Instant Coffee

I remember my gateway into liking coffee.  Pop and I would go to Coffee Hound in town and get a caramel latte, sit and talk about everything and nothing.  Those moments were vastly important for connection and as a byproduct I grew to understand that there was a difference between the coffee available during fellowship time at church and something more...artisanal.  Coffee was a lifeblood for a lot of folks I knew, but I hadn't understood that it could be good.  

Forever and a year ago, Andy bought me an espresso maker.  It might have been for our anniversary or my birthday--Andy does not tend to give things on the "right" day because he's so genuinely excited to give things--but in typical Andy-magic fashion, he found an incredible deal on Craig's List or some such.  At first, I remember thinking that this was just going to take up our limited counter space.  And yet, after we got past the learning curve, I loved having it in our home.  I made a lot of cappuccino, and we wore that machine into the ground, having tried a few outlets for repair and finding that fixing it was going to cost as much as a new one.  

We switched to using a French press after that, since Andy had been given a swanky R2D2 one for Christmas one year.  We ground beans each time, and eventually managed to break this one, too.  

THEN, I learned how to make drip coffee.  It was all completely backwards, but that was the way of it.  And, yes, we did run that machine into the ground as well.

...and literally as I write this, I'm drinking instant coffee from Aldi.  

That was the flavor I wanted today.  Our normal French press has cleanup involved:  pulling out the bag of beans and the grinder, grinding the beans, getting the kettle going, transferring the grounds to the French press, waiting, and disposing of the grounds after.  It is a richer cup and normally worth the steps, to be certain, but just not what I wanted in the moment while cranking through my class readings (and taking a break for writing).  Instant is fast--just microwaving some water and throw in a spoonful--and the only cleanup is putting the jar back in the cupboard afterwards.  Moreover, I wanted the comfort of something that tasted artificial.  

It's in a similar vein, I think, of craving a particular dessert, finding that delight and emotional connection toward a particular indulgence and flavor.  There is something reassuring in the occasional artificial.  Homemade macaroni and cheese is fantastic; yet, there are days where the blue box is exactly the flavor I'm looking for.  Maybe it harkens back to something about childhood, where it was such a treat to get a Happy Meal for supper.  We had homecooked meals made with love and fresh ingredients, still there is comfort in the immediacy and that particular flavor that is probably mostly preservatives.  Or salt.  Or both.  Or maybe it's an existential break, to not have to question whether something is "real" for a moment.  

Or maybe it's just coffee.

Managing Uncertainty

I was having a conversation with a friend the other day, discussing 2020 and all that implies.  Naturally, in this conversation living through a pandemic and naming the different changes and feelings associated with it took center stage.  Some parts of this conversation were very familiar, that I had had conversations with other persons that followed a similar theme.  

Here are the main points and commonalities I want to highlight:  everything was changing so quickly from day to day, which included new limitations, new data, new insights, and overall an unpredictability into their lives that they were not used to.  Things that they had taken for granted--such as being able to go to a coffee shop or pop over to a grocery store for something they needed for a recipe--now had extra steps or were impossible or a number of other complications.  

In short, their lives now had a significant level of uncertainty to them.  The security of their worldview, all of the pieces that they may have taken for granted were now put into question.  Right now, we can't plan a vacation because we don't know if travel will be an option.  Our favorite restaurant might not be open today or have limited hours.  For those with school-age children, it's in the air whether classes will happen in person or online or some mix of both.  Hell, my first day of classes for the new semester has already been canceled.  How can anyone plan for all these different possibilities?  We've lost the certainty and the security of tomorrow.

*Insert Rueful Laughter Here*

Folks, that's what it's like to live with a chronic illness.  I'm so sorry that you understand now, but I'm also glad for the forced empathy.  It's one of those places where I need empathy but it takes a lot of energy to explain.  That doom sense?  I'm used to it which means I'm oddly poised to be successful in navigating it in this context, too.  It doesn't make it easy, necessarily, just...familiar.  I don't trust tomorrow to be there.  I struggle planning out long-term in the future--I can dream, but I can't plan.  I'm accustomed to that loss, and as a result I function more flexibly with "normalcy" and "autonomy" upended.  I honor the feeling, but I don't tend to linger in it quite so long as I once did.  Even the feelings of isolation, that we cannot meet in person, that feeling was a huge part of my experience while I was convalescing.  

To be put in some examples:

• I have no idea what my body is going to do tomorrow.  I could be trying to go to the grocery story and blow an ostomy bag, need to turn around and change my clothes, and then feel miserable for the rest of the day, regardless of what other plans I might have had for the day.
• Similarly, when I wake up to a low spoon count, the day has to adapt to that, regardless of the goals I had for the day or the people that I let down by changing plans.  It's an emotional minefield.  Consider the emotions in telling family members that you cannot visit them and the complicated feelings that can invoke but take away the pandemic as a clear reason why, where well-intentioned folks ask "are you sure?" and dig that knife just a bit deeper. 
• I cannot plan long-term because I don't trust tomorrow to be there.  I could have another flare up next month that knocks me out of nursing school.  I'm stable in a lot of good ways so I don't find this likely but the world can change in a moment--unlikely is not the same as impossible.  
• Feeling isolated because I cannot meet people where they are, and I did not always have the chutzpah to ask them to meet me.  I had a few dedicated persons that reached out to me, but I lost contact with a lot of people that year.  At least with the pandemic there are enough other people feeling isolated that I would say folks are on-the-whole more responsive to online options and there are more opportunities, even as folks are still sorting out when/how to ask.  

So what does this mean and what wisdom do I have to pass down?  Great questions.  Glad I pretended you asked.  We can acknowledge that this is tough, and yet there are freeing elements of this mindset.  As a specific example, by not expecting tomorrow to be in a particular format, I have developed the flexibility to move more in the moment.  This builds a resilience over time.  I also manage some of that anxiety by making contingency plans--without crossing into obsessing about contingency plans, mind you--which allows me to be prepared for at least some eventualities.  Over time and some specific intentionality, I've built confidence in my own ability to adapt.  I'm pleased to have the skills in the same breath I'm furious that I have to depend on them for the rest of my life--chronic means chronic.  

I've heard a number of folks talking about "returning to normal," where they don't have to worry about getting sick or spreading illness to their loved ones--there are some people that this absolutely IS their normal.  The weight of that is difficult to carry.  And if you feel an unmet need of empathy, that's par for the course, too.  We can get better at handling the baggage as time goes or we can make the stubborn single-trip-in-with-the-groceries-even-if-it-kills-us kind of white-knuckled striving through this event.  

What skills and what empathy we choose to take out of it, that's purely up to us.  And it may not start as something productive, maybe taking years to turn into a good something.  It's okay to feel bad and upset with the circumstances.  It's possible to accept that you feel upset/frustrated/displaced/uncertain AND accept those circumstances at the same time.  Both can exist in the same space, and those emotions need to be honored.  In these ways--what we take and how we grow and whom we've lost--it's never over for any of us.

What is Rest?

What is rest?  

I don't know.

Roll credits!  That was the shortest blog post ever.

-------

...Okay, so that is still an accurate summary, but I do have a talent for talking about nothing for a while, when I choose to do so.

I'm nearly to the end of my break, with classes starting up again in another week.  A month gone already.  I entered into it with both relief and trepidation.  Relief because nursing school and all else has been thrilling but also exhausting, particularly with a pandemic thrown in; there was a bit of manic laughter after submitting my last final.  Trepidation because historically having time off is brilliant for the first two days, and then after that I begin to feel uncomfortable, where being idle for too long reminds me too much of time spent convalescing post health debacles.  That does not bode well for my mental state in those moments, where trying to find rest is oddly counterproductive.  

So what to do about that?  Mostly, I have been intentionally observant in this time.  From previous experience, I find that scheduling a few pieces in gives enough structure to meet the threshold of not too idle, so I sprinkled in a something at least every three days, so there was at least a something.  These included two online Bob Ross Paint-a-Long parties, D&D, a handful of catch-up calls, a few household projects, writing time slated around Luna's schedule, Discord-enabled Civilization games, Skype Sequence games with my parents, joined Zumba Zooms, and fit in a few other things here and there.    

And then there was also binge-watching some TV, a couple of carefully chosen video games, browsing for new memes, and longish walks with Luna sprinkled in the gaps.  The greatest surprise was reading seven books and finding the sheer joy of reading for fun again.  Reading without feeling guilty about not spending my time on my studies or something else, that's a feeling I had definitely forgotten.  

I don't think I can put a fence around what "rest" looks like--it's a feeling as much as it is an action.  I can only attempt to describe the outward appearance of the right set of circumstances for my own experience of these particular feelings.  My rest looks like being the appropriate amount of busy, but the kinds of busy feel vastly different.  More importantly, I have the ability to set my own schedule--that's what seems to be the true marker of what is a quiet day verses a relaxing day.  Watching a movie and reading a book and going for a walk are common themes, though sometimes an intense workout, being in a group of friends (virtually or otherwise as the world allows), or meeting new people are a much stronger effect.  For me, the same activity on a different day is not as restful as it would be on another, which seems...odd.

However, I've also been trying to quantify how much of the day on my own schedule "counts" toward rest.  Sometimes, I think that it's more the absence of a major stressor.  But even with that in my case absence of multiple major stressors with the presences of some minor good ones seems to be the sweet spot.  

So long story short, I feel that what counts as rest might have trends for certain folks, but how much energy is regained or how much time is needed or what activity is best seems to all be a moving target.  And that's simply not how I've thought of rest before.  There are patterns of certain activities working for me better than others, and there are trends about timing.  Yet, I feel that relaxing requires either a specific kind of openness or a specific kind of self-awareness OR sufficient practice to have figured out patterns anyway.  

I have some pieces honed nicely, but I daresay there's always room for improvement. 

Meanderings condensed into a convenient list:

• What you need for relaxation can be a moving target, where certain things can work better on certain days with certain situations.
• It takes a level of practice/self-awareness to get good at relaxing.
• It's okay to give yourself the freedom to explore these things.

Mandatory End of Year Reflection, 2021

 It's been another ridiculous year in the Little Peterson household.  Hell, it's been a strange year for the planet in a lot of ways.  Deploy the bulleted list!

• As a manager at Skyward, one of my major goals was to bring a focus to the emotional needs of the group (e.g. "what do you need to feel ready for X requirement?").  This seemed especially important when we all moved to work from home as the pandemic launched off in the US.  Andy and I were part of the group that elected to work from home prior to the state requirements moving that direction, in part to set an example for our respective groups.  Advocating for my people was the best privilege I had in my time there.
• Andy's position expanded to include direction of teammates in addition to the product, leading to some great growth in management capabilities. 
• In April, I informed my manager that I was leaving the company to pursue nursing.  As vastly difficult as it was to disappoint my team, my peers, and others, I knew that this was the right place for me to be.  I had been preparing for it for some time, but, still, it was difficult to give myself permission to make the leap.
• May was hella weird, trying to put everything together for nursing school and sort out the remaining requirements prior to starting.  Clinicals would not be held in their original location, as our designated places were sorting out their relevant Covid policies, not yet ready to take students in the mix of all else in those moments.  Still, all told, I am now halfway through my nursing program, due to be complete next August.
• Made a friend, lost a friend, made some better friends, found places of common ground, kept my head above water, fell off the face of the earth, came back to say hello in different places, and paid enough attention to politics to get the overview but not to be fully depressed.
• We started our bathroom project back in August--it is still not complete, the ostomy toilet being our most difficult element.  As it stands currently, there is enough pressure to flush but not enough force in the flush to pull everything out of the bowl.  Once we sort out these pieces, I feel that the rest will line up in short order.  We're ready to have all of our spaces back and take it off of the to-do list once and for all.  The closet part of the project is lovely and complete, thankfully creating a useful and practical space for our needs.  In the meanwhile, understanding more about plumbing theory has been fascinating.
• Mike is continuing to work from Starbucks and spend time researching various elements for some big ideas he's preparing.  Selfishly, I have enjoyed learning about Indian, Chinese, and Japanese literature troupes by proxy.  
• We've been working on bettering a space for Andy to work on his project car--the area under our porch is mostly dug out.  
• Oh, yeah, we got a dog!  Luna came in early November, and we're finding a groove with her.  She's very smart when she wants to be--more often she's bored doing a trick rather than not understanding, it seems.  She got a small salivary gland infection right around Christmas, so we're also learning the joys of hiding pills in cheese.
• Luna's current list of nicknames include the following:
• LuLu
• "My little gorgonzola"
• Sweetheart
• Duck
• "Our little revolutionary"
• Baby, as in "you're just a big baby" when she flops over
• Ferocious hunter
• Dingus
• Fuzzbutt
• Incomplete list of songs her name has been incorporated into and/or rewritten around:
• Cancan, "Spectacular Spectacular" kind of style
• Waterloo (Luna-loo)
• Copacabana
• Beauty School Dropout
• Noodle Dance
• Poker Face
• Hooked on a Feeling (Luna-chaka Luna Luna Luna-chaka)

Looking back on last year's post about this time, there are some pieces that felt more prophetic than others, certainly.  2020 I had labeled "The Year of the Shove," the previous being "The Year of the Precipice."  There was a huge push and acceleration into a new future, on many levels.  Yes, I knew writing last year that I had accepted a spot in the Mennonite College of Nursing Accelerated path--January and February were seeing toward the final prerequisite and emotionally preparing as much as possible for leaving Skyward and my team.  I had positioned myself to take the leap, checked and rechecked the rigging, and am still very caught in the roar of the wind at my ears, sometimes finding the vibrations and fluttering fabric its own distraction.  In short, a lot of carefully planned and executed growth.  

I still feel the cliff, the wind, the uncertainty.  And yet, by the end of it, I'm confident that I will find a strong glide path into the next thing, find some rocky soil under my feet once more.  

Entering 2021, I have a few expectations.  Some important goals, but few expectations.  

I don't like long-term planning.  I don't trust the same world, same circumstances to be there for me, and thus find it difficult to plan well for the range of unforeseen circumstances into those master plans.  As such, when I do make plans, there are benchmarks and guideposts but not defined paths.  In another couple months, I'll be working on putting in applications to get a job immediately after graduation of my program, transitioning into some serious self-actualization pieces at the end of the summer.  The transition will be simultaneously fast and slow in those places.  The imposter syndrome elements will be loud.  There will be additional life curveballs and unexpected changes and further places where worldwide impacts send a shockwave through our home.  And the world will keep on turning despite us.  Still, I expect to have a very different ground underneath my feet than I did in starting the year--can't say much yet to said ground's condition or position, but on the ground.  

I wish you similar confidence.  

Three Birth Stories

Last term, I had my Maternal/Infant Nursing class, which had clinical requirements.  I was very anxious to go into this particular class, given the whole societal pressure to procreate thing--honestly, I wasn't sure how much the course was going to be reinforcing a value system that doesn't apply to me and that has actively hurt me on a number of occasions.  

So, yes, I wasn't sure how this was actually going to go.  The professor, though, was unabashedly passionate about what she does and that was certainly catching.  The material was vast, and I was greatly excited to learn something new, particularly comparing it to what colloquial wisdom was already out there with what was backed by data.  

I think it's fair to say that the bulk of the class wanted to see a birth--even members of the group that already had children were sometimes still interested in a different perspective.  I was hoping to see one, but simultaneously I didn't want to take it away from anyone else.  

It so happened that I saw three.  

Birth A:  a C-section for someone that had had one previously.  The mood with the patient was calm acceptance, the group understanding that there would be a quiet anxiousness and then everything would happen at once.  I filled the time while we waited for the patient by asking many, many questions.  We moved into the procedure room, the patient walking up to the table and, from epidural to birth, a whirlwind of thirty minutes.  There was a required sterility in procedure which lent itself to an interesting sterility of emotion, in some ways.  Gloves, gown, more gloves, untouchable tables and untouchable pieces, precise body movements to prevent accidental infringement of sterile places.  The father was present but quietly off to the side until they were given a cue that they could interact, visible to their spouse and a drape between him and the surgical elements.  What was going to happen was understood but still astounding in certain ways.  The care team was divided between mother and child, persons designated toward both and hands ready.  I was relegated to the latter, helping to wipe down and measure the squalling new life at our heated bassinette.  We had our tools and area ready to receive, watching and waiting for our time to act.  Wiping clean new limbs, passing the child to their family, offering to take a picture of the three of them together--so much anticipation for a thirty minute act resulting in a complete and total life-change.  The room was cold and active.

Birth B:  the first child.  There were a number of unknowns in the situation, firstly the general anticipation of all the new firsts--first pregnancy, first child, and all the uncertainty that implies--as well as some significant complication risks that required additional monitoring.  The anxiety, therefore, was high, but it was more excitement than it was worry.  The spouse stood behind our mother, feeling rather useless.  Myself and a peer held her legs up while we cheered and coached her on, counting her push times during her contractions--when the nurse I was following moved to a different step, I took over counting and prompting in her stead.  The atmosphere alternated between relaxed chatting about how they organized the nursery and what meal the mother was most looking forward to having over to strictly business when it was time to push and cheer.  The excitement and wonder in those new parents, particularly with the bond we had created over those hours of pushing, that was a special moment to be a part of.  The room was warm and wondrous.

Birth C:  the second child.  The family already had had a vaginal birth before--they knew what they were doing, what to expect, and moved with that kind of confidence.  Starting to push from birth was about half an hour later.  There was not as much chatter between contractions--all business.  This is not to say that there wasn't joy, but it was comparatively quieter in a few ways.  There was less connection with the family, but they were connected in themselves, focused on their own experience.  We checked in with them and talked to them, but otherwise allowed them to connect with each other and got out of the way.  The room was businesslike.  

Each event was special--from the cold sterility of surgery to the first child in a family to the child in a family that already knew the ropes.  Each event felt vastly different from the others.  No one birth event was "better" than the others, merely a reflection on their particular family and the needs of the group there.  I'm grateful to have been a part of them, and especially to have had such a variety of experiences.  Seeing one birth was exciting, but to be able to stretch the basis for comparison by such stark differences, I saw greater beauty still.  Different patients, different needs, but all needing their own personal touch.  The true delight in serving is only possible when I tune in to these different needs, when I address what is important to the patient rather than what my preferences might be.

Impact and Intent

I've alluded to this in other places, but I think this is a topic that deserves its own attention.  

Let's set a scene:  

You're with a friend.  The friend says something that you find offensive, where they made a flippant comment about you that cuts right into one of those particularly tender places.  It could have been clumsy phrasing; it could have been a joke that wasn't funny, reminding you of something that you're not ready to laugh about; regardless, there is an immediate pang of hurt and a small sting of betrayal.  

Maybe the friend notices; maybe they don't.  In any case, you point out in your own vernacular "hey, not cool."  

The friend shrugs it off or maybe doubles down (e.g. "what?  It's true/that's what happened."

You insist--it might not have seemed like much, but you're feeling very hurt by the comment and now with a layer of budding frustration from their response.  

Then, the friend says something along these lines:  "Well, I didn't mean it that way."  They continue on to other parts of the conversation.

How do you feel in that moment?  Do you feel that your friend honored your feelings?  Do you feel that they apologized?  They didn't.  However, I have seen many people as the friend in this situation act as though that it counts as an apology, eager to move on.  

"Well, I didn't mean it that way," or "That's not what I meant," and variants thereof are attempts to clarify the intent of the speaker.  The undercurrent of what that speaker is saying in that moment is "you shouldn't feel that way because this was my intent," or "you're overreacting because the only way to understand the situation is the way I intended it."  It is a form of gaslighting, trying to control what someone feels about a situation--if the persons says it was hurtful, explaining why they shouldn't feel the way they are feeling certainly doesn't make that hurt go away.  It might make the hypothetical friend feel better, but it A) doesn't acknowledge your feelings, B) doesn't acknowledge their responsibility for the impact of their statement, and C) ultimately damages your relationship.  

Does the intent matter?  To a point.  Sometimes understanding where someone was coming from when they said or did something can clear up misunderstandings or otherwise grant the offending person some grace.  Sometimes.  As someone who has put their foot in their mouth more than once, I definitely have the impulse to explain.  However, that still doesn't absolve me of the consequences of what I have said.  I need to apologize first, then I can explain my thought process and intent ONLY when that person is ready to be receptive to it.  The hurt has to be acknowledged first.  The impact has to be acknowledged first.  If the house is currently on fire, I care about the reasons why AFTER we've put out the fire--same logic applies, where the pain is triaged first and the reasons can be dealt with after.  If I focus on my need to explain over acknowledging someone's expressed feelings, the hurt often doesn't get acknowledged enough or at all, which means that the relationship remains unrepaired.  

Does the impact matter?  Always.  Careless words still hurt, even if the person did not mean it that way.  Good intentions do not absolve someone of their responsibility for the results of their action or words.  Full stop.  Stepping on someone's foot and saying "Oh, I didn't mean to" doesn't take away the bruise--strictly speaking, an apology doesn't either but at least they acknowledge that person's part of the incident, acknowledge the pain the other person is feeling.  I can think of countless examples of legislation, personal conversation, and all else where folks have praised their own good intentions and fully ignored the negative impact, refused to take culpability where the results did not line up.  

Again, I know that it feels bad to be held accountable for your actions and it feels worse to have that pain as a result of a misunderstanding.  I'm working on taking the "but" out of "I'm sorry, but..."  We cannot--nor should we try to--determine what someone is allowed to feel about a situation, just as we are allowed to feel what we need to feel.  That means biting back a knee-jerk response to interrupt, defend, or explain away when someone is expressing their feelings.  Triaging someone's pain over your own frustration is tough.  Confronting people that have dismissed your feelings is tough.  Carrying the weight of unrepaired relationships is a heavier burden, in my eyes, which means having those hard conversations, accepting correction when warranted, and apologizing well.  

Peterson Family Update #7490-3

Taking a deep breath--had a break for Thanksgiving from classes last week, then one more week of classes this week, and then finals.  Mostly, I've so far taken a moment or two to define what some of my goals are going to be for the longer break this week and otherwise tried to wrap my head around the idea that I don't have to be cramming my readings into every gap that I had been.  

So I'm taking a specific moment to pause, assess, and sort out what the hell just happened these last few months.

Deploy the bulleted list!

• Clinicals are my favorite thing about nursing school.  Finding that I can apply some of the concepts that I'm learning and otherwise get a general feeling for what the job is actually like, well, it's been quite validating.  I've been wondering how much experience in clinicals I needed before I could start talking about the general "oh, once I had a patient that did X" kinds of stories, when there's enough distance and vague-ary to know that I am not going to breech their privacy in any way but still allow for my feelings and interpretations about events to be expressed.  For example, I have now witnessed three births, and I have a lot of thoughts on how they were different from one another, even the general feeling in the room.  I want to share my experience, and I have a lot of thoughts there to process.  More on that later.
• We're continuing to adjust to Luna, and there are places where I find myself looking forward to seeing her--this is good progress in my eyes.  It's still about finding a rhythm, and different interventions and ideas simply take time to test properly.  As a household, we're testing some different boundaries, trying to see what makes sense for all of our needs and meet the places where our communication needs refinement.  She's getting used to us, too, acting much less skittish around the house and greeting us with a dopey grin and ear perks rather than barks.  We have been holding "Potty Parties," where every time we have a successful communication between us and her AND subsequent successful excursion to the yard there are immediate treats and showering of praise and attention.  So the way it works, someone takes Luna out and when she comes back in there's either a call throughout the house or a text of "Potty Party!" and whomsoever is available joins in the kitchen to love on her, rile her up, and whatever else.  She definitely notices the difference when she comes inside without a successful excursion, where we're all comparatively cold in reception--not cruel or scolding, just not enthusiastic.  It's been a brilliant part of our household culture and a such a bright spot to add the day.  

  

• I'm starting to get to know a few of my peers in the program better now, now that we've gotten some of the initial groundwork done in meeting people that honesty and personality can eek out from underneath more filters.  Plus, there's something special about those relationships that form around mutual suffering, like the true bond of a group of persons hating the same coworker.  
• We've stayed--so far--pretty healthy in this home.  There have been a couple of places where we have been exposed to someone who was exposed, but on the whole are keeping a good "alert but not anxious" bent.  I have few places where I will go off on someone--threatening my bodily autonomy by exposing me to something against my choice or wishes, that's a hell of a way to go about it.  
• Our bathroom project has had a handful of setbacks (as home improvement does), but we're still moving forward and getting to a point now where we can see the end.  In the picture, the ostomy toilet is placed (right side middle).  I'm very much looking forward to that piece, to have a space for me.  It was far and away the biggest hurdle of the project.  We've started moving things into the newly created closet space, too.  As far as other projects, we're working on a better carport situation for Andy's project car, which has required a fair bit of digging clearing out space under our deck.  

• I've been compiling different ideas of things I want to do over break.  Some are house projects, some are personal projects, and some are an interesting kind of in between.  At least part of that is going to be working toward a bit of a blog post stockpile, so we don't have any more gaps this next term.  Otherwise, I'm aiming to draw another family portrait and brush up on some sign language.  Having no structure for a couple of days is fine, but I feel very anxious with no structure for a longer period--it's too reminiscent of times where I was convalescing, literal months of nothing because I didn't have the energy or the ability.  

I've never really tried to draw a dog before.
Getting some practice in before attempting a family portrait.

And that's the short version of things.  Knuckling down for a little bit longer for the term before I can allow myself to relax.  Hope everyone had a safe and brilliant Thanksgiving.