The desire to be heard

I have been spending quite a lot of time with the old lady, 97. Because she lives in a HUD building, we knew she couldn't stay in a two bedroom apartment after the old man died. We just moved her into a one bedroom, two floors up. It is very close to the elevator which is major. Thanks to my sister in law, who engineered the move and yesterday hung all her pictures, things have gone smoothly. Right now there are two big concerns, she can't find her gold earrings and she hates the hall light fixture.

Truthfully, I have no idea where the earrings are and hope my daughter can help her find them.

The light fixture is another story altogether. There is something about a new place and a new fixture that is ingrained in her. Back in 1960 when she married my father, her sisters bought a chandelier as a wedding gift. When we moved to Orono, that was the gift she wanted to give us. Even in the first assisted living apartment, her first desire was for a ceiling fan and light for the dining area that had to be bought and installed pronto. Now she sits about fifteen feet away from the light by the door. She can't really see the white globe, but she hates it. She wants a nicer fixture, why can't she have one?

We have told her the fan won't fit there and she accepts it. Yesterday I took her to Home Depot to look at lights. She hated anything that sat flush against the ceiling as hall lights do. So I showed her some that hung below the ceiling and she hated them too. It turns out she wants a multi-light chandelier, that's all. At first I couldn't see it, the mounting is pretty close to the wall, not centered at all. But then I realized if we bought something with a chain, we could put it anywhere with a hook. Finally we were on the same page.  We didn't find the style she wanted and I will keep looking.

We went to Chili's where she enjoyed her dinner but ate very little. In the months since my father got sick and died, the old lady has lost some weight. She used to eat half a rack of ribs. Yesterday she had soup and one rib and half a cob of corn. She says she has no appetite and doesn't even look at the weekend box meals. She does a little better in the dining room, but really is not eating much and so the downward spiral goes. She told me she hasn't been able to eat since he died, not hungry and nothing tastes very good. This is a problem for the extreme elderly. If you don't put gas in the car, it can't go very far. She uses the walker but I got her a wheelchair at Home Depot.

We got back to the apartment and she was very happy to sit with all her pretty things around her. The familiar pictures and plates are on the walls and if felt like home. As is normal for her, she said the same thing over and over. But instead of saying how much she hated the globe light, she kept telling me there was no emergency. She said even if it took a month to find the right fixture, there was no emergency, to take my time. It really surprised me and got me thinking.

The desire for a new light is real, but something even more real is the desire to be heard. She couldn't tell me what she wanted before we went to the store, and we kept telling her she couldn't have a fan in the space. But once she knew I understood her and would fulfill that desire, she could relax. She was heard and acknowledged. Being heard is so very important for quality of life.

For years I have been saying many of the things the Occupy Wall Street people are saying. No one in power heard me. Now others have taken up the cry that we need economic justice in this country. I walked 25,000 strong in Miami at the FTAA summit and saw all our protest marginalized and ignored. (Michael Jackson was being arrested.) I who love a good protest and have walked in many a demonstration, I am staying home and watching from the sidelines.  Somehow, I can't bear to go down there and not be heard.

New experiences at ages 97 and 59

Tonight, for the first time in her life my 97 year old mother will sleep in an apartment that is only hers. Although she has been alone since mid June, she has always lived with others. First her parents, then roommates, then her first husband, then with my father and three kids, then only my father.

Today we moved her from the assisted living apartment she shared with the old man to a one bedroom apartment of her own, two floors up. I left her in a state of amazement. She could not believe that family and friends would do all the work of moving her. Big thank you to Pete, Clara, Ernesto, John and Gavin! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Special thanks to General Leslie for her guidance and puzzle solving skills. I could not have done it without them.

Of course not everything went well. It wasn't the fault of any of the wonderful people named above. First I thought there wasn't any electricity because I didn't change the service. John and Clara suggested checking the circuit breakers. Ha ha ha, they were turned off. (Whew) Then I forgot to cancel the truck. Guess what? They didn't charge me and they had the reservation for the wrong day. I also forgot to call the cable company so she doesn't have any TV yet. But she does have phone service! After everyone left and Mom was mostly settled, I went back downstairs to bring up food and start cleaning. I wish I could tell you the feeling when the top of the bottle of cooking oil came off and it fell on the floor. Oil splashed on my face and hair and clothes and shoes, and all over the floor. I put down raggedy towels to absorb most of it. Tomorrow, I will come back with a bucket and soap. And garbage bags and Goo-gone and a sense of humor, I hope.

Monday, John and Eri are coming back to help with the little stuff. Bless them and bless me!

Stages of womanhood

Throughout history women have been classified according to their reproductive status. First, maidenhood. This is the period of time before menstruation in older cultures, and before marriage in more modern times. For some, their maidenhood and subsequent marriages have been as young as nine, although real puberty is a more accurate time frame. 


Then came motherhood. Before reliable birth control those years could have started in the early teens and gone into the forties. In older times, when women routinely died in childbirth, few women actually hit menopause, dying as grandmothers in their thirties.


After menopause, we became either wise women or crones. In either case, for many women in many cultures, sex ended along with the childbearing years. Those women healthy enough to survive the rigors of life in those days were considered wise, they had a lot of experience and gained respect. In later days if a woman tried to gain power she was considered a crone, very demeaning. In our society, rather than gaining respect, older women have become invisible. But don't you believe it. Some have surgery, some get comfortable shoes, some are happy alone, and others have mates.


So here I stand in the space between. I'm over being a mother, not quite ready for cronehood. I'm healthy and energetic, I'm not willing to take a lot of garbage from anyone, I want a good time and I want to hold babies. I am friends with the young and the old.


Yesterday afternoon I was invited to play cards with some of the older women in my condo building. It was Fran's 84th birthday. The other women ranged from those in their mid sixties to late eighties. Rita came down to say she couldn't play because her partner, Philip, needed some care; he'd needed some nitroglycerin and she didn't want to leave him alone.


We had been playing for close to three hours when I asked what time we would be done. All the ladies looked at me and the sentiment was basically whenever they wanted to stop. Suddenly it occurred to me that none of us, with the exception of Rita had to get back and make supper for a man. When I pointed it out, they all laughed.
Sometimes I get lonely and wish I had someone to cook for. Those days of being a busy young mother are gone. That was one part of life, this is another. I might or might not ever have a partner again and who knows if I would do much cooking. But when I looked around this gathering of older women having fun and enjoying their freedom I realize it is not at all a bad place to be.

Life as an immigrant in China

Tonight, on the PBS Program POV, I saw a documentary about a family that immigrated from a farm in the country to a large industrial city in China. The parents were peasants and were working day and night in a clothing factory. Their teenage daughter, for whom they were sacrificing so had dropped out of school and was also working in a factory. The parents shared a narrow bed in a curtained off area of a large and noisy place. They slept on mats on a platform, not even a mattress. The girl shared a bed with another factory girl.

The family wants to go home for New Years but there is a snow emergency and the train is held up. Thousands and thousands of people are waiting hours and days for a train that doesn't come. When it finally does arrive, they are herded on with no place to sit and by the time they get to the country where Grandmother lives tempers flare. So much unhappiness. The girl is angry at her mother for going to the city and leaving her with the grandparents when she was young. There is a young brother who still lives in the country. The first thing the parents want to see is his report card. He is fifth in his class and rather than praise him, they are disappointed that he isn't higher placed. So many hopes and dreams are riding on the children, the pressure is tremendous. It did make me wonder how bad the economy is in the country that people would choose to leave the spaciousness and clean air to live like sardines in the city.  To see those conditions is to know the desperation that drives people to try to come to America in a container on a ship and sometimes die in the attempt.

Thirty-four years ago, when we were living in Pocatello Idaho, I wanted to buy some blanket sleepers for my baby. I checked around and found some at Sears. The best price I could get was ten dollars each on sale. Recently, at Costco, infant blanket sleepers were priced at $7.99. How could a Carter's garment be so cheap? I know Costco buys in huge quantities, but that isn't the only factor. Sweatshop labor, nearly slave labor is why the price is so cheap. But what is the alternative in 2011? The domestic clothing industry is nearly dead. The consumer wants the lowest prices and the American worker is hanging on for dear life for the jobs that have not gone overseas. It is not at all cost effective to make one's own. Many of us shop for used goods.

The next program was on the factories along the Mexican border, the cities they call Maquilapolis. I couldn't watch it without wanting to cut my own throat.  Until the haves acknowledge the dignity and worth of workers, and the workers see that we are in it together, and start pulling together things will only get worse. I have no answers. I only know that until we treat humans with respect and not as disposable resources, be it as soldiers or factory workers, we will not achieve peace or prosperity.

Overwhelmed

They found a new apartment for the old lady. I told them it had to be close to the elevator. Right now she is in 101, she will be moving to 301. It is a brand new conversion to assisted living. They started with the first two floors and now have some of the third floor done. If I had my druthers she would move to Shalom Home. But she doesn't need 24 hour care and it saves the taxpayers a lot of money to keep her in an apartment as long as possible. Management will give me a key mid October. I want to have her moved the weekend of the October 15 and 16.

My mother is 97 years old, frail, and very sad that my father is gone. She has beatified him in memory and sometimes I have to remind her that he was no saint. "But he adored me," she replies. She hates walking by the door to his room and can't wait to move.  I was hoping they wouldn't make her move or find an apartment very soon. At 97, how much longer can she last? (Don't ask, who thought she would last this long?) This woman has STUFF and I am feeling overwhelmed. There is not as much as before because my sister and I got rid of a ton of things when we packed the Brooklyn apartment in 2005.

I know if I ask my family they will come and help move her. I hate to ask people to give up much of their Saturday or Sunday. We are going to need muscle for the big stuff, as well as a furniture dolly. Then we need someone who can hang pictures. Also someone to hang window treatments. But first I have to make a list.

1. Ask for help
2. Gather boxes
3. Decide what to keep and what to give away
4. Pack boxes
5. Find a furniture dolly. There are plenty of carts for anything else
6. Ask for peace in my heart and patience in my actions
7. Give others a chance to do a good deed. (In Yiddish it is called a mitzvah and benefits both the giver and receiver.

There, that wasn't so bad. One step at a time. One breath at time. It is going to be fine. It might even be fun.)