Happy New Year

At midnight I will open my door in an old Irish Tradition to let the old year out and the new year in.

I say good riddance to this year, although the past month has been pretty stellar, the prelude was grim.

Going back to work may have put the final touches on my life.

I caught Covid from a student and in the end had to give up my job, my home and my life as I knew it. 

I may never recover completely. I am truly less than half the person I was before,

But I am not giving up!

Every morning I think over the past twenty four hours looking for some kind of improvement and occasionally I see some. It may not last, but at least it was there for a bit.

Last year my goals were to walk five miles a day and I was succeeding until Dec.25th.

Now my goal is to do the things that are necessary. Vacuum. Dust. Shower. Wash the dishes. Grocery shop, and feed my soul.

I am welcoming the new year with John William's Tokyo concert. Music that stirs the soul.

It seems like a good start.

The best Christmas ever

 

This has been an amazing Christmas. 

Some past years saw me completely alone, or even sick.

This year I was among family and friends three separate, wonderful times.

First the community I live in celebrated in a warm and caring congregation of men and women who have much in common and nothing at all in common.

Next there was a family Christmas with my nephew and niece's family that left me feeling very loved (and very stuffed!)

And on Christmas day, my granddaughter and her fiancee drove all the way down here to spend a lovely seven hours with me before driving home. We video chatted with my daughter and her fiancee and my oldest granddaughter while we all opened gifts and caught up. 

My oldest son sent a charming video from him and my two youngest grandchildren that simply made my day perfect.

And of course, my youngest son never fails to keep in touch nearly every day, all year long.

It was a Christmas season filled with those loving moments that mean more than anything else in the world.

Christmas

 

I have to remember to follow my own advice at Christmas.

Don't do anything unless it is out of love.

And, love means not injuring myself by over doing.

Simplicity is the key word.

Keep things simple.

It is the people and the joy that matter, not the decorations or the food, or the gifts. They may add to it, but if they begin to become an issue? Drop them!

The love that holds people together is the main reason for any holiday that is worth celebrating.

Money

 

Having money is like breathing for the insanely rich. Their frame of reference is so far removed from the world most of us live in that we will never really understand them, or them, us.

The newly rich fall into two categories. Those who need to flaunt their success and those who are mindful of the good their money can do.

As a child who thought she was wealthy I found it easy to spot the nouveau riche. They generally seemed to lose more than they had gained. Too much was the best description I can come up with. They over dressed, over bought, over acted. Having money seemed to have distorted their outlook. It was the last thing I wanted to be.

Today many people have more money than sense. Like the play says, "If you're rich they think you really know." Or perhaps that phrase could be altered to "If you're rich you think you really know," because we are going to reach a point in our society where even money won't buy you what you need to survive.

And the sad truth is, those who got us there will not even understand what they did. Money does not buy emotional intelligence, or really intelligence at all.

Park Glen

 

I like the name Park Glen. It has overtones of something Scottish or Gaelic, two things that have always fascinated me, but this is not in the magical Highlands. It is right here in the heartland of Illinois.

Last night we had our Christmas Party, a beautiful event surrounded by tall decorated trees and lovely evergreens. There were Santas and lovely decorations on tables covered in green tablecloths with decorative runners down the center.

The room was alive with a huge crowd of people dressed to celebrate the holidays together. There were service dogs, wheelchairs, walkers, and people as mobile and dapper as anyone anywhere.

We were served Chicken Cordon Bleu, cheesy corn, and augratin potatoes, along with a salad, and a roll with butter and salad dressings of your choice.

Dessert was a choice of scrumptious Italian creme, red velvet, rich chocolate, or pound cake.

There were prizes, a voluntary gift exchange and joyful moments galore.

And it was all planned and served exclusively by the four lovely people who take care of this building and us twelve months a year, in person, except for the one who was having an emergency appendectomy.

Park Glen is a high rise apartment building with every amenity for people over fifty or with disabilities, but I have never lived in a nicer apartment anywhere else. The staff here is what makes the difference. They care! They know people by name and they really go above and beyond to make this a place to be proud of,

It may not be in the Highlands, but it just might be magical in today's world where so many places are just out to make a buck. 

Fair

 

Life is not fair.

If life were truly fair it would be very different.

People say "fair" but what they mean is their version of fair, what they imagine, or want, or need it to be.

If life were brutally fair we would suffer the consequences of our behavior in unfiltered justice.

Parents who spoil their children thinking that it is a form of love would actually see clearly how those same actions destroyed the lives of their children in the end.

Companies who produce inferior goods would suffer the same problems their customers do.

People who destroyed the environment by producing or using harmful things would be the first to reap the horrors of climate change.

Most of us do not realize how much leeway "fair" gives us. We squeak by doing those things we always do and think that we are the exception.

And we often are, because life is not fair.

Do it with love

 

There are people who do lots of things for lots of people, but they have got it all wrong.

Just getting something done may be a step, but it is not THE step that makes people feel grateful.

I know someone who is always helping people, but she leaves them feeling bad when she is finished because she is simply doing it to get it done. It may be a habit born out of need, but it still doesn't work.

It is not enough to cook a big dinner. The cooking needs to be done with love. Attention to detail is important. Unless the people are simply starving, just throwing lots of food on the table leaves a kind of hollow feeling. Overcooked meat, poorly prepared side dishes, hard as a rock rolls, these are not the signs of a lovingly prepared feast. It would be better to have just a couple of wonderful dishes made with great care.

The same goes for other so-called loving acts. If you are celebrating someone do it right, or just don't do it. If it isn't fun and sweet and, well, loving, it doesn't feel that way to them.

And if you are helping someone move house, do it with care. Just getting things from A to B is not the same as getting them there undropped, unbroken, uncared for.

It is good to help people and good to celebrate people, but if your heart is not in it, don't do it, because in the end no one will feel really good.

Winter Blessings

 

We are about to enter one of my favorite times of the year. Not THE favorite, that is the cold crisp days of Fall, which seem to have eluded us this year, but my second favorite. Winter.

There is nothing more serene or pristine than snow falling on ground ready to sleep peacefully for the next few months.

It is like a wedding born of maturity and wisdom.

We turn away from the steamy, sweaty days of summer and lean in toward the warm cozy fires in our hearths.

Surrounded by the smells of home style cooking, drawn into the flames that speak to us of romance and warmth, we gather with our friends and families to enjoy the simple pleasures of life among loved ones.

Board games, puzzles, books to read and movies to snuggle by, fill our time now that the weather is better viewed through a window darkly. Knowing that the beauty of ice and snow harbors death and discomfort for those who violate the age old customs of hibernating with joy.

There are those who venture out to ski, or sled, or even build creatures of snow, but eventually it is back to the timeless contentment found in mugs of hot cocoa or pot roasts with fresh bread, and the comfort of beds piled high with comforters and quilts.

Preferences

 

I have pretty consistent choices when it comes to things I find beautiful or attractive, but it makes me wonder how these come to be.

People are influenced by everyone and everything around them, but most people appreciate things that are balanced and even. They find them more attractive than their counterparts.

As small children we usually have a favorite color that matches our mom, or dad, or grandma or some other favorite relative or person in our life.

It is when we grow older and show a preference for a particular color or style that interests me. Not teenagers who are often influenced by peer pressure, but adult minds beginning to form definite personalities.

I know some people choose colors and styles that aid in making money. Dark business suits, goth makeup, black clothing, glitzy revealing outfits, it all depends on what you are willing to wear for the dollars. Need, greed, and insecurity can be powerful influencers.

I want to know what makes me love forest green and cerulean blue and one of my sons love deep dark brown. Is it just that they are primary earth colors, or is there something more to it? 

I find it interesting that many people will claim they have a favorite color, but it does not figure prominently in their lives. It isn't in their home, or clothing or art work.

I think people tend to automatically lean towards their favorite colors when they pick something out for no other reason than they love it. That is how I discovered my favorite colors. I looked around me one day and realized that I had collected things in forest green and cerulean blue over many years. Up until then I was still saying I loved red, which was a color I picked out as a child because my grandmother liked red.

Do you know why your favorite color is what it is?

Succulents

 

It was the house of her dreams, a sweet almost storybook neighborhood with shuttered windows and white painted trim.

The yards were picture perfect and Handy Andy, the man across the street, was out daily manicuring his lawn one blade of grass at a time.

He and his wife were what everyone dreamed of. Elegantly lithe, silvered hair, bright smiling eyes and a manner that drew everyone around them closer.

Over the years she imagined what it must be like to be them. They seemed so happy, so content, so perfectly at ease in their surroundings. So when she retired and they said they needed some help, she signed on.

Just a few days a week to supplement her income and their needs. They had family the rest of the time.

Working for them was what she had always imagined. They became a part of her family. She even called them Grandma and Grandpa. 

Following Grandma into the kitchen and down to do the laundry was rewarding in so many ways. She was always sweet and kind no matter what was going on.

Helping Grandpa in his greenhouse and garden was an exercise in bliss. He taught her the names of each plant and how to care for it.

Everyone and everything seemed to be thriving. Especially Grandma and Grandpa.

She, on the other hand, found herself feeling more and more tired, but still she was drawn to them like months to a flame. She never missed her days with them no matter what. They were her drug of choice. 

Peace, contentment, satisfaction and so much more made her small salary more than worthwhile.

But as the year progressed, she became grayer and tireder. Her energy slipped slowly away until one day Grandma and Grandpa, who looked ten years younger, patted her on the face and said, "Darling, you need to go home and rest. We have a new younger caretaker coming in."

Forlornly peering out her window, she watched the younger woman enter their house, then she turned with her walker and tottered back to her chair.

Occasionally she would glance out the window to see Grandma and Grandpa sailing through their lives, the procession of aging caretakers always starting out right at their elbows and gradually moving farther and farther away until it was time for them, too, to leave, so a new one could take their place.

Disturbing

 

Imagine a child who eats a penny to get even with her mother.

Or thinks it is hilarious to stick gum under a family table,

Or scratches her initials into the finish of a Steinway piano with a safety pin.

Now imagine an adult who is still proud of these things and laughs about them while sharing them.

I find this particularly disturbing.

Priorities of the heart

 

I often get credit for being very well organized, but to me it is just a matter of priorities.

I don't want to miss, or mess up things that are important to me.

I believe that caring and love are best shown in the tiny details of living.

If I am going to do something for someone, I want to do it well.

And there are things that happen every over and over. How can I be surprised that it is time for a birthday, or time to write Christmas cards, or renew the license plate sticker on my car? These things occur like clockwork, every single year.

I don't want more things than I am able to take care of, or want to keep in clean and in working order. Accumulating "Stuff" means nothing to me. My apartment is filled with things I absolutely love and many of them are things I have loved for a very long time. My style, my colors, my choices are not spur of the moment fads.

And so I love my children, my family, my home, and my life. The priorities of my heart compel me to make sure I am worthy of having them. If you don't like raisins, I will never make you cookies with raisins in them. If your favorite color is purple, I won't buy you red clothing. And if you change your mind about something I will respect that and honor it too.

You are important to me.The real me loves the real you.

A brain for granny

 

I think the secret to living is always learning.

As long as you can learn -- you have hope.

So don't base your life on only doing what you know how to do, what you've always done, what comes naturally and easy to you.

Push back at life.

Make some mistakes.

Learn how to cope with things that are difficult for you.

A brain is like a sponge. Don't let it dry out for lack of experience

Learning how to learn is an art and a gift. Babies brains begin downsizing at birth which is why they need the right kind of stimulation from the beginning. 

That doesn't end because you are fifty, or seventy or even a hundred!

Friends vs enablers

 

Friends are a beautiful part of life.

They are there to support us when we are in trouble and join us when we are joyous.

But there is a fine line between friends and enablers and you may not identify it until later in life.

If your friends always pop up to take care of you, paint your house, put together your furniture, fix your plumbing, hem your clothes and loan you money, they may really be enablers.

That's okay until they are not there. If you move, or they die, or they simply go away you are stuck not knowing how to deal with your own life.

A friend would show you how to fix something, or how to hire someone who is reliable to fix it. A friend wants you to be able to survive on your own. A friend teaches you how to use your computer, how to use your phone. They don't just do it for you.

Some women are particularly subject to enablers and then when they are older and slower and on their own, they become lost and depressed. They want someone else to come in and do for them what those friends once did. And they don't understand why that isn't happening.

Stupid

People find humor in the oddest things. Like being clumsy, or being unable to figure something out.

I guess I can see why that might be endearing in a child or animal, but not in a fully functioning adult.

I find it annoying in adults unless they actually need help.

And that is the gist of it. People often pretend to be clumsy or ignorant or even stupid because they get something out of it.

It is the pretension I detest, not the person who is honestly in need of help.

If they simply want attention, there must be a better way. 

We have generations of people who have learned these self effacing habits that do no one any good and actually do a great deal of harm.

They allow people to generalize in ways that keep people from realizing their full potential. The idea that the "little woman can't put things together,'" or that some brains are defective simply because of gender, or any of a million little ways society has of demeaning people.

I do not believe people are incapable. If you approach me, I won't laugh at you, I will work and work with you to find a way you can do almost anything any other human being can do. 

It may be frustrating. It may take a while. It may take a long while, but patience and belief and the fact that I've seen it work makes me persevere.

Odd man in

 

All my life I have been slightly out of step with the rest of the world.

Everyone talks about the early bird getting the worm. The gist of it is that people who get up early are better people. Smarter, harder working, people who deserve the best.

The truth is I can get up as early as I need to. I got up at 4 A.M. when I worked for the Learning Center. I got up early to work several 8 to 5 jobs in my life. Getting up early only requires an alarm clock. And honestly not even that.

But now that I am older and living in a fifty five and over building I am finding that my personal schedule has perks. 

Other people get up early and fight for the washers, race for the dryers, huddle in the elevators and leave the building in tiny mass mobs. 

I, on the other hand, saunter through life here with no barriers at all. 

For once in my life being out of step pays off.

Older woman

 

I remember the way I looked at older people, especially women, when I was a child.

I grew up surrounded by women of all ages, mother, grandmother, aunts, great aunts, and all the ladies in the nursing home my grandmother ran.

I thought they were fascinating, but mostly not well educated. It was the men in my life who were that. I think we are escaping from that one.

I believed older women were quiet, kind, a bit childish, preoccupied with how they and everyone around them looked and mostly resigned.

Resigned to a life I knew I did not want.

I did not want to look like a sweet white haired old lady with children's barrettes in her hair. I did not want to sit and knit or garden or watch soaps all day long. I did not want to get up and go to bed at absurdly early hours. Some of the most beautiful parts of life take place deep in the darkness.

I did not want to pretend I couldn't do things I could, or be things I wasn't.

I was appalled at the way older women were treated less like adults than older men.

I thought all older women loved to cook and bake and sew and I tried to cultivate those things, but I am tired of all of them now. I've done that, been there and now I want good conversation, interesting books, good restaurants, trips to museums and a chance to be artistically creative.

I do not feel the need to go to church, nor do I suffer fools gladly.

I have lived long enough to know most of the ways of the world and I've chosen the ones I like.

Christmas today

In the first month of Christmas my true love gave to me - a six foot fully fake tree!

In the second month of Christmas my true love gave to me - two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the third month of Christmas my true love gave to me - three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the fourth month of Christmas my true love gave to me - four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the fifth month of Christmas my true love gave to me - five brand new credit cards, four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the sixth month of Christmas my true love gave to me - six long wish lists, five brand new credit cards, four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the seventh month of Christmas my true love gave to me - seven friends all talking, six long wish lists, five brand new credit cards, four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the eight month of Christmas my true love gave to me - eight mums in waiting, seven friends all talking,  six long wish lists, five brand new credit cards, four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the nine month of Christmas my true love gave to me - nine lawyers lying, eight mums in waiting, seven friends all talking, six long wish lists, five brand new credit cards, four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the tenth month of Christmas my true love gave to me - ten babies wailing, nine lawyers lying, eight mums in waiting, seven friends all talking, six long wish lists, five brand new credit cards, four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the eleventh month of Christmas my true love gave to me - eleven turkeys gobbling, ten babies wailing, nine lawyers lying, eight mums in waiting, seven friends all talking, six long wish lists, five brand new credit cards, four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

In the twelfth month of Christmas my true love gave to me - twelve massive heart attacks, eleven turkeys gobbling, ten babies wailing, nine lawyers lying, eight mums in waiting, seven friends all talking, six long wish lists, five brand new credit cards, four raindrop ornaments, three little shamrocks, two lacy red hearts and a six foot fully fake tree!

Disingenuous artifice

 

Sometimes I am shocked by how someone really annoys me.

I want to be kind, understanding and loving, but there are actions that simply go against the grain of who I am.

Being obsequious is one of those things. I find people who bend over backwards are often thinking more of how they look and feel than what they are actually doing. It is pride not love that pushes them to go overboard helping people.

People who act kind and caring but are really passive-aggressive and afraid to be honest are some of the most vicious people I've ever known. They set people up for failure again and again.

And last but not least are people pleasers, because they will do absolutely anything to make the person they are with happy in a moment even if it violates all the other people they know.

I try to ignore these things, but they are like big bonging bells announcing trouble is on the way.

In the lab of the living

 

I don't know how older people who claim they can't learn new things, survive.

The older I get, the more changes I have to make in my lifestyle.

Everything is always in a state of change.

Where I live.

Who my doctors are.

What and when I eat.

How I'm going to manage grocery shopping or laundry with my feet and energy level.

Cleaning up the ladybugs that find a way to fly in through my air conditioner!

Dealing with one bad reaction after another when I need to start a new medication.

I used to be able to just push on through anything that was difficult, but now pushing injures parts of my body in really painful ways that leave me almost completely debilitated.

Life is one big experiment and I am both scientist and guinea pig.

Contemplation

 

More of life than most of us find it possible to believe has to do with state of mind.

The past three weeks have been hellish for me after a nurse called to tell me why my doctor wanted me to see four specialists. My blood pressure zoomed up twenty or more points and I worried about every little thing I felt. 

After seeing the doctor, who didn't even mention one of the dreaded signs the nurse told me about I discovered they simply want the specialists to have a bottom line to look back on as time goes on.

I do not need surgery and nothing else has really changed.

The past two days has seen my blood pressure droop back down to near perfect readings.  I am still tired all the time and my bones still ache, and the valve in my heart murmurs away, but I am not getting ready for surgery or getting all my affairs in order in contemplation of death.

I am torn between just being kind, or letting the nurse know all the agony she caused me with her random sharing of bad news. She is truly a hazard. Her threats of dire consequences put three weeks of extraordinary stress on my heart. She gave me just enough information to worry me and yet I still had to wait for my appointment to find out all the facts. 

I will let it go. 

That is the secret to aging peacefully I think, letting things go. 

Glimpses of love

 

I live far away from everyone in my immediate family. My children and grandchildren are scattered coast to coast.

We manage to keep in touch, each in our own way.

I talk daily with my youngest son.

I text frequently with my oldest daughter and her two grown daughters.

I am given glimpses of life with my two youngest grandchildren by their father who is definitely a hands on dad.

I love all of these beautiful connections. We stay in each other's lives without infringing. We support each other without any qualms at all. And our love will endure like the wind and water, flowing in and out, around and through eternity.

Cash cow

 

Keeping older people alive is a good business.

It is possible that we need all the tests and medicines and procedures they can dream up and it is possible that they will extend our lives, but to what extent?

When life is a series of medical appointments it becomes quantity versus quality.

Are we the cash cows that keep the doctors, nurses, pharmacists, hospitals and nursing homes in business?

My only power

 

I have so little power in this world.

I cannot change the minds of people who think money is the bottom line because they do not realize how many other precious freedoms and expectations they take for granted.

But I can be a beacon of ethical behavior.

And every tiny light that continues to burn brightly for our country in these dark times is one less bit of darkness fouling the universe.

We cannot allow ourselves to sink into the morass of the millions who are willing to sacrifice so much for so little. 

My only power is my unshakable respectability, my eternal optimism that something better lies beneath all the horror, that the world will find a way back into the light given enough time.

And I will still be there. In the light. Waiting to embrace it.

And so it begins

 

I finally made my first appointment with a doctor in my new town and suddenly I have undergone all kinds of tests and am now making appointments with doctors of nephrology, cardiology, and vascular specialties.

As well as another consultation with my original doctor.

Other than being a little bit tireder than I used to be, I feel fine, but I suppose this comes with old age in our generation.

If they don't kill me, maybe they will make me feel better.

Two whales looking at man

 

Imagine two huge whales floating quietly side by side. Their conversation reverberating through the water around them.

They are discussing humans, those bipedal animals that live on land, but are appearing more and more often in the oceans of the world.

To them we are probably the equivalent of the Tasmanian devil.

We are top carnivores with a huge home range. We are loud and noisy in groups and seem to be fixated on finding and eating the creatures in the water. 

The whales understand many, if not all of our words. We do not speak whale at all. How primitive that must seem to them.

All the different groups of whales have managed to coexist in the oceans for many many years. They appear to have languages, songs, hunting techniques, but do not seem to need to erect shelters, or create weapons. They are not greedy. They do not have banks where they store precious things.

I suspect that life is most precious to them and they have cultivated a form of civilization we cannot comprehend.

Thinking

There are thoughts too awful to think.

I  know that thinking won't make them happen.

But it might encourage them 

And I would never want to do that.

Who I am

 

I live in a ten story building with 13 apartments per floor. I've been here nearly three months now and yesterday, for the first time, I went out and walked around the building. 

There is a lovely little hidden nook with a bench back in the corner and a large patio with a gazebo in the front. Yesterday was the first time I was in either place.

I see people down on the patio, or in the gazebo from my windows. I see them in the elevator and occasionally in the halls. I've been to two community dinners in our big room upstairs by the library and games area. I nod and say hi. We are all cordial, but I really don't know who anyone is yet, except for the maintenance people and a couple people at the other end of my hallway.

Of course I recognize faces I've seen and one woman has always intrigued me. She is tall with long gray hair that ends just at her chin. She is a large square woman who wears no make up and reminds me a lot of Stephanie Cole, a British actress on Waiting for God and Doc Martin.

Today I ran into her for the first time. We were in the laundry room and she recognized me! "You live on two, right?" She asked. "I love your curtains."

Now I have a place. There is the woman with the long haired dachshund, the man who takes care of the library, etc. I am the woman with the curtains!

They really are lovely curtains, a sheer pale green with long green vines that allow the light and the beautiful scenery outside to be seen inside while still giving me privacy.

Breath

I was there when my son took his first breath.

I held my granddaughter in my hands as she took her first breath.

Those are precious, memorable moments I will never forget.

I was there when my friend took her last breath.

In fact, I was the one who gave her the final drops of morphine that helped along the way.

I did not realize it at the time. I was only following Hospice directions by counting her breaths to know when to administer the drops.

Someone's last breath isn't quite as easy to pinpoint as a first one.

My friend took a few shallower breaths and then I waited, but when there were no more I knew I had seen the last.

It is a powerful thing to know the person in front of you has just left this life, At first it feels unreal. I waited for that next breath then I studied her. She really didn't look different at all, but I knew she was gone.

I will never forget those moments sitting next to my friend as she passed through the veil. It was much less chaotic than those babies' first breaths and yet the mystery and the wonder of it will never leave me.

 

The brain

 

When I was a child I wanted to be pretty like my sister. That was her nickname, Pretty. 

She was always the pretty one. I was "the brain."

She was popular and adored by my mother and grandmother who valued pretty above all else. Grandma still simpered and wore matching stiletto heels and purses well into old age. If you were pretty people liked you and it was important to be liked. It was equated with being listened to and valued.

Except the pretty people I know often do not really listen to other people. They just make assumptions based on their own experiences.

Once they dressed their beautiful daughters like dolls, did not really push education, had a hundred excuses for that, and tended to pay less attention to their non-pretty children. Even years later, the grandchildren of the "pretty" child take precedence over their other grandchildren.

Imagine what it must be like to be one of these "pretty" people today when people don't have quite the same values?

Suddenly you find yourself older and in a world where your actions are coming home to haunt you. You become even more desperate to "be liked."  You try harder and harder, but with all the wrong ideas and your world begins to crumple around you.

It's hard to feel compassion for these people, especially if you were not one of the pretty ones, but they need it more than anyone. Imagine living just to be liked.

Fly away home

 

October is now in full swing around Illinois.

There are brown cornfields, orange pumpkins and little red and black ladybugs everywhere.

I walked into my living room yesterday and the walls were alive . . .

With the fluttering of hundreds, maybe thousands of little fluttering ladybugs and big brown stink bugs.

The windows were closed. They seemed to be coming in through my second floor air conditioner and distributing themselves throughout the apartment.

I tried spraying surfaces with bug killer, but it didn't seem to bother them at all. They just spread out, crawling into lampshades and over pillows, clinging to the ceiling and cracks like little red and black bubbles coming out of an ever running bubble machine.

Finally, in spite of the cool air, I turned on the air conditioner and set it low enough so that it would run. That slowed them down enough that I could begin swiftering and vacuuming up bugs, but it didn't end them.

Last night I left a lamp burning in the living room to draw the bugs away from my bedroom and it worked pretty well. This morning there were piles of them all around the floor by the lamp, but there were also some on the ceilings and walls.

I called maintenance and they came to commiserate with me. I really did feel a little better. Misery does love company, but that was all they had for me. It seems when the farmers plow the fields around here it stirs up the ladybugs and people begin scooping them out of their homes until either they go away or a frost comes and kills them.

He made conversation and futile little attempts to repack the insulation inside my air conditioner, then advised me to vacuum and let him know how it worked. He even stopped by later to see how things were going. They are so conscientious around here.

It seems most of the swarm has moved on. I keep my vacuum out to get the last little hangers on, but there have probably only been fifteen or twenty ladybugs today and one stinkbug.

Ladybug, ladybug fly away home . . .

Unkind

 

There are real horror stories all around us that no one wants to admit to seeing.

Imagine the so called sickly child who has emotional asthma. Everyone walks around this child on tiptoe, afraid to upset it. When it does cruel things people make excuses. When it wants attention, it gets sick.

This child is allowed to torment a sibling, chasing it with worms and laughing! Had the sibling chased this same child with a mouse no one would have thought it was funny.

When the father gave up smoking to help the mother quit, this child passed her  mother cigarettes over the back fence and laughed because they were pulling one over on the father! The mother died from heart disease.

When the brother could not trim his toenails, this sibling offered to do it for him, accidentally nipping his toes and laughing, but he ended up losing those toes to infection.

This helpful child is a hazard to everyone, Unvaccinated because the shots supposedly make it sick, it carries the flu germs to the vulnerable people nearby.

Nobody ever confronts this person. Not as a child, nor as an adult. It would be too unkind, so it goes glibly through life not paying attention, not listening, not being careful and never having a clue.

Horror

Tis the season for horror movies, but then, for me, it is always that season. I love horror movies, especially those that include haunted houses, or ghostly abodes of any sort.

I've seen so many horror movies that when I try to find a new one, it is difficult. Partly because I cannot remember the titles of those movies I have already seen and partly because the unfortunate truth is so many are really not memorable at all. 

It makes me wonder what horror is. I am not interested in blood and gore. They may be horrifying, but they are not supernatural. To me horror is something terrifying, but not explainable in any sort of understandable terms.

Time. Whatever it is it seems to be unstoppable. Time passes and things change. Are they changing due to time, or some other unseen force that forces changes? Whatever it is, family albums are shrines to horror, watching faces dehydrate and wrinkle up like apples left too long on a shelf, slowly yielding their life force to some inexorable force they have no control over.

Time and space. Look at the ocean. Given enough time and space creatures grow into immense whales or bizarrely shaped squids.Creatures  who don't evolve on dry land. Imagine the gigantic contorted creatures that may evolve here given enough time and space.

It is horror that fans science as it tries to control the uncontrollable. 

Horror that breeds religion as it tries to explain the unexplainable.

Horror that turns our faces away from the dark in a futile attempt to think light means good, just because we can see it.

Lucky

 

I know he's a good general, but is he lucky?

That quote was from Napoleon Bonaparte, but it has stuck with me ever since I first read it.

I think luck is something you are born with, nor not.

I used to think I made my own luck and to a certain extent that is true. Making good choices and taking advantage of good situations makes luck less necessary.

Still, having those good situations show up requires a certain amount of luck.

I think I was born lucky.

My parents gave me many advantages in life and life, itself, gave me many abilities,  but maybe that is not the blessing it seems like. If the gift table is very large, or the candy bag very deep, then perhaps a child never learns who, or what, they really are. Instead they become a jack of all trades and master of none.

Everything is possible to some extent, but it is in the honing of one particular thing that one gains a mastery that is both satisfying and life sustaining. 

Learning to rely on luck makes life a crap shoot.

Western North Carolina

 

The news is full of Hurricane Melton and the devastation is truly terrible, but what about the people of western North Carolina?

My son has not worked at a paying job since Hurrincae Helene hit. He and his friends have spent twelve and fifteen hour days helping the people in the mountains around them. Yesterday FEMA finally arrived in one of the small towns they were in. It brought water and food, which was nice, but the people of the mountain had already managed to supply some of this for their neighbors, or people would be suffering even more than they are. 

They did finally receive a supply of insulin, which was desperately needed.

The towns and homes of people in western North Carolina are buried under tons of mud. Railroad tracks are washed away. Roads are chasms of empty space. Trees are down, brick walls washed away, bridges gone, everything is contaminated by the mud and water that brought it.

Imagine seeing water twelve feet deep in your downstairs and two hundred pounds of mud in your kitchen island when the water drains away. The woman who lived there was a widow who desperately needed help.

Imagine being 98 years old and hearing the water rush up under your house, then coming up into the living room another three feet! All of her canning jars, which she relies on for food, were covered in mud or washed away.

These are just a few of the stories that are still very real up in the mountains. The people there are used to supporting each other, but watching the dogs sniff through tons of debris looking for bodies is not something you ever get used to.

People are avid watchers when hurricanes are on television, but once those hurricanes pass, it can be weeks, months, years, before life resumes with any quality.

Listening in

 

I just hosted my first party in my new apartment, a birthday party for my sister attended by her son, his wife, and a grandchild. 

I was so excited.

I planned everything out from the seating to where I placed the napkins by the plates.

But I was in agony from my back the entire time and eventually ended up in the bedroom, curled up in a fetal position trying to find some relief.

As I lay there listening to them laugh and talk in my living room I remembered all the similar occasions when I had spent a social occasion curled up on a bed in the other room and I was amazed at how often that has happened to me.

Beginning at age twelve and moving right along through Bridge parties, Christmas parties, my birthday the year my mother died and on and on. Each time some physical difficulty left me on the outside listening in.

I am never asleep, because the pain prevents that, but if I were someone else I might wonder if there wasn't some kind of emotional problem linked to it all. It happens so frequently.

I get excited. I am over the moon happy. I am prepared to the nth degree. I am there when it starts.

And then some part of my body fails me and I end up in the other room listening to everyone else enjoy themselves.

Peace keepers

 

Women in my generation were encouraged to be chameleons.

I cannot tell you how many times what I wanted to do was countered with, "but a woman needs to be able to follow her husband's career."

Some women outgrew this upbringing. Others did not.

After so many years trying to please everyone some women honestly do not know where they want to go eat, or what they want to see on their vacations. 

I know women who are so bent on pleasing everyone that they cannot even train their dog for fear of making it unhappy.

They honestly believe this is the way it should be. They think they should be the yes men and keep the peace no matter how much havoc it wreaks in the lives of their children or the world. They never see how much damage it does.

It may not matter where you go to eat, but it does matter how you think.

Home again

 

Hurricanes in landlocked Western North Carolina, who'd have thought that could be such a big deal?

My son has lived in western North Carolina for many years. He used to have a house high up on a ridge that was safe, but the rest of the town is in a valley and all the water runs off the mountain, flooding it regularly.

This time he was with friends during the worst of the storm. They had no electricity, except for generators and those didn't run the water pump, so they put out five gallon buckets to catch the rain for flushing toilets. Those buckets filled right up!

Afterwards he and friends went down into the town to help remove trees and see what else they could do. The town had water up to the drive through windows in local businesses and one place they had bailed out a few years ago completely collapsed this time.

The second night he spent helping other friends and they had a sort of hurricane cook out, but the next morning he made his way to his present home higher up in the mountains. There was still no power and no cell phone service, so no internet either, but the only real danger were the washed out bridges and roads.

Little did he realize that his biggest problem would be a lack of gas! As of this afternoon there was still no place he could buy gas, so he is stuck at home not working. He has power and cell and internet. He knows where the safe roads are.

He just doesn't have enough gas to go anywhere and get back home again. Sometimes it's easy to forget how reliant we are on all these different conveniences that seem so ordinary on a regular day.

Chronic

 

I knew getting older would probably present some difficulties, but I wasn't prepared for what I've experienced the past few months.

After injuring a muscle in my back lifting a table in July I have had an ongoing thing. My back doesn't seem to ever really recover and if it feels that way I am quickly reminded that I can go to the store, or do laundry, or any number of other things, but only one per day!

Add to this the number of debilitating problems with my toes, feet, ankles, knees and neck, and it is dumb founding! I go to bed fine and wake up unable to bend or put weight on this or that joint in my body without excruciating pain.

One might think I was out running marathons, but I am only tottering to the bathroom, kitchen and bedroom most of the time. I am not even rearranging furniture, which is bad because that has always been one of my major forms of therapy.

If I can't rearrange my life, I rearrange my furniture.

Well, now my life is great except for these various aches and pains and I can tell you that chronic pain wears on one after a while.

Trauma

I still find myself feeling a sense of impending doom occasionally.

It is a feeling that has followed me from childhood when I never knew how my mother would respond to whatever was going on around us, to adulthood when my husband replaced my mother as the unknown force that could disrupt any moment at any time.

My experience with the scammer only reinforced this feeling when, after months of euphoria and feeling loved, I discovered it was all a ruse.

Now I am like the dog who has been rescued from the pound. Everything seems unbelievably wonderful, but what if I'm wrong and someone is still waiting to kick me when I least expect it.

Every bit of mail is suspect until I have perused it carefully. Every email is the same. Everything is dulled by the possibility that it is not the good thing it appears to be.

I just got a notice to come re-sign my lease agreement because my rent is going down. I went with trepidation that I might not have understood something. Nope! Rent went down! That's wonderful!

I got notices from both my car insurance and health insurance and had to make phone calls to be sure they were not zingers I had not expected. All is well!

Seventy five years of zingers is hard to recover from because they always came when I least expected them and ruined perfectly good moments.

And yet, I am really an optimist. Maybe that's what makes it so terrible. I expect the best, but I've learned it doesn't always happen.

I think it is going to happen more and more now and I am excited.

Drifts of love

 

I seldom listen to music anymore, but last night I listened to some that touched my heart deeply. 

For as long as I can remember hearing music, some of it has affected me profoundly.

It is as if my soul is tuned to these sounds and they make me ache for something I do not understand.

Listening to them brings up memories I do not have; of times I cannot remember, but still feel very deeply.

If there was a case for reincarnation in my life it would have to be this music.

Some people find music makes them feel romantic, or patriotic. It makes me long for what I cannot quite put my finger on.

When I first begin listening it feels good -- like coming home, but soon it turns into a homesickness that is almost unbearable.

Of course I love the music made by the people I love, Jim, Bobby, Corra, Andy and John. But that is music of the heart. It is endearing and lovely and something I never tire of. 

But the music I heard tonight is old. Older than I am. Older than my dreams. With it come drifts of love deeper than life itself, almost too painful to listen to.

Fear and frustration

 

I am sitting in the living room of the house on Douglas Street, a house I spent most of my growing up years in.

I am sitting in my mother's chair watching television, but I hear someone playing guitar on the sun porch. I also hear someone coming downstairs in the hall behind me. For some reason I am filled with fear.

My mother comes around the corner and she is furious. I tell her the guitar did not bother me. Then, thinking I needed a reason, said, "I think I got used to them when I was away at college."

We are hungry. My grandmother and aunts are here and we go into the kitchen to eat breakfast. Someone has set up those large brown folding church tables. Packed together into a huge square, they fill the kitchen so completely it is hard to sit around the edges to eat, but we try.

My mother is in the kitchen behind this kitchen, cooking. My niece, is eating on the floor under the table and my sister refuses to make her sit up on a chair to eat. I am furious. My grandmother sits at the corner of the table fake smiling and trying to make everyone else do the same. Keri keeps eating pancakes with her fingers, under the table.

I leave and go back where my mother is now cooking scrambled eggs and sausages like a short order cook. It makes me angry that she is not eating with us and I tell her that. We go back into the kitchen and all the tables, except one, have been removed. My mother sits down to eat now and my grandmother is still there. My sister is there too. 

I want to sit down but now I realize there isn't even any toast and I am, once again, furious. I get up and tell them I'm not eating without toast and I go to get the toaster, which is on the sun porch. As I walk out there, I know my mother is following me and I am filled with fear again. She is angry.

I step back to hide in the foyer and she passes me by still heading for the sun porch. I wonder what she will do when she gets there and I am not there. Then suddenly as she enters the door to the sun porch, her body is jerked back and falls on the floor. I am horrified to see her head land right in front of me! She has been beheaded and I immediately feel like it is my fault, but I know she walked into an electric cord so hard and with such force that it decapitated her. I wonder if I should call 911 for an ambulance since I know she is dead, but I don't know what else to do and decide that is the right thing to do. I dial the number and while waiting for someone to answer I feel like it is my fault my mother was beheaded. If only I had not dared to go get the toaster.

I keep waiting but no one answers the 911 number.

My cell phone rings and I wake up from this dream, maybe the worst one I've ever had. The feelings were real. They were the old feelings of frustration and fear and guilt, but the story is not a true one.

Empathy vs Reflection

 

There are people in this world who have no concept of empathy.

They have learned to respond to the feelings they see, but other's actual pain is unknowable to them.

They can only relate to their own feelings, their own pain, their own concepts of what is going on in the world around them.

I'm not sure why this is so. I suspect it is because as children they were taught the safest way to make other people happy was by doing what was expected. 

Therefore their own feelings were often neglected and they assume other people deal with life the same way.

These people often respond in inadequate ways when trying to help others. It is kind of like being in charge of a furnace, but never having a thermometer to measure the heat being put out. It could be too much or too little. It could even be fatal.

They are not easy to spot unless you see them quite frequently and they will never understand the difference if you try to explain it to them. That part of their reasoning atrophied many many years ago.

Haunted

 

In the deepest dark of night

when ghoulies creep and 

ghosts set flight

there is one haunted

whose child was bright

but beauty flaunted

set her sight

on things ephemeral 

that were not right.

And now that child 

is of the night.

Common sense

 

Some people love learning new things. 

For them life is a puzzle with an infinite number of pieces to put together and their job is to find the combinations that suit them best.

Other people hate learning new things.

For them it is intimidating and difficult and something to be avoided at all costs. Their lives are long sequences of repetition, making the same mistakes over and over again, because they refuse to try something new.

Mistakes are part of life. It's okay to make them, but they are meant to be learning processes, not ruts to be mired down in and cherished.

If something is not working, it needs to be changed. 

I don't need to repeat the old quote about people who keep on doing the same things while expecting different results. 

Common sense should prevail.

Depth

 

Everyone has their own ideas about how they want to live.

Depth of character is measured by the truth of those ideas.

If someone truly believes that what they are doing is the right thing, the best thing, then they must hold themselves responsible for the consequences of those beliefs.

To espouse a belief in something and then to complain about the consequences is asking people not to hold you responsible. Those two actions are in direct conflict with each other.

Each of us has the right to live the way we choose, but we do not have the right to expect other people to agree with that, or live with it, nor is it their responsibility to make us feel good it if they do not agree.

People can like us without agreeing with us. Asking them to pretend they do agree with us is neither fair, nor realistic, so sometimes it is just better to avoid those issues we know are in conflict with, in the name of peace.

Wanting everyone to like us and everything we do is a childish dream. As adults we choose what we want to share with those who are important to us and steer clear of those things we know we are in direct conflict with.

 The depth of our character is anchored on our ability to accept our own choices and their consequences.

Faith

 

Why must there be an authority figure that forces us to be good, or threats of damnation if we aren't?

Why does the word faith imply a belief in some kind of creed or religion?

Goodness is a part of nature that lies deep within all things. 

It is not always easy, or simple to access it.

True faith does not require anyone or anything to manifest it for us. We are the fishermen of our own souls.

Faith in simple goodness requires enormous strength of spirit, but that spirit is within us from the moment of our existence.

Finding it can be a life's work.

Forever

 

I have always loved my children so fiercely that it was sometimes terrifying. I had to cultivate a sense that they would be alright. That I had given them everything I knew to help them make it through this world.

I also believed that our connection was so strong that if they were to cry out for me from anywhere, I would hear them.

I was not always the best mother, but I always did the best I knew how.

If they did not come home on time, or call, I told myself that my worrying about them would not keep them safe. And yet I sent out signals to the universe to keep them safe, to help them find their way. Whatever that might be and for whatever good it did.

Maybe it was only good for me in the long run, but I tried.

It isn't easy to allow adult children to be who they are and find their own way. But love is so strong that anything is possible. Nothing can ever sever the love that ties me to each of my children..

Nothing.

They are as much a part of me as the heart in my chest.

Success

 

There is a natural order to everything.

Before there is success there must be attempts. It is not possible to win a race you never start.

Everybody fails sometimes, even many times.

Failure is a given.

Especially the person who never tries. 

If it is important enough to you, you keep trying. Try different ways, at different times, with different things and the  possibility of success becomes greater and greater.

Of course there are things that are impossible. You cannot turn a dog into a zebra, but eventually you will figure out something better to do. Then you do that.

And that is success!

Heaven

 

I have often wondered if the Christian idea of heaven were true, would that mean I am going to spend all eternity with the man I married?

That idea does not sound like heaven to me. 

We spent nearly thirty years trying to live together with very distinct differences of opinion that caused great anguish for both of us. I can't imagine that being heaven.

Last night I had a dream. In the dream my husband and I were separated and living in different parts of a large place. I had crammed all my things into a long corridor in between his place and my daughter's. 

In the nature of dreams, lots of events occurred that had nothing to do with him, but eventually I was so exhausted we met in the space next to my room.

He stood there tall and strong and I let myself fall against his chest, My ear to his heart found comfort and total peace. We decided to get back together.

Of course this man was nothing like my real husband in anything but name. He was taller, kinder, more empathetic and exactly the kind of person I could easily love. 

Maybe that is what heaven does?

Morphs the monsters in our lives into our dream person?

Somehow . . .

Rat mazes

 

As I wander crazed and lonely 

through the dark hours of the night

I ponder deeply on the causes

of my fate and personal plight.

Simply showering in my tub

billowing curtains hug me tight

I need weights to make this doable

but the prospects are not bright.

Magnets from the fridge are handy

But their strength becomes a fright

Now the magnets hug each other

Stuck together what a sight!

I turn to Amazon, who else?

Pricey magnets a delight

Now at least I shower better

In the rat maze of the night.

Miracles

 

Miracles are convoluted things. Beyond the understanding of mere mortals.

Born of light, bursting with power, not bound by time or place, they might as easily be missed as marveled over.

It requires an understanding of indiscernible things to perceive a miracle, let alone understand it.

We want miracles to be glorious showy things, granting us our deepest wishes or validating some religious concept, and if it were up to fairy godmothers and good witches that might be the case. But those are mythical creatures and miracles are a force of nature! Maybe greater than nature!

The simple miracle of existence is beyond our true grasp. Imagine how much more complex the finer tuned ones are.

And still, the world is full of miracles.

Time to re-root

 

I used to love to grow flowers and plants.

My gardens were full of bulbs, seeds, and bushes that bloomed at different times of the year, but indoors I liked to experiment.

I discovered that if I broke off a piece of my favorite coleus it would almost instantly send out new roots into a glass of water, creating a brand new plant. Later I could take that plant and do whatever I wanted with it.

I think my life has been a lot like those shoots.

I do something with my whole heart, put my entire being into it and when it is over, or fails, I take that piece of me that is left and try to re-root it somewhere else.

It would be easy to give up, to say I have failed at those things I loved in the past, but I don't think that is really true. I just took them as far as I could and then had to yield to fate or whatever when it was time.

I am once more sending out roots in a new place, a new way, a new life and even though I am nearly three quarters of a century in age, I don't believe it is too late.

A beautiful life

 

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the love and joy I feel when it comes to my children and grandchildren.

You might find that odd since I almost never see them in person at all. They live all across the country, from coast to coast, as far from me as it is possible to be.

And yet they fill my heart with the bits and pieces of their lives that they share with me.

My eldest is getting married next June and she just bought her dress. I was able to see this via video calls.

My older son just performed on guitar with my granddaughter with both of them singing, "Alleluia" and it was heartrendingly beautiful.

My youngest calls me nearly every day on his way home from work and we share our day, our dreams, our lives.

These are the moments that define a beautiful life.

Simplicity

The simple pleasures of not using up the gas in my car, or spending money on anything cannot be expressed in plain words.

Fully experiencing them requires eating eggs for the next two days thanks to a mistake by the water company who billed me twice and having to double up on the rent for one week then pay a deposit and this month's rent on top of that. Add the new bill for internet in my new apartment and life is rich.

But poor.

Thanks to all these fortuitous events I am not required to grocery shop or go anywhere until Wednesday when social security once more fills my coffers.

September will feel as if I have won the lottery!

Beautiful concept

 

Looking for love was something we were brought up to do. My generation often went to college to get that infamous MRS. 

The world was full of movies on love. West Side Story, Romeo and Juliet, My Fair Lady, Camelot, the list goes on and on, but real love isn't that cut and dried. 

Romance is easy. A girl can fall into romance so easily. She can write her own love story and fill in the details.

But it takes two for true love and I don't think I ever met the man who was meant to be my true love, my now and forever love, the one and only person willing to know me and share himself, who was worth walking through fire.

I know the love I have for my children and I have never experienced anything remotely close to that with another adult human being.

I think that kind of adult love is very rare, and I realize it is something that grows out of time, but I doubt if it is something I will ever know in this life.

Still, it is a beautiful concept.

Little steps

 

The last two years were a whirlwind of deceit. Exciting, romantic and ultimately devastating. It ended in financial ruin, a job that I loved, but that nearly killed me, and ultimately this move,

Waiting to find out if I could make the move was probably one of the most stressful periods of my life, but I am here now.

In the beginning all I could do was sit in my big chair with my feet up and try to take care of myself. Fixing food was a challenge. Showering was difficult. Anything else was almost unthinkable. Just getting to and from the bathroom was painful.

Every day now, I find myself doing more and more of those simple things I once took for granted.  Preparing food, standing up to shower, taking my trash down the hall to the chute, painting, making a birthday card for my niece and nephew, the things that add quality to my life.

It will be three weeks tomorrow since I got the keys to what may be the best move I've ever made.

God circle

 

I dreamed that my sister opened a tread on our staircase and we discovered the God circle.

It was a circle of old gods forty feet high, carved from sandstone.

The feet had narrow ankles and very wide toes that spread out across the base until they touched each other, almost like duck feet. The legs were simply a pillar and the top was carved to look like a shirt.

On the very top were smiling heads. One was John Ritter. Another was Woody Harrelson. Neither of those actors has any meaning to me that I can think of. I couldn't see the other heads, but there were at least six more.

My sister and I were trying to sleep on a fold out couch near a window in a trailer. We could hear a raging storm outside and feel the cool air from the open window blowing on us. The overwhelming feeling was one of fear. Where were our brothers, Tom and Henry? Where had Mom taken them?

In my waking life, both my mother and Tom have passed on, but Henry is alive and very successfully living a few miles away from me.

It seemed vitally important, in the dream, that I had discovered the God circle and that I remember what it looked like, but I have no idea why.

Why?

 

Sometimes the right words pop up at just the right time.

Because you are alive

Anything is possible.

Thich Nhat Hahn

This is the reason to keep on trying to eat right, drink enough water, move around more. Hope is an amazing gift.

Otherwise I tend to lean towards: I am already pretty old and my kidneys are pretty bad, so why try? Why bother to buy new clothes? Why think about redecorating? Why bother to fit in?

I've already made some progress.

Last week I grocery shopped and had to come home and go to bed sick.

Today I just had to rest a bit.

They said my brother would die before he was three years old. He lived to be sixty five!

That's why.

La dolce vita

 Isn't that what we all want in the end?

A beautiful sweet life where we can explore our most cherished dreams.

As long as there is breath there is life and every little second counts.

I have found a place I can afford to live more than decently and now I am figuring out how to settle in.

There are so many things to do when moving.

I have changed my address, registered to vote, figured out how to do my laundry here, even met a couple of people in the elevator and at a potluck. I have tried the local grocery stores and figured out things only older people need to figure out.

Now I need to regain some strength in my back and the journey continues.

Pedigrees of the past

 

We are all the product of our past, our family, the circumstances that generated our personalities.

The stories we heard growing up about our magnificent ancestors, the Indian princess, the student of Paderewski, the first woman doctor in Germany, the swashbuckling pirate? Those are the tales that families used to pass down. They were the pedigrees of the past.

The alcoholic father, the enabling mother, the compulsive obsessive grandmother? These are the things no one ever wants to mention, but they shaped us just as surely as those other glorious stories spun by hopeful people on hot summer nights.

Ultimately, it is not the stories we heard, or even the ones we tell that shape our lives.

It is our own determination, our own perseverance, our own grit and love and sweat and tears, that brought us to this place we are at today.

We have learned which family members are there standing behind and beside us and we are standing shoulder to shoulder with them too. 

These are the building blocks of success. The stories are just food for thought, something to feed our imaginations and add a little spice to the things that truly sustain us.

Once upon a time

 

Peter Pan goes by so many aliases. 

Right now he is hiding out in the trees of Appalachia, surrounded by his band of boys who do a lot of carpentry work when they are not kayaking, rafting and canoeing.

Wendy is making leather crafts and weaving fairy hair when she is not with the  boys.

The youngest Darling has been returned home where he plays video games near his attic window.

And the crocodile creeps around like a ticking bomb looking for things to destroy.

While here in the Heartland Alice has awakened in Wonderland where most things are wondrously white and shiny and the air conditioner keeps everything cool.

The world lies at her feet, waiting to be painted in dreams and memories and served up with tea and cookies.

Everywhere you look the familiar fairy tales are replaying themselves with new faces and old stories told time and time again.

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows

 

Thanks to the untiring help of my family and friends I am moved! In fact, I am completely unpacked, which is not to say I won't rearrange in the future, but I am as settled as you can imagine being in four days time.

Everyone has gone out of their way to make this easy on me, including the staff of our building.

I have been to the local MacDonalds to use the internet until it was installed yesterday. I have been to the local Walmart and the local Kroger. I have even been to dinner at my brother's house already!

I have unpacked in between bouts of sitting in a chair with my feet propped up and a heating pad on my back, but it has still been fun. All my boxes are torn down and out for recycling.

Tomorrow I go to a potluck to meet some of the other people who live in this building and I'm looking forward to it.

After so many months of worrying about money, struggling to work, and trying to persevere until this happened, I can hardly believe I am here.

But I am!

Cobbling

 

Yesterday I had a doctor appointment after which I filled the car with gas and went to the grocery store for a couple of necessities. Then I went home exhausted!

Today I am resting. My back is still very problematic and I am not feeling great. I think, maybe, I am just scared. Of what? Scared of a move that is taking me away from the town I love and a life that is over into a new kind of life that may be my last chapter.

I am cobbling together all the resources I know of to make this possible.

Some dear friends sent me a large check in April to help and it is one of the main reasons I can do this. My niece and nephew found the place I am moving to and they are moving all my things there at the end of this week, but tomorrow I drive down to sign the lease.

While I am there my brother and sister are going to unpack what I already have in my car and then take my brother's dolly over to my nephew's house, so they can use it Saturday.

I am trying to rest as much as possible and still have things ready to go. Most of the apartment is long packed. Most things are clean. It is only my peace of mind that keeps faltering.

I am striving to be positive.

Jaded lessons

 

It is only in the great open spaces of a starry night that I hear my lover's passion,

Feel the unbearable aching deep within some part of me that knows more than this.

Fulfillment so satisfying I shall evermore seek its presence in corporeal moments 

No longer existing upon my plane? 

Or perhaps they never existed. Perhaps these are the memories of another space, another time, another place that has imprinted upon my soul, or whatever it is that is the real me, the everlasting me, the infinite me.

Yet I know it is real. I have always heard the echoes of its whisperings, remembered its impossible touch, known the all consuming ecstasy of its being around me.

A lifetime of searching has only brought me jaded lessons from imperfect lovers impersonating the impossible, the perfect,

The one true love.

In and out

I am struggling to find my center.

It is easy when everything goes along smoothly, but when there are  thousand moving pieces and they include both my body and my belongings, it gets trickier.

My kidney doctor keeps changing my blood pressure medicine and that affects my blood sugar as well as my hearing and energy level. 

My back and feet and knees were totally stressed out when I tried to go back to work and are just starting to recover. In order to protect what is left of my kidneys I cannot use most anti-inflammatory drugs

Financially I think I'm going to squeak by thanks to some very good friends who sent me a huge check this spring. I've been able to hold onto it for this move.

I know this move is necessary and actually a blessing in many ways, but trying to let go of the nagging voices in my mind that keep warning me something bad may happen is not easy.

Breathing in I take in the calm.

Breathing out I smile.

The next generation

 

People who work for money sometimes seem to think that the people who don't are not working, but that is far from the truth.

There may be people who simply lie about and travel and eat and do nothing, but most of the people I know and knew, who stay at home, are doing the jobs that working people cannot do when they are away from home or working all day.

They are caring for the next generation of people, giving them values and experiences, taught by example, that take an infinite amount of time and patience. They are spending hours reading to their children, doing puzzles, teaching them how to control their tempers and let their souls soar. It is a full time job. 

They are volunteering in the classrooms and school libraries to help teachers who are already overloaded.

They are cleaning their own homes, doing their own gardening, taxiing their, and other people's children, to sports events, music lessons, art lessons, doctor appointments, dentist appointments and preparing healthy nutritious meals for their families. 

They do not have babysitters, nannies, or sometimes anyone else to help them when they are exhausted. 

Stay at home parents work hard!

Working away from home is hard too, but there are trade offs. It may not be possible to stay at home and raise a child and some people do not have either the patience or skills to do it, but never make the mistake of thinking they are just stay at home parents.

These are the people creating the next generation, the people who will run the world when we grow old.

Reliant

We have all told other people to call us if they need anything and most of us mean it, but also for most of us, it is a difficult thing to ask for help..

I am in the process of moving next week and my back is a mess. I moved some furniture and strained a muscle, or maybe pulled a tendon. I am okay as long as I don't stand up or bend over.

Now the true test.

I have had to call on family and both my sister's family and my brother's family are going to help as much as they can. They both live out of town.

Now the problem.

I have to really stay off my feet until then so even cooking an egg is painful right now. My sister is going to come up and bring me food I can quickly assemble so that is possible. It means an extra trip for her, but she is willing to do it.

I am so grateful for all the help.

I never dreamed of being in this position.

Remember the pain

 

Memory is an exotic animal.

I remember things that happened when I was two years old, but I forget to avoid the actions that caused me so much pain a day ago!

What is it that drives me to do things that harm my body? 

I know it is partially guilt.

I feel like I should be working around the apartment, packing, doing laundry, washing dishes, cooking a meal.

If I had a broken back and was wearing a cast, that might validate that I need to rest, but a strained back doesn't show and I am embarrassed by how little I am able to accomplish right now.

I have been to Prompt Care twice in nine days. The second time they gave me enough muscle relaxers that I could take three a day instead of only one. That really helped, but it leaves me feeling that I am healed when the pain stops and that is a false assumption.

Today I vow to remember the pain I am in when I get up and move around too much.

No matter how little that is.

Pain!

The day before yesterday I was in so much pain I was willing to die. Yesterday was not much better. I went to Prompt Care on the fourth of July and they would only give me enough medicine to partially ease the pain for a few hours each day. They told me to wait until Monday and go to my primary care doctor.

Today I seem to have it under control. What a difference that makes!

This is turning out to be a turning point in my life.

When I had to go back to work I thought it was worth it to stay here in this apartment. Now, after forcing my body to do things it was no longer able to do and catching a very bad case of Covid in spite of being totally immunized, I realize going back to work was the worst mistake I've ever made in my life.

I honestly didn't think I had much choice. Rent everywhere is outrageous and I'm on a fixed income, but thanks to family I found a rent subsidized apartment. I just hope it isn't too late. I am trying desperately to regain my health, but I think I was trying too hard.

Trying to balance mental and physical health is always a bit tricky, but once a body begins failing to stand up to its old standards, it becomes critical.

My family has promised they will move me no matter what. Even if I can't help carry things to the truck. I have already packed as much as I can until that day comes and it's a good thing, because I have barely been able to get drinks of water, or get to my bathroom for the last three days.

Today was better. The pain seems to be under control if I am very careful not to move the wrong way, or put any pressure on my joints for more than a minute or two.

I have never felt this vulnerable in my life.

Death

Death sells. 

It is powerful advertising for the drug companies, hospitals and funeral homes. Fear mongering pays. 

It is wrong to live worrying about death, because it is inevitable and dying began the day I was born. 

The truth is today is always the first day of the rest of my life. There is no other real option.

Who knows what came before birth, or what comes after death.

Perhaps I have already lived a thousand years, or have a million to go.

Making the best of what is, could be the best way to influence what will be.

And since I don't know if there will even be consciousness after death, let alone life, I need to just accept that what will be, will be.

Searching for the beauty and peace of each moment is, at least, possible. 

That is what I want to focus on.

It is happening

 

I have an apartment! I will move in July 27th, 2024!

Today I filled up the back of my Fit with boxes and decorative pillows.

It's just a start, but I can't really put anything else in the car until I know whether or not my granddaughter and I will be going to a band concert on the 24th. I need room for her and her lawn chair.

My nephew and family are going to help me, so he will tow a trailer filled with my meager amount of furniture and we will put more things in his and my sister's cars.

This is happening. I just have to wait until closer to the time to notify utilities on both ends and get my internet set up in the new apartment. I can do things like register to vote and change the address on my driver's license online.

It's been an agonizingly slow process, but I think I'm organized.

My octopus personality

I am supremely sensitive to almost everything!

The list of things I am allergic to, or that produce unwelcome results is very long.

It encompasses everything from the air I breathe to medicine, clothing,  foods and even the people around me.

A conversation with someone can keep me up all night. I pick up on other people's feelings and moods like an octopus in the ocean.

I have always had this sensitivity, even as a child. 

The quirk of an eyebrow, the slight change in a smile or voice, the darkening of the eyes. the body posture, let alone the actions of anyone and anything affects me.

I've tried to mediate all this with a small amount of success.

So . . . when my doctor tries to find a new blood pressure medicine, he is up against impossible odds. I have a hard time knowing when my symptoms are due to the medicine or the trauma of needing the medicine, or fear of the medicine's effect on me.

Add two or more problems (like high blood pressure and high blood glucose) and finding the results is factoring not adding.. It is not just one drug or two, but also all the others I take as well as my emotional reactions.

An octopus may have 8 tentacles reaching out, but I have a hundred feelers always ready and waiting.

Bad

 

I am entering a period of my life where parts of my body are failing. Not all and not completely yet, but enough that it has brought me to a realization.

Deep down inside I feel not like I am aging, or my health is failing, but that I am a bad person. A person who has failed to do the right things the right way and this is some kind of divine retribution.

I have not been the ideal human, eating only to live and exercising in precisely the right way. But I think it goes far deeper than that.

I simply do not consider myself worthy of the people around me and the life I have lived.

There are all sorts of reasons for that, but I am trying to put that in the past.

In the present I know, intellectually, that I am okay, maybe even more than okay.

It is emotionally, where I come up short.

And those feelings give me nightmares at night, sorrow and despair during the long hours of the day while filling me with regret overall. 

I am trying to be more realistic from this point on. I am probably no more and no less bad, or imperfect than most people. They are just more accepting of themselves.

I am not bad. I am just overly critical.

Traversing the unknown

 

As the, still unknown time, to move away comes closer I suffer from all sorts of thoughts and conditions.

Most of all I am feeling anxious. So many things to coordinate depending on how everything moves. Nothing is a given except the fact that I AM moving.

I am never sure whether my ailments begin in my head or my body, but either way it feels real.

I can only pack so much and still live here, which I must, so I am trying to compact what cannot be packed permanently for the move.

When I see my nephrologist on Thursday it will either ease my concern immensely or double my anxiety. I'm hoping for the best. My regular doctor complicated everything the past two weeks by neglecting to get an order through in time. Twice!

And to top everything off this heat wave is costing me a fortune in air conditioning. 

On the other hand, at least I have air conditioning!

Abortion

 

I had a bizarre thought while watching a horror show the other night.

What if by eliminating a woman's right to an abortion they are trying to guarantee the birth of the anti-christ, to remove any chance that it might be mistakenly aborted?

To the right people that might be worth any amount of human suffering. These people would not care if the living children were fed, or cared for.

They would only care about their own ambitions.

Heaven

 

My mother died thirty eight years ago today. She was too young, 58 years old, but she had eleven aneuryisms in the main aorta to her heart. She also had less than a third of a kidney left. By the time they realized it and rushed her to St. Louis via plane, she was too far gone to survive.

It is easy to think about dying when you are young and healthy, but a little more complicated as the time draws nearer.

I would love to believe that I will go to heaven and be reunited with everyone I love in a beautiful place, but my innermost soul tells me I will return to the dust I came from. I don't know if I will be conscious of my self, but I expect to blow with the wind over the prairies and rivers, the mountains and oceans with all the rest of creation. 

I hope it is the great feeling of belonging that I have yearned for all my life and never quite found. 

Being part of a whole so immense, so complicated and so eternal might actually be heaven.

Success

 

People within the same family may seem to have the same values and yet, their children turn out massively different.

I think everyone wants their loved ones to succeed and tries to give them the tools to do so.

The difference may be in the expectations.

I wanted my children to have the manners, the experiences, the curiosity and the desire to achieve whatever their hearts desired. I gave them the encouragement and the opportunities to play different sports, different musical instruments, and participate in those things they loved at school.

I tried never to set a goal, hoping they would reach as high as they wanted to .

Other people are more focused on protecting their children. They allow them to quit out of fear of failing. They don't encourage them to reach too high because they might not succeed. They enable them when their fears rise up and threaten them rather than urging them on.

So many of the goals for children under twenty are there to help them find out who they are. Not being the best at any of them, or even discovering they are terrible at some of them will not really affect their long term abilities, but not trying and giving it their all teaches them to fail. 

Learning to avoid failure is not the same thing as success.

Anchors away

 

If I could change one thing about me it would be that I could feel more tolerant of everyone.

I act like I feel that way, but inside, some people simply drive me crazy.

Not that I don't have foibles and weaknesses of my own, it's just that I can't seem to let go of some of the things others do that make no sense to me.

I try rationalizing and saying, "I do this and this and this and they aren't the wisest or best things to do."

It helps for a very very short time.

The strange thing is that I am very tolerant of most people's so-called faults. I even find some of them adorable in a funny sort of way, but there are a few people I guess I just expect more from.

And expectations are the anchors that bog me down.

The last 75 years

 

I was born just before the beginning of the 1950s and it has been an amazing journey.

I saw the transition from telephone operators to Iphones.

I remember getting our first television.

I remember Sputnik and the first man on the moon.

I came of age when birth control made children a choice.

I saw women able to have their own bank account and credit cards.

I watched the glass ceiling become thinner and thinner.

I saw a man try to become dictator of the United States of America.

I've seen Illinois Governors go to prison.

And maybe I will see a former US President go there too!

Mating call

 

Our little neighborhood is gradually transitioning from middle aged and older people to young adults.

I can hear it in the too loud laughter responding to the even louder bravado inciting it. The sophisticated set is comfortable in their skin. They make enough money to have the things they want and now they want the lifestyle to go with it.

It is the mating call of the up and coming.

There is a naivety about it that is both charming and annoying.

They honestly believe that this behavior will attract the people they want and admire, little knowing how it will turn on them in the future.

The giggle that stirred a heart annoys the hell out of the businessman who is starting to feel trapped by his situation. And the bravado of a so-called strong personality wears thin when the bill mongers are beating at the door.

This is a stage most of us go through. Some at 14. Some at 28 and some at 40. Unfortunately the end result is seldom any different.

It is play acting with a fury where we try to emulate the people we see on the big screen, who are in fact, play acting.

It pays off for one of them.

Tycoon hoarders

 

In the beginning humans were focused on simple survival. Shelter, food, safety, those were the guiding lights for our earliest ancestors.

Having enough slowly evolved into having more.

And more and more and more!

Hoarding money, or land, or power is not considered the flaw that other forms of hoarding are.

For some reason we think these high profile hoarders are special and a few are. A few use their stash to better mankind. Others just use it for hedonistic experiences for themselves and those closest to them.

The ability to collect things does not make you wise or kind and yet in those famous words from Fiddler On the Roof, if you're rich they think you really know.

We need to start asking ourselves what these people know. Do they really know how to take care of people, or a country? Are they truly qualified to guide us into better lives?

Maybe it is time to step away from judging people by what they have and look at the way they live.

It isn't as easy, but it might be a big step forward.

Sea to shining sea

 

I was looking at photos today and I realized if my extended family all lived together in a village we could be pretty self sufficient.

We have security people, nurses of all sorts, gardeners, teachers, mechanics, computer people, attorneys, carpenters, artists, musicians, engineers, electricians, brick layers and professors, just about everybody I can think of that we might need.

However we are stretched coast to coast, sea to shining sea, north, south, east and west across this continent.

We keep in touch through phone calls, texts, sporadic visits and the occasional card, which is at least better than in covered wagon days when good bye might mean forever.

We are a truly continental family.

The secret

 

Does everyone have one?

A secret so special and so dear that it belongs solely to them?

Something that can sustain them forever.

If they choose to let it?

The lesson and the journey

  

We are all born into this world crying and screaming and probably wishing we were back safely inside the warm nurturing bodies of our mothers.

Time passes and we are taught that we need to find our places, our vocations, our raison d'etre, but one reoccurring experience in my life makes me wonder if that is truly the point of being.

Of course I do not remember being born, or letting go of my mother, but I do remember moving away from my first friends, July and Paul, close to my fifth birthday.  We moved in with my grandmother while my dad was in Germany with his father for six weeks and I missed my daddy, even though he called me from that strange place far across a lake I couldn't walk around.

Throughout the rest of my childhood and teen years I would leave schools, neighborhoods and friends behind, always missing them, but adjusting, because I always had our family.

When I was married I left my entire family to move across the country with my husband who was in the army. Years later both my mother and father would precede me in death. Letting go of them was hard.

We had three children who grew up and moved away from home and once more I missed them dearly. Then my husband wanted a divorce and I left him.

Since then I have had many friends and lived in several places, eventually leaving them all to move on. Soon I will leave this place too. I've been here seven years, one of the longest times I've ever lived in one place at one time, but I've lived in this town since 1971 with the exception of a few years here and there. That's over fifty years in one place!

I am having interesting dreams as I prepare for this move. I feel it may be my last, but more importantly I am realizing that maybe what I am supposed to learn about life is letting go. Letting go of everything that is not essential is a journey much more complicated than giving up possessions. 

And yet it will free me up to be like the light and the wind where I will experience everything in a brand new way.

The best

 

My granddaughter graduated from college this weekend and I could not be prouder.

Anytime someone manages to get their degree it displays their willingness to work hard and persevere, but my granddaughter did this against incredible odds.

Here is a child who bought her prom dresses at second hand stores and altered them into beautiful. A girl who started working the minute she was old enough without ever letting her grades slip. A person who persevered in a home that did not value education all that much.

She made sure both she and her sister had all the ordinary milestones so many children take for granted. She is that exception to the rule, the one who made it beyond all odds.

And she managed to do it with style!

Once touring Europe with her friend who was going to school in Ireland, Moving far from home and setting up her own household. Supporting herself from the day she graduated from high school while working on this degree and now holding down a wonderful job that makes a difference in this world.

A human being just can't do any better than she does.

Mind tricks

In our family we are in the middle of a big move, a divorce, a college graduation, renovating a house, and planning a wedding.

Not one person is uninvolved.

And yet a good part of all of these things is waiting and waiting is hard.

Sometimes waiting involves preparing for an event, but everything happens in its own time.

The unknowns involved with waiting can be some of the most stressful moments around.

When action is delayed the mind plays and replays all the possibilities and some of them are not good. 

Of course that is like worrying, or really it is just another form of worrying and as I've said before, worrying is just another way of tricking your mind into believing you are actually doing something. When you are not.

The real trick is probably finding a way of not worrying or stressing out over the uncontrollable.

Bringing up baby

 

My daughter is the perfect example of a slow person.

She had a very traumatic childhood before she came to live with us, so her first four years, the years when your brain learns how to learn, were pretty much lost. Years of tutors, summer school, and everyone in the family working with her got her through school.

Now she is just like everyone else and better than many people.

She holds down a full time job, has a lovely home, goes on fantastic vacations and is getting married next summer. 

She has never stopped learning.

Prodigies are people whose brains learn faster than most of us do, in ways we don't completely understand yet, but if they are not brought up correctly they might lack social skills, or other skills the rest of us take for granted.

Most truly happy, successful people grow up learning how to navigate the world. Without that it doesn't matter how good looking you are, or even how talented, because if you can't get along on your own and with the people around you, life is hard. Money can only buy so many things for so long. After that people catch on and you become an outcast.