Just one more Joy of Aging by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor Aging #Joy

 Lately, I've had no incidents when people questioned my age and my ability to be independent. Then my granddaughter reminded me of an incident from a few months ago when I left the hospital and went to a rehab center for a few days.

She went to the nurse's desk to ask a question and suddenly found herself being asked questions about her grandmother. She told them to go ask Gran. The nurse smiled. "You're ehre so you can answer. We wouldn't want to confuse your grandmother."

My granddaughter answered as best as she could since there are things she doesn't know. The nurse assurred ehr she would come and find the answers from me if they were needed. She never came and she never asked me any questions.

So once again, there are unanswered questions. The only good thing was that I was able toleave rehab almost a week before they predicted I should stay.

What these Joy of Aging posts have shown me is what I'll write about next. Actually, I have four projects waiting. One is to finish Keltoi,the last installment of the Moon Rising series. I may have to publish it on my own but that's all right.

There is a new, I'm not sure if it's a series since there are only two mysteries that have appeared in my thoughts. The heroine is Valentina Hartly and she thinks with her name she should write a romance. She attends a session put on by published authors and as she's leaving, she stumbles over a body. She learns this is the Horror Writer who had been coming to be one of the speakers. A second idea for this heroine involves stolen snuff boxes.

The third idea involves a nurse practitioner who specializes in the aging population. She has joined the practice of two young, handsome doctors. Suddenly, the elderly start dying and she begins to suspect one or both of her partners. She lives with three friends, who are also nurses with different specialties.

The fourth thing on my plate is something I found in my files. The outline for a Regency novel. "Silks is the second book in the series that began with Gemstones. Who knows why I was diverted from writing this back then. Most likely, I had a dozen other books wanting to  be told.

My Places

   https://twitter.com/JanetL717

 https://www.facebook.com/janet.l.walters.3?v=wall&story_f

bid=113639528680724

 http://bookswelove.net/

 http://wwweclecticwriter.blogspot.com

https://www.pinterest.com/shadyl717/

 

Buy Mark

https://bookswelove.net/walters-janet-lane/

The Joy of Aging - Incident 2 by Janet Lane Walters #Bwl Author #MFRWAuthor #Aging #banded

 Another incident in the Joy of Aging. After I left the hospital, I went to a rehab center. Once again I noticed the way age was seen. My granddaughter went to ask the nurse at the desk a question and then found herself being asked many questions about me. She kept saying her grandmother would know the answers better to no avail. The questions kept coming.

A short time later, the admitting nurse arrived and put a band on my wrist. A red band. Being curious, I asked why? She said "This is because you are in danger of falling."

I frowned. "I've never fallen."

She said "You're eighty seven and in the age range of people who are in danger of falling."

My frown grew deeper. "I've never fallen in the past twenty-five eyars. Maybe longer but it's not something I think about."

She just shook her head.

I stood up and started walking.

"Where are you going?"

"Outside. It's a lovely evening."

"You must sit in the whelchair."

Not only did I have to sit, I had to wear a seatbelt while in the chair. "WHY?"

"You are of the age group where falling is possible. You must be protected."

I managed to tolerate this for eight days. I had been scheduled to stay there for two weeks. I proved to the physical therapists that I could walk up and down stairs and walk with a walker so they discharged me early.

I am now home with my computer, the stiars to the second floor and all the other things I enjoyed. Every day, I wait for the time I fall. so far I'm proving they're wrong. At least my family and friends trust me.

Aging Days and Lost in Thought by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #Mfrw Author Thought #Lost Aging

 

I am usually upto date on when I post my blogs. Having a broken foot and moving slowly makes one feel lost. Thank heavens the huge boot is gone and I am able to move around. I'm busily working on my next book and it's moving slower than I'd hoped. That has been on my mind for weeks. Moving around using a walker isn't my idea of fun. Nor the huge shoe thing used instead of a shoe didn't help. But I'm finally back znd promise next month I'll be on time.

The cover shwon is of a book that's free almost everywhere except one place as far as I know. Temple of Fyre is a sensous fantasy that was fun to write, especially thinking of the fyrestones of many colors that had magical uses. The four books in the series were great to write. Dragons of Fyre is probably my favorite but than I have a great fixation with dragons having many kind from a small jade dragon to what is a light that's about fifteen inches wide and two feet long. This was once a decoration in a restaurant in town. Out of business now but my granddaughter bought the light as a birthday present. She didn't buy the four foot lego dragon, I'm glad.

Bringing in the May--in PA

A Love Story for Spring

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/mozarts-wife/id442899071?mt=11

https://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/ebook/my-mozart-2

******************************************************************

May Day is on her way—in fact, as this post goes live, I’ll be in the hills of PA at camp bringing in the day with fellow congregants.

This is the first big get-together for those of us who are just visitors to the site, the some-time pilgrims. Of course, there are folks who live at the sanctuary year round, serving the organization with hard work, both sweat and detail and are sworn to poverty. They alone witness the white sleep, the deep mud, and the green rebirth, the dry leaves, the storms and rushing waters of the Everything She Touches She Changes Creek, the focal site of the camp.  The wards of the church live with the privileges and hardships of the place, which are entangled.

Some of the pilgrims to the place are old. Some are young. 

The kids are all right! They have cool shoes that light up and neat costumes to wear and know all about Harry the Young Wizard or Gimli the Dwarf as well as Spiderman and Black Panther and Ponies.  Sometimes they have two mommies or two daddies or just a single weary parent, trying to keep up with them. The small ones will cry, grumble and yell inside the bunk house after the old and decrepit are already in bed, wrapped in sleeping bags on futons and concentrating on their muscle aches, or curled up tight hoping to warm their feet. Eventually, all the fresh air and camp excitement, the chill of the night and exhaustion from running through the long grass (kites, sparklers, noisy drones) overcomes them, and the small “replacements” will also pass into unconsciousness.

At night there will always be motion here and there, or a ritual which requires fires, flowers, smokes, and rum. Flames bloom and crackle at new-created campsites, headlamps jiggle through the dark, potty doors bang, bats twitter in the twilight. At night there is some wandering, romance for those so inclined, long philosophical discussions in a tent under party lights with cold cups of coffee or other, more Dionysian beverages at hand. 

You may take a long lonely walk through the hilltop labyrinth and then watch the sky. There are also 2 a.m. trips to the outhouse through the dew laden grass made by the elders. These latter are hoping not to trip and fall, but they are also known for pausing in order to gratefully survey the dark-dark night sky and rejoice at the sight of blazing stars that have been invisible in their light polluted home towns for decades. 

In the morning the women braid wreaths from tubs of donated flowers. Maidens and children will wear them too, as well as the May Queen. Already the ribbons and flowers have been plaited into the great wreath, the one which will be ceremonially raised to the top of the pole. A little sympathetic magic never hurt anyone, especially on behalf of our poor beleaguered planet. 

The dance, an ancient practice from another continent, will take place in the afternoon, when, usually, to our great delight, the chary spring sun comes through clouds and warms us. Shirts and shoes will come off in the humid meadow and the celebrants will enact the rite of pole and wreath, and the young men will struggle (laughter, jokes) with the rising. At last the dance of under-over-under-over will begin, braiding the bright ribbons.  Everyone in that circle will soon be sweating and breathless, dizzy from glancing up at the pole, at the swaying wreath and ribbons. 

Around us this year, the trees will be barely leafed, and the blue sky will come and go through low clouds.  Drumming will provoke showers. Elders will look on, visiting, and congratulating one another because they are still witnesses to life—Winter has “spared them over for another year.”  

~Juliet Waldron

Click the link below for:

All my novels; all formats

 "The Holy Land is Everywhere"--Black Elk

Fly Away Snow Goose Buy links

THE FATAL CARROT (Almost)

The best laid plans gang aft awry, or whatever the exact quote is. I had a plan for this October, because I’ve had borderline too many commitments to handle, among them, a plot this year in our town's community garden. I was lucky to get a space in this gold-plated community effort, for once my town decides to do something,  it is all-the-way luxury class. We have an electronic gate, a sturdy fence, and the township supplies aged compost and sturdy raised boxes. We’ve had a chilly autumn, so this senior waited for the stillest and warmest day to finish up. I’d watched Weather World faithfully--predictions from the Wise Men at the Penn State Department of Meteorology. An upcoming Monday and Tuesday would be the last hurrah of Indian Summer, warm and still. Perfect, I thought, as this was the drop dead-week for clearing up.

In the meantime, I was eating vegetables, both my own and those of generous garden plot neighbors. On the day of near-doom, I’d enjoyed a delicious lunch of green peppers stuffed with beans, of Brussels sprouts and bright orange winter squash. I'd finished the meal with a fresh apple—a crisp, yet sugary Empire--fresh from the tree.  The coup de grace to this high fiber orgy was an mid-afternoon snack consisting of a big, crunchy, raw-from-the-garden carrot.

(Oh, and there is a backstory. Significant portions of my gut are gone after a long illness followed by two Trekkian "cut and sew like garments" surgeries.) 

By 5 p.m., I knew I was in trouble. By midnight, the pains were child-birth-big. It was time to head to the ER for the ritual of vein piercing and hydration. Afterward, I was a sad-sack hunk of flesh, still breathing only because of attentive nursing and good old Ringer’s Lactase solution.   Needless to say, I was in hospital during those two perfectly warm days during which I’d planned to make my final harvest, haul dirt, and "put the ground to bed."

Still standing were two four-foot foot plus stalks of Brussels sprout and a bed of kale and one of beets. Only the beets, after my release from the hospital, were still on the menu—at least for the next few months, they said. After that, caution was advised regarding how much fiber I attempt to put through my system.  My kind neighbor was happy to receive the sprouts. The dino leaves of Lacinto kale went into the freezer for some distant dish of Colcannon.

It was sobering to realize that ingesting a raw carrot could, in my case, become a flirtation with death. I'd confused a desire "to live normally,” with what was, in cold reality, possible. Simply "eating what I wanted" had wandered into the Kingdom of Denial. The episode was one of those humbling -- but inevitable -- reality checks that are part of aging.

~Day of the Dead Altar, Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian~

 Juliet Waldron

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS       Amazon Author Page

http://www.julietwaldron.com                            Website

https://www.facebook.com/jwhistfic                 Facebook Author Page