Refuge in Atherton -- Sunday morning

There is an abiding peacefulness in K's house here in Atherton, the sounds of birds outside reminding me I'm just steps away from the beauty of the natural world, the world that knows nothing of institutions and Alzheimers....   Looking out her expansive picture windows to her much loved garden gives me a huge sense of freedom.  Happiness at how remarkable everything in life is.   Each evening we sit outside and eat on the porch and listen for the doves, the quail, catching sight occasionally of a deer marching along the back fence.
I am being tended well by my dear friend and older daughter, and still rankle with my helplessness and pain.  But I do it quietly and subtly.  I wake up hurting, having contorted my body during sleep so as not to ever put weight on my damaged left arm, and my entire left side pulses with discomfort until I start to move about more.  Just pain, I tell myself, nothing more.... no stories .... just unpleasant sensation, impermanent.  I have found a good book to read - Cutting for Stone - and reading fortunately takes my mind on a journey away from my physical trials.   And yesterday I sat at K's piano and hammered out the Bach Goldberg variation I've spent so long in learning.  It was still in my fingers and memory!   I feel I need to keep using my hands and fingers so they don't atrophy.  Have bags of multicolored yarn around and am trying to locate a project that will be simple that I can sink into.   More exercise for the fingers.

Yesterday went out with Tara into Menlo Park to buy coffee, hair-clips, and a pile of groceries.  I marched through all of it, crutch in hand, and it didn't seem to be a bad thing for my body.  Was so satisfying to be out there in the world amongst functioning people.  Gives you the illusion you too are high functioning!    This of course is dispelled once you return home and remember you will need assistance in order to perform the simple task of showering.  The other day I let very hot water pour over me while trying unsuccessfully to adjust it and I didn't ask for help, even when it came to the awkward move from shower back into my black boot and the seat where I could dry off and dress myself.  It was laborious and I stubbornly wouldn't ask for assistance.  I was scolded for not asking for help, and all of that made me feel all the more despairing of helplessness.  Where is my kindness toward myself, I wonder?  Momentarily forgotten....

Right now the house is extra quiet.  Annie the dog and I are here in the family room, and the rest are out and about to church and golf.  I am going to use this time to look for equanimity and peace inside.  I am not my body, and so must hold the body's difficulties with compassion.  Maybe knitting myself some socks, or creating yet another beautiful scarf, stitching in love and not crankiness, would help me arrive there....