and there are so many people. But, like many of us who work at universities, there is a feeling of trying to protect and nurture all the students there. They pass into our lives and then just as quickly slip away – most going on to do great things. And some, like Maya, have their dreams cut short.
In the middle of all of this directionless grief, there was a bright moment for me.
Many years ago, the UA webteam hired a smart and engaging young woman to work with us. She was from Romania and was one of the best student assistants we ever had. One Friday afternoon she mentioned that she was feeling a little homesick – this was the time of year that her family had a tradition of exchanging snowbells, little white flowers, and she was a long way from home.
Over the weekend, I found a diagram on how to make origami snowbells and by Monday I had crafted a whole spray of these tiny flowers. I left them on her desk to find when she next came in – and she thanked me with tears in her eyes at the gesture.
Her name is Ana.
Ana switched to another department after a while, earned her degree, and returned home after graduation – I made it a point to go to the ceremony. We connected on Facebook and I saw her continue to excel, travel throughout Europe, and get married.
And then, out of the blue, she showed up in my inbox with a question about her email. She had sent it to the webmaster@uakron.edu as a general question, not realizing I was behind that account.
I responded back with an excited message and answered her question – and hoped she was doing well. She replied back that she was delighted to hear from me, congratulated me on my house, and told me she had just bought a home with her husband as well.
We’ve had a nice exchange back and forth – and her kindness and warmth continue to shine through even an email.
Fate is a funny thing. Two young women came to our campus and our city. Both with dreams and excitement for their futures.
I miss Ana. And I never got to know Maya.
So we mourn those that are lost and celebrate those that thrive – and hope for the future of our campus and our city.
This year, the call went out again for LGBTQ members of the UA community to participate in the 2021 Zips of Pride poster. I was on the fence about that again this year, but only because I had been slightly disappointed in the number of actual LGBTQ members vs. allies on the poster.
But, I realized that if I didn’t participate, I would be further skewing the ratio. So, I signed up for a date/time to get my photo taken next week.
On Friday, I was on a video call with a colleague and we were going through some reporting and website updates – the usual.
As we were wrapping up, they asked if we could talk about something not work related. I said sure and they told me that they had seen the email about the call for the poster and had seen last year’s and noted that I was on that poster. They then told me that at the last two jobs they had been at, they would have been fired for coming out.
And then they asked me my thoughts on being on the poster.
I thought about it for a moment and then told them I had been on the fence last year – that it’s one thing to be out to close co-workers and another thing to be out to the “old white guys”. I said that I felt comfortable with my colleagues and decided that since this was the first thing that had really been really supportive of the LGBTQ community at UA in a while, that I felt like I should participate since it might help other people too.
I then told them I was going to be in this year’s poster – and mentioned that having more of “us” on the poster sends a stronger message than just the allies. (The allies are great, but, really, everyone at UA should be an ally.)
They were really relieved and thanked me for my insight. I don’t know if they are going to be in this year’s poster – but I think I helped them at least be more comfortable being themself at UA.
Two pride parades, getting married to my fella, and now – gay role model?
Way back in the day, when I first started swimming, I asked the lifeguard on duty how many laps to the mile. They told me 36 and since the olympic sized pool was configured for lanes across the pool – instead of the length – I figured that was the number to shoot for.
I worked my way up to that and eventually could do it without too much trouble. From there, I used 36 as the basis for my mile and could do another 18 (½ mile) if I was feeling my oats. (Literally, oatmeal 30 minutes before swimming is the way to go.)
Even, occasionally, doing 72 laps – 2 miles – if I had enough time and had eaten properly. And each lap was recorded in a spreadsheet with a formula to calculate the number of miles I’d done in a year.
A couple of weeks ago, I overheard two guys talking in the locker-room – one confirming that the other had done 36 laps and then congratulating him on the half mile.
Uh-oh.
I looked it up when I got home and sure enough, 36 of the “long” laps in an olympic pool is a mile. Instead of doing all those miles – and then bragging about it – I was only going half as far.
I’m literally half as good of a swimmer as I thought I was.
Disheartened, I took a week off from swimming. Tomorrow, I’ll start again and though I’ll still do 36 laps and still record them – I’ve gotten rid of the formula to turn those laps into miles.
The important bit is that swimming has made me stronger and improved my stamina. And these shoulders? Epic – at least for me.
And for everyone that knew better when I talked about my laps and didn’t tell me – thank you. For a while there, I was feeling pretty amazing.
Half as amazing now, but I still rock that speedo.
I do some of my deepest thinking in the pool. My mind doesn’t have a lot to do other than count laps so i guess it’s no surprise that the introspection bubbles up. Deep thinking…bubbles… in the pool. Yeah, just roll with it.
I had stopped at the side of the pool to catch my breath for a moment and glanced at my watch just in time to see the seconds tick over into the next minute. Well, it’s a digital watch so there’s no actual “tick”, but you get what I mean.
It occurred to me as that second passed, it was gone forever. We’ll never see that moment again in time. It is utterly and irretrievably lost.
And one second in the future is just as far out of reach. Bursting with potential, but unknowable. We can no more skip ahead to future than we can reach back to the past.
But that one second in the middle? Everything, the entire universe, shares that same instant of time. Every person, every tree, every planet, every atom in all of existence is synced up in that moment.
And then, having caught my breath, I went back to my laps.
