Living with Scleroderma

Reflections on the Messy Complexity of Chronicity

Smell

After the Deluge

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It has been pouring rain here all weekend in an unusual early-fall Nor’easter. Lots of wind, especially along the coast. Fortunately, we’re an hour’s drive inland from Boston, so the impact wasn’t as severe here. On Nantucket, winds and surf were so intense that remains of an 1884 shipwreck washed ashore.

The storm arrived just in time for the Jewish holiday of Sukkot, an eight-day festival that follows the High Holidays. A special feature of the holiday is to erect a sukkah, which is an intentionally flimsy structure that has a roof made of plant material that enables you to see the stars at night. Al always cuts pine boughs for ours. One side of this rectangular “booth” is open, and the walls are made of fabric or tarps or other lightweight material.

You’re supposed to eat meals inside it, and some people even sleep in theirs. Sitting outside in the sukkah is like taking a camping trip in your back yard. The air is fresh and clean, and you still hear the crickets and other night critters this time of year in New England. It’s truly lovely.

But in a rain storm, not so lovely. We haven’t been able to eat outside yet. Al is waiting until the storm clears to decorate it with gourds.

Despite all the wind and rain, however, our sukkah is still standing. For many years, Al built and rebuilt our sukkah with old two-by-fours and sheets, but fortunately he finally agreed with me, after it nearly collapsed in the construction process last fall, that it was time to get a sukkah kit, which has a metal pole frame and, though impermanent, is a lot safer and easier to assemble. I used some bungee cords to anchor the bottom frame to the rail of our back deck. The pine boughs are drooping, saturated with water. But it’s all still there.

Nevertheless, the impermanence of the sukkah is the whole point. It’s a very tactile way to contemplate the impermanence of life and, for me, God’s protecting presence. We may think we have control in our safe, sturdy homes, with all of our belongings and tech gadgets and such, but the reality is that control is an illusion. Change is the only constant.

And so, this year, we’ve had to wait to spend time in our sukkah. Soon enough, Al will hang the gourds and we’ll enjoy eating inside it once again.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.

At Summer’s End

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Labor Day has now passed, alas. The school year has already commenced in our fair city. Once again traffic is heavier on the Mass Pike when I drive into Boston for medical appointments and other events, always a sure sign that vacation season is over.

Time for sweaters and jackets and warm pants. I still leave the bedroom windows cracked at night, but not as wide open as in recent weeks. The heat has not switched on, yet, but it won’t be long before I’ll need it to get out of bed in the morning.

I won’t miss this summer’s sweltering heat and humidity. But I will, as always, miss the comfort of being able to walk outside without multiple layers of clothing. I won’t miss blasting air conditioning in public spaces that triggers my Raynaud’s and dries out my eyes. But I will, once again, miss the long hours of sunlight and the ease of wearing sandals.

New England has been my home for more than 40 years, now, and I still love living here, despite the prospect of another cold winter. I will adjust, as always, to the seasonal shift into fall. I always revel in October’s colors, the stark light of late November, and the pristine blanket of winter’s first snowfall.

In praise of temperate climates, here’s a link to a recording of Antonio Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. Even as I’ll grumble as sunlight dwindles, there is still much to be grateful for.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.

Image: zero take

As the Leaves Begin to Turn

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It always surprises me this time of year to see leaves already dropping from the trees on our street. I mean, come on, it’s still technically summer here in New England! But the days are growing noticeably short, and less sunlight means less photosynthesis. So, yes, the leaves and other green plants are shifting into autumnal mode.

Al and I took a short hike on Sunday afternoon along a trail by a mill pond for a long-abandoned cider mill not far from our home. It was a bit too buggy for my taste, but the foliage was lovely and the air was moist and rich with the scent of forest duff. Here are a few photos. Enjoy (without the mosquitoes)!

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.

Back on the Block

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It was perfect weather for the beach on Sunday, sunny, in the 80s F, and given that we hadn’t made it to the Atlantic this season, we grabbed the chance for a day trip to Block Island. An hour’s ferry ride from the Rhode Island coast, it was our favorite vacation spot for years with our daughters, until everyone else discovered it, too, and the rents became ridiculous.

So Al and I try each year to get there on a Sunday. As luck would have it, however, given the beautiful weather, a lot of other folks had the same idea. Even as we left with plenty of time to catch the 11:30 ferry, we hit beach traffic that kept adding minutes to our arrival time. I took a GPS-recommended detour, only to have traffic get worse. Needless to say, it was not a relaxing arrival. When we finally got to Point Judith, there was no parking available, so we took a chance of parking in a four-hour spot and risking a ticket.

As it turned out, I had managed to read the ferry schedule backwards—the 11:30 ferry was the return ferry from Block Island—and the ferry to Block Island was actually departing at Noon. We got to the top deck of the very crowded boat with about 10 minutes to spare.

The island was hot and crowded. Still, we made the best of the afternoon, grabbing a good lunch at Persephone’s and then walking to the Town Beach, where we rented chairs and an umbrella. The tide was coming in, so when we took our walk up and down the shore, waves rushed and splashed. My pants got soaked, but I didn’t care, because the sand was cool and the surf, refreshing. And given the heat, my pants dried out quickly. We had our favorite dinner at the Beachcomber, Al got his ice cream at the Ice Cream Place, and we made the 6:15 ferry back, once again with about 10 minutes to spare. When we got to our car, well past a row of similarly parked cars with orange tickets on their windshields, ours had not been tagged. Hurray!

But the highlight of the trip came, surprisingly, on the ferry ride back. We were sitting on the top deck, once again, because there was no room on the other two decks. All of a sudden, people on one side started pointing and raising their phones to take pictures, standing on the benches to get a better view. I was able to get a glimpse of the phenomenon—a pod of dolphins, maybe a dozen or more, leaping through the water, heading toward the island. Everyone was thrilled, like a bunch of little kids. It was great. In that one moment, we were all in awe of Nature’s wonders. Everyone was smiling.

I’ve never seen wild dolphins before. Glorious. May your week be full of magnificent surprises.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.

Dappled

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There’s a word in Japanese for the light that filters through trees:

Transliterated as komorebi (kō-mō-reh-bee), it is made up of the Japanese characters for tree, leaking, and sun—meaning, literally, the sunlight that leaks through trees. Komorebi refers to the ever-shifting way that sunlight filters through tree branches and boughs, creating dancing patterns on the ground and illuminating the backside of leaves. It’s one of my favorite things to discover when I walk outdoors. And I love the fact that there’s a Japanese word to capture that sensation.

So, when Al and I took advantage of perfect summer weather on Sunday, we went to Garden in the Woods, a 45-acre refuge for native plants in Framingham, Mass., and I tried to capture komorebi with my iPhone’s camera, as well as some delicate plants—and, of course, some turtles. It made for a lovely, peaceful afternoon. Here’s what I found. Enjoy.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.