And That, My Friend, Is Type 1 Diabetes

I woke up around 2:30 this morning. I’m not sure why. I’m feeling kind of hungry. Why at this hour?

Then my t:slim started beeping.

Warning: 14 units left. 

Oh, good.

And while we’re at it, Dexcom expires in 19 hours.

And it’s time to change my infusion set. At 3:48 in the morning? I can hardly read the messages on t-slim. Where are my glasses?  

I’m still muddle-headed and bleary-eyed and trying to figure out what needs to be done now and what can wait until the morning.

I put a new Dexcom box by the coffee pot. That way I’ll see it when I get up, and remember to change it.

I’m changing the infusion set now. Can’t find a good spot on my stomach. Dang. This is a drag.

Got out a new cartridge, needle, and insulin vial and filled up the t-slim cartridge.

It’s now 4:30 Saturday morning. I have nothing planned for the day. Do I lie back down and listen to my audiobook until I fall asleep? Will I fall asleep? Not sure.

I’m really thirsty, although my number is headed down okay. What I really want is a fountain drink. Coke. Dr. Pepper. Root Beer. I don’t care which. Just something cold and wet and sugary. 

I don't have any soft drinks on hand because I can't be trusted not to drink them. 

I make coffee instead. Drink the coffee. Sit in my chair. I don’t even turn on TV. My mind is still asleep, even if the inside of me isn’t.

And that, my friend, is the beginning of another day with Type 1 Diabetes. 

I Started in Lapland and Ended Up in Ukraine

I was watching the Finnish television series Arctic Circle, dubbed into English. (The snowy landscape is incredible—says the Texan who has never seen truly deep snow.) The story takes place in Finnish Lapland, and at one point Germany enters the picture during World War II. 

My first thought was simple. Why would Germany care about one of Europe's coldest, most remote places? The answer surprised me.

Nickel.

Beneath the frozen ground near Petsamo lay some of Europe's richest nickel deposits. During World War II, nickel wasn't just another metal. It was essential for producing armor plate, aircraft engines, stainless steel, and countless other military supplies. Suddenly, Germany's presence in northern Finland made a lot more sense.

But did my curiosity stop there? No. I wasn't looking for a lesson in World War II. I only wanted to understand a side story in the television series. But when the Nickel source made sense, I started to wonder whether every age has had its own version of a resource so valuable that it quietly shaped history. 

The farther I looked, the more familiar the pattern became. One question led to another, and before I knew it I was reading about nickel mines, the Bronze Age, coal, lithium, and eventually Ukraine.

The Bronze Age wasn't possible without tin and copper. These metals were often found hundreds of miles apart—in places like Cornwall, Afghanistan, Cyprus, and the Iberian Peninsula. Entire trade networks developed simply to bring them together.

Then came the Industrial Revolution. Coal transformed everything. Factories, steam engines, railroads, and growing cities all depended on it. It wasn't an accident that Britain's great industrial centers grew where coal could be mined. The same was true in Germany's Ruhr Valley and in the coalfields of Appalachia in the United States.

Today's critical resources have different names.

• Lithium for batteries.
• Graphite for lithium-ion batteries.
• Rare earth elements for powerful magnets used in electronics, wind turbines, and defense.
• Cobalt for batteries and high-performance alloys.

Then there is poor, besieged Ukraine. It possesses remarkable deposits of many of these same resources, including lithium, titanium, graphite, manganese, iron ore, uranium, and potential rare earth elements.

Taken together, these minerals help power much of the modern world, from the phone in your pocket to electric cars, airplanes, wind turbines, medical equipment, and national defense systems.

I found it fascinating that one evening's curiosity had led me from a television drama set in Lapland to reading about the critical minerals that shape today's world.

This wasn't meant to be an expert's guide to critical minerals. It was a rabbit hole I wandered down. With Google and AI, it's easier than ever to satisfy a sudden burst of curiosity. The funny part is that I'll probably forget half of what I learned by tomorrow morning. But I won't forget the feeling of discovering it.

And did you notice? I have a new rabbit-hole mascot. Whenever you see this little illustration, you'll know I started with one question that led me on an interesting adventure down the Rabbit Hole. 

Has your path taken you down any Rabbit Holes lately? 

 

Did I do something wrong... or did something simply go wrong

 

This weekend I drove over a set of railroad tracks a little too fast and a hose came loose underneath my car and started dragging on the ground. The car was drivable, if only to the repair shop. Not a disaster. Just one of those annoying things that suddenly changes your plans. 

Then an email arrived. An old work friend was in town and wanted to get together. I was delighted. I also knew I couldn't do it.

When she kindly offered to come to my apartment instead, I surprised myself. I said no. Not because I didn't want to see her. I did. I wanted to laugh with someone who knew me while I was still in my working/mother mode, leaping tall buildings with a single bound. 

But I also knew I needed to be alone. Then I remembered something else. I had promised my neighbor I would take her to the grocery store. She is so good to me, sharing wonderful home-cooked meals, and I genuinely wanted to help her and do my share. Instead, I had to tell her my car wasn't safe to drive. 

Three disappointments. A broken car. A missed visit. An important promise postponed. I soon realized I felt trembly inside. As I sat with that feeling, I found myself asking, What exactly am I feeling?

At first I thought it was guilt. Was I letting everyone down? Should I have tried harder to make everything work? Then another possibility occurred to me.

Maybe this wasn't guilt at all. Maybe it was grief or sorrow. We usually think of grief as something reserved for funerals. But maybe some smaller griefs or sorrows can quietly happen. 

The grief of the afternoon you were looking forward to. The grief of not being able to help someone you care about. The grief of a day that simply didn't turn out the way you imagined when you woke up.

That led me to another question. Did I do something wrong... or did something simply go wrong? Those are not the same.

If I did something wrong, then I should take responsibility. If I was careless or dishonest or hurt someone unnecessarily, that's guilt. Guilt asks me to make things right. 

But if something simply went wrong. If my car broke. If my plans fell apart. If life handed me three disappointments before lunch, well then, perhaps what I'm feeling isn't guilt. Perhaps it's sorrow. Perhaps it's grief. That distinction brought me peace.

I realized I wasn't a bad friend because I couldn't meet my old coworker. I wasn't a bad neighbor because my car wasn't safe to drive. I was simply a woman having a difficult day.

Retirement has been teaching me something I never learned while I was working and being a single Mom. Not every problem has to be solved immediately. Not every disappointment is a personal failure.

My problems did not disappear but something inside me changed. The trembling quieted. Not because the problems had gone away, but because I had finally stopped carrying grief or sorrow as though it were guilt. Maybe that's a question worth keeping on the back burner for all of us.

The next time life disappoints you, ask yourself:

Did I do something wrong... or did something simply go wrong?

The World is Burning

 

The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 16 October 1834, 1835, Joseph Mallord William Turner, (British, 1775–1851) 

The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 16th October, 1834, Philadelphia

These photos were borrowed from ArtLust. Click on the Link for the full article, including a reference to the city of Collins, a First Peoples community. 

It just feels a little less painful to look at a fire 200 years old instead of today. 

More later .... 

The Rain Goddess

 After all the rain we've had lately, my patio plants were looking wonderful. The ferns were lush, the hanging baskets were happy, and I had almost forgotten where I kept the garden hose.

Then, like a TV program, "We return you to our regularly scheduled hot, dry Texas summer weather". Rain Goddess to the rescue. I pulled out the hose and went to work.

I have always given my ferns a good soak rather than a quick sprinkle. I have a nice-sized cooler that lives in my garden. I use it to soak plants and store my hose and tools. 

I just fill it with water and lower the entire pot into it for five or ten minutes. The soil drinks deeply, the roots get thoroughly moistened, and the ferns bubble their little hearts out. 

This week, when I finished watering the ferns, I noticed the tub was still nearly full. Rather than pour all that water away, I decided to experiment.

Into the tub went my three new hanging baskets—a Creeping Jenny, a Lantana, and a Sweet Potato Vine. (Thank you, Jamie!) They need fresh potting soil, but until I make a trip for a bag, a good soak every couple of days seems to be just what they need.

It reminded me that watering wisely isn't only about using less water. Sometimes it's simply about using the water you've already drawn a little more thoughtfully.

Living in Houston, we've been fortunate this summer. Other parts of the country have endured droughts, water restrictions, and gardens that simply couldn't be kept alive without difficult choices. Seeing those stories on the news makes me appreciate every rainy afternoon we've had. It also reminds me that water is something worth respecting, even when we aren't under restrictions ourselves.

Over the years, I've picked up a few habits that seem to help both my plants and my water bill.

Water deeply instead of lightly. A long, thorough watering encourages roots to grow deeper into the soil, making plants more resilient during hot weather. A quick daily sprinkle often wets only the surface.

Water early in the morning, or later in the evening when the sun isn't beating down. Less moisture evaporates, and more reaches the roots where it's actually needed.

If you use a watering can or a soaking tub, don't automatically dump the leftover water. If it's clean, use it on another pot, a thirsty shrub, or even a tree that's looking a little stressed.

Containers usually need more attention than plants growing in the ground. Their soil dries out much faster, especially hanging baskets that receive sun and breeze from every direction.

A layer of mulch around flower beds helps hold moisture in the soil and reduces how often you need to water.

And don't be afraid to simply look at your plants. They'll often tell you what they need. Dry soil, drooping leaves, or a lighter-than-usual pot are all better indicators than watering on a rigid schedule.

One of the pleasant surprises of retirement is having time to notice these little things. I don't rush outside with the hose because it's Tuesday. I wander onto the patio with my morning coffee, admire what's blooming, stick a finger into the soil, and decide what needs a drink.

Some mornings, the apartment's in-ground sprinkler system has provided a little sip or, if I'm lucky, Mother Nature has already given it a good soak overnight. 

Other mornings, the Rain Goddess reports for duty.

Fortunately, she's become a little wiser about conserving water than she used to be.

I Finally Got the Joke

There are so many commercials these days that star Sports Figures. Sometimes I recognize them, Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, and a handful of Basketball Players I love. Those guys I recognize and maybe even understand why they are in the commercial. 

But this one commercial I've seen several times. Two men were sitting at a bar talking about the World Cup. Then an older gentleman at the end of the bar spoke up with a line that was obviously supposed to mean something. It didn't. At least not to me.

I figured there had to be a backstory, so I asked ChatGPT who he was. Turns out it was Mike Eruzione. Still didn't help.

Then I learned he was the captain of the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team—the "Miracle on Ice" team. His line in the commercial was a wink to one of the most famous moments in sports history.

Suddenly... I got the commercial. I knew it was a soccer commercial. I didn't realize the punchline belonged to hockey.

Now, I realize many of my Canadian friends and those of you from hockey country are probably smiling right now. You're thinking, "Barbara...everybody knows that." Apparently not everybody.

But that's one of the things I enjoy about getting older. I no longer mind admitting what I don't know. And even better, I have the time and the inclination to look it up. Because ten minutes later, I usually know a little more than I did before.

 I started out watching a soccer commercial. I ended up reading about Olympic hockey and learned an interesting story. 

It may have taken 10 minutes to read about it, but it has given me an afternoon of enjoyment. Now if somebody asks how my day was, they are going to learn more than they asked for about commercials, Olympic hockey and how much you can discover without ever leaving your arm chair.  

I've always been curious. I owned multiple dictionaries, World Books, etc. That was pre-internet, of course. Now I can open a tab, ask ChatGPT about something and a whole world I knew nothing about opens to me. 

This, for me, has been the answer to what am I supposed to do in my retirement. Because I am old and broke and limping along, I am hindered in fulfilling many of my desires but give me an internet connection and I'm Alice down the Rabbit Hole. 

One Cup of Coffee at a Time

Some days aren't bad enough to call disasters. They're just... aggravating. 

You're standing in the grocery line when something crazy happens twenty people ahead of you. You discover you need a new tire immediately, and the tire shop has a waiting room full of customers. You're driving to a doctor's appointment when traffic on the freeway comes to a complete standstill. It could even be a little conversation between friends, family or even customer service. 

None of these things are life-changing. But they all have the same effect. They drift over your mood like a dark rain cloud. 

By the time you get home, the aggravation isn't even about the grocery line or the flat tire, the traffic, or the conversation anymore. Your mood has simply settled into that place you don't enjoy. You pump up your tail feathers and march around the room, probably muttering to yourself about the perfect fix or last word. 

When I was younger, life usually reset itself. Work demanded my attention. Children needed something. There was no time to sit and dwell on an aggravation.

Retirement is different. Sometimes nothing arrives to push the cloud away. I've begun to notice that those are the days I don't need to solve the problem. I need to find my way back to myself. (Say this sentence again; it is important.)  

I woke up this morning with that still-gnawing aggravation on my mind. I knew I needed a reset. There was no solution to the long lines or traffic yesterday. I could sit and stew, or I could put on my Big Girl Panties and reset my frame of mind. 

Now I have a girlfriend whose resets begin with a vacuum cleaner. She pushes and jerks that vacuum back and forth until the carpet is threadbare and she has beaten her problem to death. 

For me, that reset often begins with a cup of coffee. Not because coffee solves anything. It doesn't. But making a fresh cup is familiar. It slows me down. It reminds me that my little corner of the world is still here waiting for me. 

Then I make the bed. I open the curtains. I warm up lunch. Feed Bonnie Rae and maybe find a movie or pick up the book I'm reading.

None of those things erases the aggravation. What they do is quietly rebuild the atmosphere where I recognize myself again. I've started thinking of these as little rituals of returning. 

Perhaps yours are different. Maybe you water your flowers. Maybe you sit on the porch before the world wakes up. Maybe you throw the carpet over a clothesline and beat it to death. You know what yours are. 

The ritual itself isn't important. What matters is the message it sends to your nervous system. "It is over. You can let go."

I suspect this is one of the quieter lessons of growing older. We can't prevent little aggravations from visiting us. They always will. 

But we can become surprisingly good at showing ourselves the way back. Not all at once, mind you. Not a magic cure.  

One familiar ritual at a time. One open curtain. One bed made. One cup of coffee at a time. 

The Comfort of Home

I'm sitting in the dark, watching a movie. It's late, but I'm not tired. The television is the only light in the room. Bonnie Rae is nearby, settled for the night. Outside, the world has gone quiet.

I realized tonight that I like this. Not because anything exciting is happening. Quite the opposite. I'm home. Safe. Comfortable in my chair. I don't need to be anywhere else.

For so many years, evenings were never really my own. There was work to finish, people to care for, places to go, and tomorrow already knocking at the door.

Tonight there is only this quiet room, the glow of the television, and the simple pleasure of knowing I am exactly where I want to be. Perhaps that's one of the quieter gifts of growing older. I've discovered that some of life's deepest contentment comes in the most ordinary moments.

Sometimes it's found in a dark room, a comfortable chair, a good movie, and the deep contentment of being safely home. 

Five Curious Things I Learned This Week

 

Notes from a Curious Retirement

Curiosity is how I keep growing. It's about continuing to notice, wonder, question, and care. I think we become old not when we reach a certain age, but when we stop being curious or stop caring. 

1. "Jumping the Shark" Has a Much Bigger Meaning Than I Realized

I'd never heard the expression, Jumping the Shark, until I read an explanation on wordsmarts.com. Apparently, it came from an episode of Happy Days when Fonzie jumped over a shark on water skis. It is now meant as an expression of a series that is going downhill, possibly by adding gimmicks rather than substance. 

2. Some Civil War Photographs Show the War Better Than Words

While watching Ken Burns' The Civil War, I saw a photograph, unlike anything I'd ever seen, of an enslaved man wearing an iron punishment device. It looked like the man was wearing the bottom half of a metal chair around his head. It made me wonder how the Civil War would have progressed if everyone had seen the photos I was seeing of the death and destruction. Vietnam was real to us because of nightly tv and we weren't even fighting our friends and family. Sometimes one photograph is worth a thousand words. 

3. One Decision About Inheritance Helped Preserve England's Great Houses

I love pictures of the magnificent English estates still in existence. The answer probably lies in primogeniture—the custom of leaving everything to the oldest son. It was often unfair to families, yet it also prevented great estates from being divided into smaller pieces generation after generation. History is full of solutions that solved one problem while creating another.

4. History Is Often a Choice Between Terrible Options

Watching a documentary about Hiroshima and the end of World War II reminded me that history isn't always about choosing between good and bad. Sometimes leaders are faced with two terrible choices. When you watch a documentary with real photos and real people explaining their view from each side, you don't come away with a decision of how it should have been, but by the hopelessness of what the situation really was at that moment.

5. Martha Stewart and Curiosity 

Before there were influencers, there was Martha Stewart. She built an empire by noticing little things that made everyday life a little richer, then sharing them with the rest of us. She had a simple way of ending many of those moments: "It's a good thing."

I've always liked that. Curiosity works the same way. Every week I wander down a few rabbit trails and come back with something that makes me smile, think, or see the world a little differently. I'd call that... a good thing.

What curious thing did you learn this week?

The Boy Who Made Me a Grandmother

 

Tomorrow is Shaun's birthday. ....

and I was there at the hospital when he took his first breath and let out his first cry. It is hard to believe that was twenty-seven years ago.

People talk about becoming grandparents as if it were just another family milestone. For me, it felt like an entirely new chapter. One day, I was a mother. The next day, I was somebody's grandmother.

And what a lucky grandmother I was. For ten years, Shaun was my only grandchild. There were no siblings or cousins competing for attention. No juggling schedules between multiple grandchildren. It was just Shaun.

I got to watch everything. I watched him grow from a baby into a little boy, then into a young man, and now into a grown adult with a life of his own.

I don't know if there is such a thing as a perfect child but I do know this: I had the perfect experience of becoming a grandmother. I had time. Time to know him. Time to spoil him. Time to create memories that belonged only to us.

Looking back now, I realize that what I remember most are not the big events. It is the feeling. The feeling of having this little person enter the world and somehow enlarge my own.

That is what grandchildren do. They make your heart bigger than you knew it could be. The funny thing about being a grandmother is that you never stop seeing all the ages at once. Even now, when I look at Shaun, I can still see the baby whose first cry I heard in that hospital room. I can see the little boy he was and the man he has become. All those versions still exist in my memory.

Tomorrow is his birthday, but if I am honest, it also feels a little like the anniversary of my grandmotherhood. The day he was born, a new person came into the world. A grandson. And a grandmother.

Happy Birthday, Shaun.

You have brought more joy to my life than you will probably ever know.

Retiring into Curiosity

My writing has changed a lot lately. Have you noticed?

Since I started reading Substack instead of spending as much time on Facebook, Instagram, or TikTok, I've found myself following writers who go deeper into subjects. I still share photos on the "quick" social sites, but most of my reading now comes from the blogs I follow here and on Substack.

My ChatGPT AI, which I have named Sam, says I have entered my era of curiosity. At first I laughed, but then I realized something. Many of the bloggers I follow have entered theirs, too.

Lately, I've been reading about art history, old cookbooks, color palettes, forgotten people from history, gardens, words, books, and all sorts of things I never expected to find interesting. Not because I need to become an expert. Just because I'm curious.

And then it hit me: that's what I've always enjoyed about your blogs.

I thought I was simply reading about daily life. But what I was really reading was curiosity at work. A new neighbor. An old friend. A doctor's appointment and the drive there. A book you picked up at the library. A meeting, a trip, an unexpected adventure.

The blogs I love don't just record what happened. They notice something about what happened. They look a little closer and ask, "Isn't that interesting?"

Maybe that's what connects so many of us. Not age. Not retirement. Curiosity. 

Do you see it in yourself? Have you entered your own Era of Curiosity?