Mermaid Chronicles: Katy Lyons

     In the 1960s, a woman with graying brown hair wrapped in a bun, and horned-rim glasses came into my life.  Each week, Katy Lyons parked in our driveway, and carried a green and black exercise mat to our basement.  For an hour, she stretched my right leg.  Under the pot lights in the basement, she laid the groundwork for a stronger leg on which I could stand.  Katy flexed my right foot, and my right hand.

    With her firm hands, Katy gave me a gift.  A muscular yawn.  To my foot.  To my right hand.  A gift was given--a muscular yawn.  It felt so good.  The muscular yawn came slowly.  Yet, when it came,  oh, it feel so-o-o-o good.

     As any kid, I wanted little part of Mom's directive, "Do your exercises."  Memorable to me was the exercise to sit on the hearth in our living room, and propel myself up to a standing position using my right hand and arm.  Although the exercise felt good when I did it, I bored of it quickly.

     Where is my hearth? 

     This morning, this Mermaid entered the pool at the Y.  Buoyant bar bells, and hand paddles were beyond  temptations I could resist.  The only resistance I felt was from the water.  Amazing.  Absolutely amazing.  With the bar bells, I could push my right arm straight down in the water.  Feeling my right arm extended straight was amazing.  Absolutely amazing.

     Katy Lyons.

     I thought of Katy this morning.  What would she say?  How fun it would be to share it with Katy.  Yet, Katy died in the 1990s.  An occupational therapist I met with several years ago knew Katy.  The therapist and I spoke with warmth about a woman, who dedicated herself to children.  Katy dedicated her life to helping kids stand tall--to stand proud--to stand with appreciation.

     Thank you, Katy.

Mermaid Chronicles: Weight of the World

    The weight of the world.  Goals.  Cures.
     Taking on the weight of the world is tempting.  Being a civic-minded member of society.  Being a world citizen.  Being a productive employee.  Being someone with a good work ethic.  Each is a laudable pursuit.
     Yet...each of these pursuits in excess dilutes the pursuits--negates the end goal.
     This morning, this mermaid went for her morning swim.  An hour immersed in clear water.  Although I swim in one of four lap lanes, I do not count the laps I swim in numbers' measure.  I do not set out to do a prescribed number of specific types of strokes.
     I listen.  I listen to my body.  At a higher pitch than my ears can hear, lighter than my skin can feel, sweeter than any candy, and lighter--more ethereal--than any shadow to see.  I listen to my body.   I feel her need.  Deeper than the deepest pool of water.  I feel her need welling within me.
     As I put flippers on my feet, to strengthen them further, my feeling of exertion changed.  I did not feel the exertion I felt in my shoulders, as I had raised my arms straight up in the air from beneath the water.
     I seek no cures.  I do my best--not perfect, by any stretch--to live the life I am given each day.  I set SMART goals, as they were dubbed in the corporate world in which I worked for more than 24 years.
    I swim four mornings a week, one hour each morning.  I volunteer doing research at a museum six hours a week, three hours on two afternoons.  I work on my blog writing.  I work the daily New York Times crossword puzzle..  I do it in pen.  I don't finish it often.  But...I do it.  I enjoy it.  I attend to simple household tasks.  I use my time--my life's time--constructively.  Not for grandiose purposes.  But, for purposes that I feel I can give effective voice to bear.
     My goals are SMART.  Specific.  Measurable.  Actionable.  Realistic.  Time-specific.
     When I was introduced to the concept of SMART goals, they seemed artificial--contrived.  The SMART goals were not for me.  They were to satisfy someone else's goals.  I was not very effective in setting and achieving SMART goals.
     My corporate work life ended--abruptly.  Two years after that ending, I have set my SMART goals.  Now I am living those goals--My SMART goals.   With time, my goals may change.  I will listen to the world around me.  Yet, I will not allow my keen hearing be deafened by the white noise--the screaming voices ever present in our world
     When I am in the water, I float.  When I am in the water, I do not feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.  Being graced with that privilege is not lost on me.

A Mermaid's Tone

     Muscle tone.  Not of a body builder.  Muscle tone.  A Mermaid's Tone.
     I hope for it.  I will it to be.  I pray with fervor that it be--all mine.  Yet, hope, will, and prayer are not God's promise to me.  Yet, I must hope.  I must will it.  I must pray.
     Arms arise skyward.  Into the pool's water they plunge.  Alternating.  One, then the other, as oars in a river's current.  From my shoulders, this mermaid's oars are anchored.
     Arms outstretched.  Wrists pulled together.  With the force of a magnet, their cymbals clash.  With a strong will, her wrists resist the temptation of a lifelong embrace.  The force of her forearms cry out.
     "Strengthen me.  Use me.  Believe in me.  Do not waste my muscles.  Use me.  Do not will my muscles to be withering, dying willows.  Use me.  Teach me to reach outward--to branch out-- to blossom  in full glory."  
     The Mermaid's biceps believe.  Though not her eyes, the Mermaid's biceps believe in the vision--A Muscle's Tone.  With their tissues, the biceps connect the oars to the force of the forearms.
     The Mermaid's calves circle on the water's unicycle.  On her back, she floats.  The Mermaid's ankles pedal.  Her feet flutter.  The Mermaid's thighs push toward a toned spirit.  Not atrophy.  The Mermaid paddles toward a Muscle's Tone.
     I seek not the strength of the Bodybuilder.  I am the Mermaid.  I seek the strength of a Muscle's Tone.  No boorish bravado do I seek.  I seek a softer strength.  Not submissive.  Not boastful.
     I am a Mermaid.  I seek a Mermaid's Tone.

The Mermaid Chronicles: The Right Way

Upward this mermaid's arm rises,
Right wrist bent, fingers tight-fisted.
In the pool, this mermaid moves.
With bent right wrist, her left-bent elbow lowers,
They break the water's calm.
Through the waterway,
Her forearm rows forward.
Upward her right arm ascends airborne.
Rightly, she aims upward.
Straight to the sky she stretches.
Seeking no splashing,
She strives a straight, uplifted stroke.
Yet, with right wrist bent, and elbow left bent,
All she may do is sway.
Downward her left leaning elbow lowers,
Below the water's top, she skims.
She stirs, and showers surrounding swimmers.
Yet, no mind the gulped water--the blinding showers.
Her firming forearms, beefing biceps, and circling shoulders,
Will triumph.

This Mermaid

An hour's time, this mermaid swims,

No laps counted, 

Just an hour's time.

On her back she turns,

With eyes gaze upward to the white-lit beams.

Arms are raised--airborne--with a student's hands.

Shoulders rotate,

Biceps are built, not with bulk,
But with the sinews of this swimmer's strokes.

Forearms forge,

As oars they row,  

Feet flutter--ankles in unison cycle--

Through the pristine pool's waters.

From one end to the other,

This mermaid endeavors.

No laps counted,

Just one hour's time,

This mermaid swims.

Zoomer Chronicles: Ramps...Buttons...Doors...

     One of the most liberating aspects of Zoomer is her capacity to go from my condominium to the YMCA's pool.  Four days a week, I start my morning by riding with Zoomer to the pool.
     Four mornings a week, I honor my right ankle.  After long discussions, and many arguments, my osteoarthritis and my right ankle won out.  No longer did she have the strength to stand by me each day.  After the dust settled, it was clear.  I needed an electric wheelchair.  I needed regular exercise to loosen osteoarthritis' hold on me--her inflamed ego.
     I swim one day a week for each month that I spent working to secure Zoomer.  I swim one hour a day to be of one mind.  I will not be fierce, and argumentative, yet, neither will I roll over and play dead.
      With Zoomer, I traveled to the YMCA.   I gave myself a birthday present.  I am known by name.  Jen, Jeannie, and Matt.  On guard, Lucy, and Collin, among others.  A fellow swimmer greeted me, "Hi, Mermaid."
      Elevated walkways--skyways--enable Zoomer and me to travel to the YMCA whatever the outside weather may be--snow, ice, wind, windchill.  During St. Paul's precious springtime, and summer, Zoomer cries to be outside.  That seemed a reasonable request.
       Ramps are common companions to stairs.  Just as stairs lead to doors--to open doors--so too should we expect of ramps to be.   On one summertime St. Paul day, I succumb to Zoomer's cries.  I pressed the door opener button, and readied myself to guide Zoomer down the ramp.
       Well...I must digress.  Minnesota does not have four seasons--it has two.  Winter, and road construction.  Particularly, a multiyear project to construct a light-rail transit system that will pass through downtown St. Paul.
      Having detoured, let me return to our journey.  Zoomer's cry, "Outside...outside....let me out...let me out..."  So, I pressed the door opener button.  So far, so good.  I positioned myself to go through the door without injury--without a nick, or crash.  Feat accomplished.  It was downhill from there on out.  Or, so I thought.  A orange-and-white striped sign made clear that I had met my match.  We needed to backtrack.  Zoomer and I needed to find another pathway.  Logic told us to turn around to go back inside the building, and traverse the skyways.  But, that was not to be.  We found no automatic door opener button on the outside door leading into the building.  Who would lead someone, raise someone's expectations of entering the building without ascending insurmountable steps?  I have yet to meet the person.
      With my first option a failure, we turned around again.  The hours of swimming--the strengthening of my left upper arm--proved quite helpful.  I re-examined the orange-and-white striped sign.  Fortunately, yellow sandbags secured the sign from a winds' power.  So, I exercised my muscle to lift the sandbag, ever so slightly, such that I could bypass the sign.
      The hijacker and I are in negotiations as to how to assert my needs without losing my inner calm.  Zoomer is grateful for my arm's strength.  I am too.