Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: fog


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And then there was fog

After the snow and cold it got warmer. Typical Michigan weather, changing all the time. But all that snow was still on the ground, and it had been cold for almost two week, so inevitably one day we woke up to fog.

Foggy farm fields. Say that fast 3 times.

So I went looking for water and trees dripping in fog. I had something specific in mind, but sometimes things don’t work out the way I plan. Eventually I gave up on the foggy lake idea and settled for foggy farmland.

A barn patiently waits for spring.

I was somewhat happy with the few foggy farmland photos I had when I remembered the National Cemetary, not far from my house. I reasoned the rows of white tombstones could look interesting in the fog.

It was kind of peaceful there, no noise, just the sound of falling rain.

And I remembered there were a few dead trees around a small lake too. Surely there would be something perfectly foggy to photograph out there.

Looking across the lake, the fog was rolling in thick.

In the end I’m really glad I stopped at the cemetery, though it had begun to rain by the time I arrived. The tombstones looked even more somber than usual in the grey light. I took quite a few photographs. They look almost black and white, but they aren’t.

So many rest here.

When I was finished photographing things near the front of the cemetery I figured I’d go to the back on the off chance I’d see the eagles that nest there. Every time I visit this cemetery I look, but I don’t always get lucky and see them.

Do you see them?

This time I did.

Meet Mr, and Mrs. Bald Eagle.

Score.

And double score on the way home when I found a red barn.

Red looks so nice against the grey of a Michigan winter.

Yep, I ended up being a happy camper, even on a dreary, foggy, rainy, winter day.


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Foggy

I was participating in a group of truck crash families and survivors a few weeks ago and one of the topics that came up was foggy brain. Many of those in the group that day were brand new to the reality of coping with life after a traumatic event.

A local park, early this foggy morning.

A discussion about living in a never ending nightmare morphed into a discussion about foggy brains. How hard it was to concentrate. How the memory wasn’t as sharp as it once was.

I didn’t bring it up in the meeting, not to discourage any of the new families, but my dad died in a crash caused by a sleepy semi driver more than seventeen years ago, and my brain is more foggy today than it was way back then.

A sentinel stands strong in the fog.

On the other hand, I doubt my fog is related to Dad’s death. It might be menopause. It might be covid. It might be something else, still to be diagnosed.

Whatever it is, it’s tiring. I know from months, maybe years, of experience that I can’t remember anything that I don’t write down. And that often, if too much time goes by, I won’t know what I meant by the scribbles I find on random pieces of paper.

Trying to pick out the clarity amidst the fog.

I have never been able to remember people’s names. Now I can’t remember conversations, or finishing tasks, or whether or not I took the clothes out of the dryer.

For several days this week I couldn’t find the remote that moves our adjustable bed until it was found, out in the living room, on a table next to the sofa. I am constantly looking for my phone. And my shoes.

Sometimes it’s so hard to see.

More scary, I don’t always understand what people are saying. Not just the concept, but the actual words. Sometimes it all sounds like noise, with only an occasional word I recognize. Other times there are words but their combination doesn’t make sense to me. Lots of times, after the fact, I’ll figure it out, and usually it’s just words that sound like other words confusing me. Ah, I think, that’s what they meant.

Trying to focus.

Most of the time my confusion happens while watching tv, often while doing something else, and not concentrating on one thing or the other, and, as it turns out, not hearing with context.

But other times it happens when people are speaking live and I try to slow my brain down and concentrate. That often works, but sometimes I have to ask questions, where I risk appearing dense. Other times I just let it go. Pick your battles, that’s my rule.

Foggy brain. Is it age, life experiences, past traumatic events, illness, stress, or just a lack of concentration? I don’t know, but I’m beginning wondering if the drugs they’re peddling on television to forgetful seniors really work.

Walking through the fog.

And I’m wondering when I turned into a senior anyway. Looking back, it’s all turning into a foggy blur.