Time really does march on

Okay, so I have already typed and deleted several times now. I am trying to figure out what I am trying to say. Sounds a bit convoluted doesn't it?
Let's see. First, the last time I wrote I was on the fourth day of recovery from some major surgery. Let's say I have had enough time now to be comfortable with my decision. Which is good because there is no going back. My incision is healing but it is itchy and still hurts on occasion. I have been out with the chainsaw working and out with the hubby splitting wood. But I have also had days I was just so tired I took a nap. I am hoping that is the surgery talking and not old age.
Second, maybe age is catching up with me because the hubby and I found out that we are to be grandparents. It's the first one which is very exciting. It may be the only one, which is okay. As long as my son and his wife are happy about this, then, bring it on! I am ready for 'grammy hood'.
Lastly, I talk about this dirt road and how little it has changed over the course of 32 years. Change is inevitable. Like time marching on. We may not want it to do so, but it does. There is no stopping of either. Logging has begun here and our road is changing. 
There are subtle changes which take awhile before you fully notice them. Our beavers are gone. The dam which they so dutifully tended has deteriorated. No, we are not in fear of our road flooding as the overflow is just that. But if the beaver were here, that flow would be otherwise directed.That is mostly how I know they are gone. There is that general air of 'empty'. Like when a house is empty, no one lives there. You drive by and you sense the house is deserted. That is what the beaver pond is like, empty. Yes, all the other creatures which inhabit the area around the pond are still there, but the guardians, the keepers of the pond are gone.
Then there is the obvious change, logging. There are so many pros and cons to be considered with logging. It disturbs wildlife, yet the open areas will encourage wildlife. People need work and this supplies work. Heavy machinery tears up the land. A contentious logger will try to repair what he has damaged. Back and forth it goes. I am sad to see the trees laying on the side of the road waiting for the logging truck to come and haul them away, but, and there is a but. I have myself purchased a 'cherry' picker load of logs because that is how we heat our home and our water. And that load has already warmed me twice. Once in the cutting, once in the splitting and a last time will be in the burning. If I had been the one stacking the wood, I would have gotten warmed four times from those logs. 
There is no good answer. It's just change, time moving forward. But there are moments when time stops. Ever so briefly. And we catch those glimpses that take our breaths away. And then we move forward once again.
 
 

4 days

A year ago I made a decision to have a body altering operation. When I had breast cancer 12 years ago the concern was getting the cancer out and not how my breasts looked afterwards. And I lived with that. Not always comfortably, but I was still alive. It came to my attention a few years ago that breast reconstruction would be covered under my insurance as part and parcel of my cancer treatment. And it didn't matter how long after the surgery it was, this 'cosmetic' procedure would be covered. My hubby and could have never been able to afford it otherwise.
You would think it was a no brainer. Fix the size difference? And we aren't talking a little difference. I had bought special bras even a prosthetic. But I was never really comfortable. And the longer out from the original surgery the worse it got. Mother nature and gravity were not being kind.
But surgery is a big step. Nothing to just jump into if you have a choice. Even if it a quality of life choice. It is a risk, a danger and damn it can hurt.
I am 4 days out from my bilateral reduction mammoplasty or 'boob job'. After surgery I closed down the recovery room. I was the first one in surgery that morning and the last one out of recovery and I was far from being recovered. So I was moved to the 3rd floor which in my state of mind had the ominous sound of the last place you stopped before the morgue.  I had no problem that they wanted to send me home. Now-a-days the less time in a hospital the better. But I didn't feel good. Really not good at all. My reaction to the anesthetic this time was completely different than my previous 2 operations. Nausea was my companion. Constant, overwhelming and only leaving during those time were I fell asleep. Pulling me back out of the depths of sleep to hit me again and again in waves. Unable to vomit because of the lack of food and unwilling to start dry heaving this went on for hours. I was out of surgery at 2 p.m. but unable to leave the hospital till 9 p.m.  But finally some cracker and ice cream made it through and quelled (if only temporarily) the urge to toss my cookies.
Today I woke up at 4 a.m. I missed most of the weekend in a fog of nausea (oh yea, it came back), painkillers and sleeping. Yes I was functioning, on FB, even talking to friends on the phone. But I wasn't me. I had big breasts. Okay, one was big and the other not so much. But they were mine. Now I have small breasts. Uniform in size. As symmetrical as two parts on one body should be. There are lots of stitches. My incision goes from armpit to armpit and goes up and around the aureoles. (My surgeon told my hubby I have 3 feet of stitch material in me.) I have so much surgical tape holding the incisions together (I think of me as a badly wrapped package, lots o'tape)  as a secondary (and precautionary) measure that at this point in time I just want to start removing them.
I admit I have been looking at them, these breasts. And I finally am learning to accept them. They are part of how I look now. The word perky floats around a lot with these new fixtures. I haven't been perky, well I am not sure I was ever perky. Not in thought, word, deed or look. But now I have perky right up front and attached to my chest. 
I will have to do some work on my belly and waist now and no, I don't mean more surgery. I can achieve some sort of change on my own through diet and exercise in those regions. But I could do nothing with my breasts. 
But this morning as the sun has rose shining it's gold and pink light through the bare branches of the November skyline I realized how lucky I am. I have come through to the other side. Finally, gratefully and gracefully (I hope) accepting a gift handed to me. I received a similar gift 12 years ago when my cancer was found, I was given my life through surgery and radiation. Now I have been given a renewal to that life. An encouragement to continue with walking down this dirt road. Not to give up. Never to give up. 
So as soon as the okay is given I will start walking again. Who knows where this dirt road will take me?
 

Where are the beavers?

My dirt road is changing and I can say I have mixed feelings about change out here. As I walked the road a couple of weeks ago I stopped as I always do to admire the changing scenery around the beaver pond. I spied two heads in the water. Diving under and coming back up. And I realized they were not beavers but otters. Beavers are industrious and swim with a purpose. They have places to go and things to do. Otters frolic. They dive, they surface, they enjoy the water. They will get where they need to be when they get there. I enjoyed watching the two for awhile and I continued on my way and they continued on theirs. 
It wasn't till about a week later I realized the beavers were gone. I don't know if the flooding from tropical storm Irene forced them to seek new areas to dam or if the pond they lived in was no longer viable or if they had been hunted and killed. All I know is when I walk by the pond now the dam they worked so hard and so constantly on is changing. Water is spilling across the top. I know if the beavers were here they would make adjustments, allowing the water to go down the spillway they have created but never just across the top. 
It's sad. That pond has been here since my husband and I bought our property almost 32 years ago. It is part of my life here. To be able to watch the flight of a great blue Heron as it comes and goes between the pond and the creek. To see and hear the Canadian geese as they announce their arrival each spring. To know that moose, deer and a variety of wildlife are sustained by that pond and the woods that surround it. That is what makes it special. 
I have been given a great blessing by being able to live on a dirt road in Vermont. One that I would have never imagined when I was young. I have been able to stand in the center of a vortex and watch the world spin around me and yet be able to look down and see that familiar dirt road under my feet and know that I am truly home.
I don't know where the beavers went. I don't know if they will be back or if a new family will come to take their place and restore the dam. I do know sometimes we are given great gifts and that something as simple as a beaver pond can be a great gift. 
I could ramble on about the beauty I have seen there or the many mosquitoes that have swarmed me as I stood foolishly looking at that scenery. But instead I will just paraphrase the old line about not knowing what you have till it's gone. Take time to take a breath and enjoy the scenery. We only get to do this once. And then the dam breaks and its all gone.