Through The Senses - One More Thing

I originally intended to write about summer through the senses. June has been full of birdsong, green leaves, warm breezes, and the smell of rain on hot pavement. There has been plenty to notice. Yet when I sat down to think about this week, another theme kept pushing its way to the front.

My plan

One more thing.

It seemed to follow me through the entire second half of June.

The week began with a phone call from E, who had received a message from GD#2 about GD#3. The details were vague but alarming. She had been found in a room with three boys and was incoherent. Her mother wasn't taking her to the hospital.

My mind immediately went back to my daughter and the night I found her in a similar condition. Getting her to the hospital had been the first thing I did, so hearing that GD#3 wasn't being taken immediately upset me. I also assumed she had been roofied and taken advantage of, even though nothing E told me actually suggested that. As a survivor of sexual abuse, that is where my mind went.

With so little information, I sent BM#2 a message accusing her of being a bad mother because she wasn't doing what I believed she should. The truth was that most of what I was reacting to came from my own experiences, not the situation in front of me.

The real story was different. A combination of edibles and alcohol had simply been too much for a fourteen-year-old body to handle. She lost her senses and became incoherent. Once I learned what had actually happened, I immediately sent an apology.

After the immediate crisis had passed, I found myself sorting through my own reactions and realizing how easily past experiences can shape our view of the present. There was an apology to send, feelings to untangle, and the uncomfortable recognition that sometimes we see old wounds before we see current reality. Even while dealing with that, I found myself filling my collection envelope with bits and pieces from previous weeks after being convinced I had nothing worth saving.

Then came the fall.

What should have been an ordinary day involving Aquafit and a stop at the hot tub turned into a much bigger ordeal. At first I dismissed it. It was a fall, nothing more—or so I thought. I'd had several over the last few years, but this was the first time my daughter had witnessed one.

I tripped over a changing-room bench, struck my neck on something, and landed hard on my backside. The YMCA staff were notified and their first aid attendant insisted I go to the hospital. They offered to call an ambulance, but I refused. Ness and Dean were there and could drive me themselves.

My daughter then suggested I use a wheelchair. I vetoed that idea too.

I was hurt, but I didn't think I was hurt that badly.

Several hours of waiting, x-rays, and a new prescription proved that perhaps I wasn't the best judge of that.

I earned this treat

Afterward we stopped at the pharmacy. While waiting for the prescription to be filled, I mailed the Disability Tax Credit paperwork that had been sitting on my desk. As a thank-you for all their help, I treated the family to Crumbl cookies and somehow still found enough energy to work on July graphics.

It felt like an entire week's worth of activity compressed into a single day.

Yet that was only one day.

The next morning began with another loud argument outside my window. The same outsiders who seem determined to provide the soundtrack for my summer were at it again. Between bursts of shouting, I watched the black squirrel making his daily rounds. I could hear pigeons cooing, chickadees calling, and starlings chattering. Rain came down in sheets.

I, meanwhile, woke sore and stiff from the fall.

Blog work still needed doing. Pinterest pins still needed creating. There were lessons to learn in GIMP and projects that turned out to be far more complicated than they first appeared. What looked like a simple editing exercise became a reminder that the smallest details often require the most effort.

That was Tuesday.

By midweek I found myself confronting a different kind of exhaustion. Everyday Threads was beginning to feel like more than a Pinterest board. It was becoming a way of organizing memories, interests, stories, and experiences. I could feel the project growing beyond its original purpose.

For perhaps the first time, I recognized I had reached my limit and chose to stop rather than push through. A younger version of me might not have made the same choice.

my home @ the golden hour

 Then came what I privately think of as One More Thing Day.

The motivation I had been relying on simply vanished. My neck was swollen enough to require ice. My backside was still tender. I went to do laundry and the key to the front door snapped off in the lock. Thankfully my son was able to remove it, but I was suddenly locked out of both the building and the laundry room.

Then the ATM refused a cash deposit from Myles. When I tried again myself, it refused me too, forcing a trip to the teller. After that, I discovered my online payee list had completely vanished.

I'd already had to replace my bank card twice in one week because a questionable website had attempted to withdraw money from my account without permission. Somehow, replacing the card had wiped out the payee list I needed.

One trip to the bank became two.

During the second visit, the teller discovered a second card number attached to my account. It was inactive but still sitting there. After she restored my payee list, I asked her to remove it.

Laundry still waited.

GS#1's graduation was approaching.

Aquafit was on the schedule.

Every time I dealt with one problem, another appeared. Even my creative projects seemed determined to resist me.

None of the individual issues were particularly serious. Together, however, they became exhausting. Every problem required a little more attention, a little more energy, and a little more patience. By the end of the week I felt as though I had spent more time responding to life than actually living it.

What struck me most was how physical the experience felt. I could hear the constant noise behind the building that has become such a source of frustration. I could feel the soreness in my neck, hips, and back. Fatigue settled into my body and stayed there. Even my thoughts seemed to move more slowly than usual.

This was not simply a busy week.

It was a week I experienced through every part of myself.

And yet, life continued to offer reminders of why persistence matters.

Watching GS#1 reach high school graduation with autism led me to think about perseverance and the quiet determination it takes to keep moving forward. Not everyone reaches their goals in a straight line. Not everyone does it gracefully. Most of us stumble, become discouraged, get distracted, encounter obstacles, and have days when we would rather quit.

Then we get up and continue anyway.

As I looked back over the week through ChatGPT and my journal, I realized that the story was never really about the fall, the paperwork, the broken key, the bank problems, the noise, or any of the other interruptions.

The story was that progress was still happening underneath all of it.

Summer Threads continued to take shape. Everyday Threads continued to grow. Goals were reviewed. Projects moved forward. Important conversations happened. Family milestones were celebrated.

Still flowing, still going.

 
The week felt messy while I was living it. Looking back now, I can see a different picture.

Life kept adding one more thing.

And somehow, despite the fatigue, frustration, and unexpected detours, I kept adding one more step.