Playing House

Sometimes I find myself in the middle of such a normal day - like two people with normal and common concerns rather than unfair medical ones - and for a few moments, I forget about the realities of our existence.
Today we spent almost the entire day outside in the yard. Feeling the sun and the breeze, me with a good book in my hand, keeping careful watch of the dogs and my husband, who is atop a shed, installing shingles.
Phones left inside, no technology, no plans, no schedules, no appointments. No reminders of medication or of important phone calls to make or paperwork to complete.
Just a beautiful summer day with our little family in our little corner of the world.

Unfortunate that it feels foreign to me now.
I used to have many days like this, but now the seriousness of some of my illnesses have created this consistent sense of foreboding that we just cannot ignore.

Days like today are the reason I love camping so much. Not camping in a trailer or even a paid campground. I mean where technology cannot reach and where there are no paved roads, no trails through the brush, no firepits or campsites, no outhouses or plugins. Where we make our own 'spot' to go to the washroom, where we gather rocks from a nearby river and create a firepit for ourselves. We plunk our tent down onto a spot that is relatively flat, not too near a tree, facing the vehicle in case we have to make a run for it because of a cougar or a bear traversing our little piece of paradise. One tent for us, one for the dogs, and daily walks down to the water to let them swim or wash our used dishes.
Our concerns become of nature and of our own little corner, and we forget about all of the other concerns. Sometimes I even do my injections while we camp. Things that we can't just leave behind. Medications. Needles. Epipens. But at least it isn't all glaring at me in the face like a shadow.
Apart from the pain itself, I can pretend like I am like any other healthy human being, out for a camping trip.

Today felt like that and I am grateful for it.
Playing House is as good as a holiday to someone with chronic disease.

Mountain Equipment Co-Op

Today I took my dad to MEC for a daddy-daughter day.
I love this place, but it was always so out of the way. Now there is a new location much closer to where I live, so it is just a hop, skip, and a jump to get there.
I hadn't been there in a long time, so I was really excited to go.
The only issue is that I cannot walk that large of a store just with my cane. I would need my wheelchair.

You would think having to be in a wheelchair in a store like that would be a little unnerving. At first I felt a little odd, even knowing that I am no paralyzed. But as I started rolling around the store, I realized how much I still belong in a place like that. Sure there are many sections that I have no reason to look in, like the skiing section, mountain climbing, or running sections.
However, there are several sections in which I continue to belong. The kayaking section, the cycling section (even though I have a simple one-speed and can only bike about a block), the yoga section, and especially the camping section.
I may not be able to get around as well, but I am still as active as I can possibly be. Being able to go camping, practice yoga, go biking every once in a while, and go kayaking is such a blessing. Over the years I want to INCREASE the amount of time I spend in these activities. I want to kayak a lot more, continue practicing yoga, camp more again, take the dogs out for little trail walks, and spend lots of time outdoors.
I can't WAIT for Spring so that the dogs can go swimming and I can start taking more drives out to the mountains.

It's gonna be a good year!
Being in MEC today just sparked my active instincts.