Blog - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Depth Perception

“Yell,” Dreamer says,
“when the trailer hitch is exactly
6 inches from the rear wall.”

Six inches?
That’s the length of my hand.

I plaster myself
into the far left corner
of the RV storage unit,
40 feet from the door.
Side margins equal
the space between my elbow
and first set of knuckles.
Which are white.

“What if you can’t hear me?” I holler.

But he’s already revving
our 32-foot Behemoth
up the incline, into the unit.

Half-way in, he brakes,
folds his side mirror flat.

“Driving blind,” he calls.

Success now rests
on his hearing plus
my depth perception.

And I’m nearsighted.

Somehow, by trusting each other, we pull it off.

Backing Up

Even as I daily resolve to move forward, embrace Change, backing up plays a role—especially as we try to downsize 45 years of shared life. Nearly 3 decades in our current house.

Have you read The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, by Margareta Magnusson, aged somewhere between 80 and 100?

Granny-mags, as we fondly call her, urges streamlining. We respect our heirs’ emotions and precious time by downsizing while we’re still able-bodied.

“Death cleaning
is a permanent form
of organization . . .”

Death can be a friendly presence, directing priorities.

Go back. Item by item.
Remember and reflect on
the small joys of a long life.

Tucked within books and yellowing files I find childhood stories our daughters wrote. I find grade school stories by yours truly, saved by my mother.

Depth perception turns fluid—Mom’s behind me now, somehow alive, guiding me as I dismantle home.

Just as Mom might say,
Granny-mags offers this:
“There is always a young person,
starting a new life.”

Growing a home.

So donate. Leave notes in those books you’re giving away.

Bless someone with that desk or table, and share vital or funny things learned or written or served there.

Downsizing

One snippet of history, passed on, provides the needed distance to let go. My vision widens and deepens, the way having two eyes makes depth perception possible.

What is depth perception?

The ability to judge the distance of objects
and the spatial relationship of objects
at different distances.

I’m freeing myself from tunnel vision:
the fear-driven caching of stuff—things
I’ll never miss. Junk.

By day, we downsize.
By night, online, room by room,
we study house after house.
We divvy the list, mostly still feel
we are driving blind
yet joyriding, this time
in a ’78 ragtop Super Beetle,
a fresh wind stirring memories,
thoughts, fears—
all this chaff blowing out the back . . .

Health update: Med-wise, Dreamer’s cardiologist says to “Stay the course.” He sees the hematologist today, October 4th.
We await the referral to a Muscular Dystrophy specialist.

Photo of eye by Daniil Kuželev on Unsplash

Saving Time: 2-minute Warning

by Laurie Klein 49 Chiming In

Saving Time? Yes, let’s.
But first …
my 50th High School Reunion:

Saving Time Cake — photo by Vicki Rieder

Only after flying to Wisconsin
did I realize
my former adolescent peers
were, and ever would be,
the keepers of my awkwardness.

They might bring up Rod McCool’s bash
where, handed my first beer
(no clue about pouring slowly or
tilting both can AND glass)
I baptized myself and
his absent parents’ white couch.

My boyfriend’s chagrin.
Rod McCool’s “!!&%#!!%#!”
Foam and lager and reek … O my!

At our most awkward,
we tell ourselves
we’ll never be cool enough.

Half a century later, I was
that clueless girl again, stalling,
afraid to brave the reunion.

During the first 2 minutes
no one mentioned my beer gaffe
(or numerous other follies).
Within those 2 minutes
and thereafter, I was hugged.
Kissed. Thoroughly welcomed.

I felt like Cinderella
twirling at The Ball.

O to be recognized,
touched at our wincing core,
that guarded, wistful corner
of the heart seemingly
doomed to always feel 16.

2 minutes
and my old outsider status
vaporized. I’d entered
a saving time. A healing time.

Which brings me here, now:

Scheduled to vanish,
2 minutes of daylight will
daily disappear,
until we turn back
our clocks, on November 4th,
and we are awarded 1 free hour
for a little more rest,
a little more dreaming …

Do you need rest?

Or a new dream?

We do.

My husband’s health is spiraling down.
Partly, it’s the genetic hand dealt him,
likely exacerbated
by the aftershocks and insults
anesthesia sometimes visits
upon the psyche and body.

We’ll see a UW Medical Center expert on Muscular Dystrophy
and 3 local specialists in other fields.

And we’ll move. Downsizing is here. For real.

One-story living,
one living story
unfolding …

I’ll share more in future posts.

Meanwhile, we’re turning back the marital clock,
recalling our madcap youth,
Dreamer and me in the Rambler,
cruising into a new town, setting up house.

We’re priming our souls for adventure,

**an invitation to the as-yet undreamed …**

ps At the reunion, my friend Wendie gave me this:

Daylight Saving Time: more here

Catch up on Dreamer’s story here

Stopwatch photo by Matt Lamers for Unsplash

Catch Your Breath Here

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

Breath.

Nose-to-nose,
each day,
in near silence,
this is how
a teen-aged boy
greets his alpaca:

They touch foreheads . . . and breathe,
swapping morning breath,
mutually saluting the life force.

A pulmonary transaction. A gift.
The trusting loan of what each needs most.

I think of Aslan breathing on poor Mr. Tumnus, frozen into a statue by the White Witch.

And the Hebrew word Ruach: “Wind. Breath. Spirit.”

Breath itself, in the beginning . . .

Dear Animating Mercy,

Thank you for breathing life into the first human being, part stardust, part water, part mystery.

Thank you for lungs—for every fetus, those dormant organs awakened at birth.

Thank you for dreaming up Breath Practice via placentas. Via the luminous, pulsing, umbilical cord. Each of us took practice breaths late in our third trimester. And did not drown. We inhaled rich amniotic fluid, safely expanded our untried lungs.

Thank you for surfactant, the ingenious lung coating that keeps air sacs open, inflated.

Thank you for oxygen and carbon dioxide, the great ongoing exchange among people, creatures, plants.

Thank you for sighs resetting our respiratory system, relieving stress, recalibrating emotions.

Thank you for moments that take our breath away.

Thank you for ancient truths, breathed out:

The Spirit of God has made me;
the breath of the Almighty gives me life (Job 33:4).

If it were [God’s] intention to withdrew his spirit and breath,
all would perish together and return to the dust (Job 34:14,15).

But it is the spirit in [us], the breath of the Almighty,
that gives . . . understanding (Job 32:8).

Tell me, what does holy mean now?

Aslan and Mr. Tumnus (watch the magic here).

You might also enjoy reading: Sigh, Sigh, Sigh (& Stay Alive)

Dandelion photo, by Johannes Plenio, Unsplash

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord (Psalm 150:6).

Greek Feet, Great Art & Pivotal Questions

by Laurie Klein 17 Chiming In

Trauma

Nested five-gallon buckets separate—mid-air—serially bashing my second toe.

Howls.
Language.
Mega blood blister.

Later, urgent Labrador claws, jigging at our front door,
meet my hapless, arthritic toe and,
accidentally, gouge open the blister.

Colors yet-to-be-named fresco my foot.
Weight bearing? Impossible.
26 foot bones, not one broken.

And now Toe #2 is 1/4 inch longer than before.

Solidarity

Nurse Tina, armed with gauze and surgical tape, groans aloud—more than once—and I love her for it.

She artfully buddy straps toes 2 and 3.

Greek Feet, buddy strapped (courtesy of a Seahawks fan)

My newly-bound twosome throbs.

I hobble.

I google.

Comparisons

Pop Quiz: How does my foot resemble

Venus de Milo?
da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man?
The Statue of Liberty?

Turns out I have Greek Feet, my second toes longer than my big toes. Greek Feet are the idealized foot shape found in ancient statuary, continuing up to our present-day Lady of Liberty. (Longer big toes? You have Egyptian Feet. Read more here.)

Reflexologists, or Foot Readers, claim overlong second toes indicate leadership qualities: resourcefulness, creativity, intelligence, confidence, enthusiasm, impulsiveness, and vulnerability to stress.

Snopes fodder? You decide.

“The second toe on your right foot shows what you want in life,” Foot Reader Jane Sheehan says. “If you are getting [what you want], the toe will be touching the floor.”

Flattened Toe #2 has never hugged more carpet. Am I getting what I want?

The Kicker

My sturdy middle toe has limits.

This reminds me of relationships. We bind ourselves to a loved one who’s hurting. We try to provide balance. Stability. We compensate, try to share the weight.

When do we loose the bonds, urge the injured part (or party) to step up again and fulfill its role?

Isn’t this what we ask ourselves?

Will Toe #2 return to its original shape? Will my shoes still fit? God knows.

Beyond Buddy Strapping

Meanwhile, I’m reading up on Venus de Milo:

Artistic feet.
Misplaced arms.
She is what she is. And known for it.

How do we play a supporting role—without playing God?

Reflexologist Jane Sheehan will give a reading if you send her a photo of your feet. Visit www.footreading.com

Granted vs Taken (for Granted): One Way Forward

by Laurie Klein 14 Chiming In

Uncle Dunkel skipped rocks:
he scalloped the sweltering air with a stone.

The man was mythic. He clambered up trees after cats,
strode along ridgepoles,
re-shingled roofs like an urban card shark armed with a royal flush.

Hands that were mostly bruises, blisters, and nicotine stains
hammered and drilled until,
cellar to roof, he built you a house.

Come Sundays, Uncle Dunkel folded his lanky frame,
like a daddy long legs, into our corner nook.
I poured pop from a teapot the size of my fist,
he cradled a tiny rose-sprigged cup.
And never spilled.

every good thing granted — Every good thing bestowed … (Ja 1:17)

How fully engaged with nature, tools, and progress he was—and one small niece.

Granted: Best Uncle Ever — Uncle Dunkel & me

Did I take Uncle Dunkel’s gentle presence for granted? Sometimes. He didn’t live much beyond my 12th birthday. Given the chance to relive a single day, what might he have longed to witness, one last time? [Read more…]