Sidney had a terrible death. Lots of pain, lots of misery. There wasn't a gentle slide, it was a bumpy tumble down a slope filled with sharp jagged boulders. His release was prayed for and welcome. Harriet has been going down a very shallow incline this past year since his death, probably even before that. She hasn't gotten out of bed in three weeks and has gotten weaker and weaker each day. Today I visited twice. She was sleeping so soundly I couldn't wake her.
Except for the one day a week my dear sister-in-law Leslie visits, I have been there every day since February. I was seeing her two or three days a week while she had the apartment. Once in a while Eri stops by and I appreciate that, too. Leslie has been a life saver taking the burden of organizing the move into the new apartment and now the moving out. When she visits Harriet on Mondays, I sleep the day away. There may be a whole list of things that must be done, but somehow I don't get out of bed until four and am back asleep by midnight. It is mental exhaustion I am sure.
Yesterday, I went out to the pool around five and was chatting with a neighbor when the phone rang. I walked over and checked the readout: Smoller. I knew Leslie would be there soon and did not answer it. I said it was my mother and I wasn't going to answer it right now. The woman said there wasn't a time in her life when she wasn't happy to hear from her mother. I saw red. She had pushed my not-good-enough button. I told her that I talked to her at least twice a day on the phone and visited daily. I said she was 98 years old and would not die. She apologized and I apologized and things are fine between us.
This morning I spent a long time on the phone with the Hospice nurse. Mom has some open sores on her back because she has no fat between her skin and bones. They are treating them. She can't swallow pills anymore, nor can she tolerate them ground up. This morning she threw up. Poor, poor, baby. Do you know what it is like to have dry heaves? Awful. By consensus we have decided to discontinue all medications. What is the worst that can happen, death? They have started her on an extremely low dose of morphine. Today I stopped by twice but couldn't rouse her from a deep sleep.
This is a definite change for the worse, physically. While I am grateful she is not suffering the way my father did, I am hoping for the welcome change, and soon.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Monday, July 16, 2012
Letting go, letting God vs. fighting injustice
Well, not such a Miss Mellow, after all. I've been doing pretty good trying to surrender the entwined circumstances of my mother's life and my own. Still accepting that things will happen on the Creator's timetable. OK.
Then, without notifying me, my hours and income get cut by 10% and I go from 0-60 in the blink of an eye. I am furious, indignant, and ready to take action. I will either quit this job, or give notice, or confront, or, or, or. Oh yes, Carol? Where is your peace? Where is your acceptance? Where is your patience?
I have learned something over the years and that is not to go off half cocked. If I am shooting, let it be straight, let it hit the target. Oh man, I am angry, but I need to give it a little time to percolate and then do the confronting. I have to be calm and I am not there yet. I believe it behooves us not to go like sheep to the slaughter and accept every injustice. I believe that we are called upon to use our heads and voices to right wrongs done to us and on a larger scale, to our community, the world.
This situation has really opened my eyes to what I want to do after Mom passes. I don't want to sell anything. I want to work for things I believe, universal clean water, the right for women to live safe lives, economic justice. I admire those who work to protect animals, but that is not the cause for me. I'm still not sure what I want to do when I grow up. Maybe the trick is not to grow up; maybe the trick is to find what fires me up and put the energy of my youth and the experience of being older together.
Yes, it is a journey. One of the stops along the way is the little kiosk. I will do the best I can do, but get ready... someone is going to get a well thought out, clear and concise, piece of my mind. Just not yet.
Then, without notifying me, my hours and income get cut by 10% and I go from 0-60 in the blink of an eye. I am furious, indignant, and ready to take action. I will either quit this job, or give notice, or confront, or, or, or. Oh yes, Carol? Where is your peace? Where is your acceptance? Where is your patience?
I have learned something over the years and that is not to go off half cocked. If I am shooting, let it be straight, let it hit the target. Oh man, I am angry, but I need to give it a little time to percolate and then do the confronting. I have to be calm and I am not there yet. I believe it behooves us not to go like sheep to the slaughter and accept every injustice. I believe that we are called upon to use our heads and voices to right wrongs done to us and on a larger scale, to our community, the world.
This situation has really opened my eyes to what I want to do after Mom passes. I don't want to sell anything. I want to work for things I believe, universal clean water, the right for women to live safe lives, economic justice. I admire those who work to protect animals, but that is not the cause for me. I'm still not sure what I want to do when I grow up. Maybe the trick is not to grow up; maybe the trick is to find what fires me up and put the energy of my youth and the experience of being older together.
Yes, it is a journey. One of the stops along the way is the little kiosk. I will do the best I can do, but get ready... someone is going to get a well thought out, clear and concise, piece of my mind. Just not yet.
Friday, July 6, 2012
You are a good mother
Today, for the first time, my mother's room smelled like a nursing home. The lovely West African aide had changed diapers for the roommate and Mom. He was getting them ready for bed. I was glad to see Harriet was on her side. She spends so much time on her back and I don't want her to get bed sores. She is not in any pain. She seemed more confused today. I tried to tell her it was a year since Dad died but she didn't understand. Who? Dad! Whose dad? Mine! Your husband, Sidney! Then she said he was a good husband.
Suddenly, she was lucid and her speech became clear, "I was the only one who took their children places. My mother used to take us on the streetcar. I guess I learned it from her. I tried to be a good mother." I said, "Mom, you were a good mother and you still are." She smiled.
When people go back to their childhood homes they often remark how small everything seems. They remember it bigger. That is because the memories made as a child are a child's memories. It isn't whether they are true or not, they were made when we were small and the world was large. My sister will swear that my father beat us every single night. I don't remember it as every night, and my mother says she would not have stayed with him if he had been such a monster. What really happened? My sister built him into this fearsome beast, I never learned to shut up around him and the poor old lady took her share of abuse, too. Harriet has adult memories, and I've got very few memories (not uncommon when childhood is chaotic) and my sister has a real memory of being knocked out as a teenager.
Looking at my step mother through childish eyes, she was not a very good mother. My birth mother had me from the day I was born and grew with me. She was my idea of what a mother should be, a rock, a shelter, my advocate and my protector. Harriet became a mother to a 12 year old boy, a 7 year old girl, and a three year old baby girl all on the same day. It would have been hard for anyone, even a child development specialist. It was especially hard for an immature narcissist who married a crazy man. Sometimes she would ask me what I wanted and all I could say was, "Be the mother." Maybe I was asking her to be my protector, to stand up to my father the way my mother did. I don't remember him being crazy and violent before she died, but then, I was very young.
As an adult, I can see what a hard time she had. I don't know that there is anything to forgive, but I do wish things had been otherwise. I wish I had been able to grieve my mother and talk about her. I wish Harriet had been better educated and able to guide me in school. One thing I do know is she did the best she could given the circumstances and her skills and understanding. That is what I did in raising my children and that is what most people do.
Take comfort. Yes, you were a good mother and, fragile as you are, you're still a good mother.
Suddenly, she was lucid and her speech became clear, "I was the only one who took their children places. My mother used to take us on the streetcar. I guess I learned it from her. I tried to be a good mother." I said, "Mom, you were a good mother and you still are." She smiled.
When people go back to their childhood homes they often remark how small everything seems. They remember it bigger. That is because the memories made as a child are a child's memories. It isn't whether they are true or not, they were made when we were small and the world was large. My sister will swear that my father beat us every single night. I don't remember it as every night, and my mother says she would not have stayed with him if he had been such a monster. What really happened? My sister built him into this fearsome beast, I never learned to shut up around him and the poor old lady took her share of abuse, too. Harriet has adult memories, and I've got very few memories (not uncommon when childhood is chaotic) and my sister has a real memory of being knocked out as a teenager.
Looking at my step mother through childish eyes, she was not a very good mother. My birth mother had me from the day I was born and grew with me. She was my idea of what a mother should be, a rock, a shelter, my advocate and my protector. Harriet became a mother to a 12 year old boy, a 7 year old girl, and a three year old baby girl all on the same day. It would have been hard for anyone, even a child development specialist. It was especially hard for an immature narcissist who married a crazy man. Sometimes she would ask me what I wanted and all I could say was, "Be the mother." Maybe I was asking her to be my protector, to stand up to my father the way my mother did. I don't remember him being crazy and violent before she died, but then, I was very young.
As an adult, I can see what a hard time she had. I don't know that there is anything to forgive, but I do wish things had been otherwise. I wish I had been able to grieve my mother and talk about her. I wish Harriet had been better educated and able to guide me in school. One thing I do know is she did the best she could given the circumstances and her skills and understanding. That is what I did in raising my children and that is what most people do.
Take comfort. Yes, you were a good mother and, fragile as you are, you're still a good mother.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Life goes on
I haven't written very much because what is there to say? Harriet gets weaker and weaker and is hanging on to life. When she squeezes my hand there is still quite a bit of strength. But she is unable to stand on her own and barely moves in bed. I have to tell her to hold her own cup with two hands and some days she can barely suck through a straw while I hold the cup. Her speech has become slurred and she sleeps a lot of the time. Today, though, she was much better. She complained that no one was getting her up. So I asked the aides to put her in the wheelchair and we went down to listen to patriotic songs. It is a funny thing about music played on an accordion by a Russian emigree, be it The Volga Boatman, Ain't She Sweet?, or God Bless America. It all sounded the same and a half hour was more than enough. But that is so much more than she has done in weeks. She craves company and was glad to see Leslie and Scott on the third. Eri will visit tomorrow morning.
They say that people don't change, but that is not always true. I have seen changes in both my parents as they approach death. My father will be gone a full year on Friday and his death was not an easy one. Harriet is having an easier time of it. She is not in pain, her mind is mostly clear, well clear enough to know when she is bored, or confused. I truly hope she just goes to eternal sleep sometime very soon. She is eating very little and drinking enough to get by, I guess. When I ask her what she wants she says, "You. I want you." So I sit by her bed, sometimes talking, sometimes listening, sometimes just holding hands and being quiet. She tells me I am making her happy just being there. Yes, she has changed. She is so grateful for whatever is being done for her and so gracious to the staff. They are very gentle with her.
It has been very hot, high 90's and humid. The air quality is poor and they are telling people with breathing difficulties to stay inside. I feel for my friends and family on the East Coast. It must be beastly hot with electricity cut off for millions. I have broken down and am running my air conditioning when at home and last night slept on the couch in air cooled comfort. My friend Connie and I went to the cheap theater in Hopkins to see The Dictator. It was gross and funny and I enjoyed it in a weird way. There were plenty of inside jokes and I wonder how many I didn't get. Connie just couldn't laugh at some of the really gross jokes; I admit to a guffaw or two. Today we saw a double feature, my favorite.
Moonrise Kingdom was Wes Anderson at his best featuring a cast with Frances McDormand, Bruce Willis, Bill Murray and other well and not so well known actors. It was just the kind of quirky movie I love. It is a little gem. The other joy of the day was bringing Connie upstairs to see Brave. It wasn't sneaking because we were bold as brass, entering with all the legitimate ticket holders. Imagine being sixty-six and giving into peer pressure. (Bwahahaha!) I enjoyed this Disney/Pixar movie where both mother and daughter were headstrong heroines and learned to bend after having some wild adventures. I won't be a spoiler but will say the four year old behind us got quite a scare! I still like hand drawn animation best. I think I spent too much time admiring all the detail in the scenes and in the heroine's wild hair.
So, a lovely Fourth spent in air conditioned comfort, appreciating my life. I encourage you, too, to look around and count your blessings. Hopefully your families are well and your electricity is keeping you cool. I wonder if any one today remembers the pleasure of leaning against a cool plastered wall next to their bed?
(Written from the comfort of her air conditioned condo.)
They say that people don't change, but that is not always true. I have seen changes in both my parents as they approach death. My father will be gone a full year on Friday and his death was not an easy one. Harriet is having an easier time of it. She is not in pain, her mind is mostly clear, well clear enough to know when she is bored, or confused. I truly hope she just goes to eternal sleep sometime very soon. She is eating very little and drinking enough to get by, I guess. When I ask her what she wants she says, "You. I want you." So I sit by her bed, sometimes talking, sometimes listening, sometimes just holding hands and being quiet. She tells me I am making her happy just being there. Yes, she has changed. She is so grateful for whatever is being done for her and so gracious to the staff. They are very gentle with her.
It has been very hot, high 90's and humid. The air quality is poor and they are telling people with breathing difficulties to stay inside. I feel for my friends and family on the East Coast. It must be beastly hot with electricity cut off for millions. I have broken down and am running my air conditioning when at home and last night slept on the couch in air cooled comfort. My friend Connie and I went to the cheap theater in Hopkins to see The Dictator. It was gross and funny and I enjoyed it in a weird way. There were plenty of inside jokes and I wonder how many I didn't get. Connie just couldn't laugh at some of the really gross jokes; I admit to a guffaw or two. Today we saw a double feature, my favorite.
Moonrise Kingdom was Wes Anderson at his best featuring a cast with Frances McDormand, Bruce Willis, Bill Murray and other well and not so well known actors. It was just the kind of quirky movie I love. It is a little gem. The other joy of the day was bringing Connie upstairs to see Brave. It wasn't sneaking because we were bold as brass, entering with all the legitimate ticket holders. Imagine being sixty-six and giving into peer pressure. (Bwahahaha!) I enjoyed this Disney/Pixar movie where both mother and daughter were headstrong heroines and learned to bend after having some wild adventures. I won't be a spoiler but will say the four year old behind us got quite a scare! I still like hand drawn animation best. I think I spent too much time admiring all the detail in the scenes and in the heroine's wild hair.
So, a lovely Fourth spent in air conditioned comfort, appreciating my life. I encourage you, too, to look around and count your blessings. Hopefully your families are well and your electricity is keeping you cool. I wonder if any one today remembers the pleasure of leaning against a cool plastered wall next to their bed?
(Written from the comfort of her air conditioned condo.)
Monday, June 18, 2012
Early morning ramblings
A very talented writer and blogger, Emma Wilhelm, who writes Emmasota blog, recently posted that she had the social media blahs. She says, "I seem to start blog posts that fizzle out after three or four half-hearted sentences." I know what she means, you should see my drafts file. What can I say that inspires? What can I say that is even interesting? What can I say that is new?
Is it news that my mother is declining and getting weaker and weaker? It isn't news that she calls every morning and wants to know when I am coming. I have nothing new to say except to thank each and every person who spends time with her. Is it news that I have been doing water exercise and went to a dance in the park? Maybe, but is it interesting? Only to me.
I woke at 4:07 with an essay in mind. It was about Karma catching up with me in this life. I used to pick at my poor baby's heads when they were nursing. Pick, pick, pick at the cradle cap while the poor kid was eating. Talk about a bonding experience. Neither of them will let me touch their heads thirty years later. Now, at 60, I am experiencing a raging case of cradle cap and have to use some kind or prescription shampoo to take care of the itching. You could look at it very simply as a side effect of menopause, or get all metaphysical... yeah, it's my Karma catching up with me. As I did unto others, in this case defenseless nursing babies, lo, it shall be done unto me. The worst part is I'm doing it to myself, pick, pick, pick, ouch.
OK, here is the deal. I will try to live the best possible life and spread as much positive energy as possible. You do your part to make your little corner of the world better too and we will inspire each other. Onward ho!
Is it news that my mother is declining and getting weaker and weaker? It isn't news that she calls every morning and wants to know when I am coming. I have nothing new to say except to thank each and every person who spends time with her. Is it news that I have been doing water exercise and went to a dance in the park? Maybe, but is it interesting? Only to me.
I woke at 4:07 with an essay in mind. It was about Karma catching up with me in this life. I used to pick at my poor baby's heads when they were nursing. Pick, pick, pick at the cradle cap while the poor kid was eating. Talk about a bonding experience. Neither of them will let me touch their heads thirty years later. Now, at 60, I am experiencing a raging case of cradle cap and have to use some kind or prescription shampoo to take care of the itching. You could look at it very simply as a side effect of menopause, or get all metaphysical... yeah, it's my Karma catching up with me. As I did unto others, in this case defenseless nursing babies, lo, it shall be done unto me. The worst part is I'm doing it to myself, pick, pick, pick, ouch.
OK, here is the deal. I will try to live the best possible life and spread as much positive energy as possible. You do your part to make your little corner of the world better too and we will inspire each other. Onward ho!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
111 years
There has been a lot of news coverage of a woman from rural Minnesota who is 111 years old and still lives alone in her own home and bakes her own bread. Of course people come to check on her and everybody remarks on how remarkable it is. Very few people age the way Anna Stoer has. I think that for everyone who marvels there are twenty middle aged children wracking their brains as to how to get mom or dad out of the old house and into safer living situations. There is no one right answer because every situation is different. To all of you dealing with elderly parents I wish you the strength and love to do what you have to do.
http://postbulletin.com/news/stories/display.php?id=1487132
http://postbulletin.com/news/stories/display.php?id=1487132
Monday, May 28, 2012
The Nature of Kindness
This morning I have been thinking about the nature of kindness. Is it opening a door or holding an elevator? Yes, that can be kind but that is more a matter of manners; treating each other with civility as we would like to be treated. I think kindness includes being polite but goes far beyond.
Yesterday I met a new neighbor who has the parking spot next to mine. We immediately introduced ourselves and felt a connection. I found out that she didn't know where any of the amenities were and I showed her how to get to the locker and exercise rooms. Then I took her out to the pool where two women of our age were sitting. I made introductions and one of the women made a personal remark to me. I apologized and walked the new neighbor to the elevator.
I've been feeling a little icky inside since. I've been feeling a little bad about myself and wondering why until I realized that someone had been unnecessarily unkind. When introduced to a new person, I say welcome. I would ask where they had come from and if they were settling in. I would not ignore them and be a little snide to the person who introduced them. I would try to be kind. No, not try, I would be kind. I would show my caring side.
Sitting in a shady spot by the pool is not a stressful experience (unless one is scared of water). Why take the energy to be less than kind? It doesn't make sense to me.
Here are my peeves: meanness of spirit and intolerance.
Here are the attributes I admire above all else: kindness and generosity of spirit.
We've all heard the saying that nobody can make you feel bad about yourself without your permission. I have chosen to believe that most people are good and do not have my defenses up all the time. So occasionally I get sideswiped. Then I have to toss out the ick and realize the problem is not mine unless I embrace it. Of course by then it has inserted a tentacle into my own feelings of worth. Why do all this rebuilding? Why not live in positivity instead? I can't control other's behavior, but I can remind myself to turn away anger and be kind. It is just a better way to live, for me and everyone else.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Update on Harriet
This morning my mother left a message on the phone. She leaves one every day and I can pretty much anticipate what she is going to say, "This is your mother. When are you coming to visit?" So knowing it was there, I didn't actually listen to it until later. She said, "This is the pain in the ass, your mother. Call me." I did laugh and call to tell her I was coming after work. I told her how much I enjoyed the message and she remembered that she called herself the pain in the ass and laughed too.
Memory in the aged is a funny thing. She can remember that, and shoes she had as a toddler. But she can't remember days and dates and time gets confused. She asks me when a wedding is and I tell her August, or when Eri is moving, June, but has very little realization that it is May right now. Last week, next week, tomorrow, they are all the same and they are boring. There is no one to talk to she complains, but she doesn't want to talk to anyone who will talk about their own self.
Next Monday they are moving her into a permanent placement on the third floor, right across from the elevator. We have to talk if she wants to visit her apartment first. I will be bringing her yellow arm chair, TV, and small chest from the apartment.
On a personal note, I am extremely depressed and doing a lot of sleeping. I know it will pass, but it makes it hard to get anything done. Please send good thoughts my way. I could use the energy.
Memory in the aged is a funny thing. She can remember that, and shoes she had as a toddler. But she can't remember days and dates and time gets confused. She asks me when a wedding is and I tell her August, or when Eri is moving, June, but has very little realization that it is May right now. Last week, next week, tomorrow, they are all the same and they are boring. There is no one to talk to she complains, but she doesn't want to talk to anyone who will talk about their own self.
Next Monday they are moving her into a permanent placement on the third floor, right across from the elevator. We have to talk if she wants to visit her apartment first. I will be bringing her yellow arm chair, TV, and small chest from the apartment.
On a personal note, I am extremely depressed and doing a lot of sleeping. I know it will pass, but it makes it hard to get anything done. Please send good thoughts my way. I could use the energy.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Surrender Carol
I have been thinking of the whole subject of surrender and what it means in this world and what it can mean spiritually. I am not a person who submits to idiot bosses and does stupid things just because someone tells me to. I can not and do not eat shit, nope, not even to keep a job. Yet sometimes I have to take myself in hand and ask if it would kill me to submit to keep peace. If it is not a big deal, sure. Whose ego needs the boost? I must say I am really getting mellow as I age. I used to fight about everything whether it was important or not. It was an exhausting way to live.
When I brought my thousand year old parents to live out here in 2005, I never thought they would last more than a few years and I was positive they wouldn't last five years. Well, my dad lasted six years and Mom is still alive at 98. It was a hard adjustment for all of us. In the 35 years since I'd left home I had not seen them very often, every year or two for a few days. And suddenly I was seeing them several times a week. Before the old man got sick I had weaned them down to just one day a week. For about a year now, though, we've been tied at the hip. It has always been my desire to make their end of life as easy as I can and have no regrets when they die. When the old man passed, I felt nothing but joy. I felt he had learned something in his life and moved on. When we moved the old lady to the nursing home, where she is getting wonderful care and is well liked by the staff, I thought she had maybe a week or two to live. She calls every morning wondering when I will take her home and when I will visit. It has been two months now and she is much stronger, but not strong enough to return to her assisted living apartment and I don't think she ever will.
So now it is up to me to surrender again. To say in my heart that I don't care how long it takes, I will be joyful and accepting. There is still something I have to learn and this is my time to learn it. Surrender resentments and ideas of how long things should take and surrender the time that this growth demands. Being here now is both harder and easier than it sounds.
(Here is a funny anecdote. I went to see Harriet while she was at dinner. She had not eaten much and she told me that she hated the food. She hated the chopped meat. I looked at the dinner order and saw that her meat was ordered ground. I went to talk to the dietician to have it changed and as I left I heard her say, "Her sister was quiet, but that one you always knew was in the room!)
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Starting an investigation.
Yesterday I met with a police investigator. He told me that Minnesota has statutes that define Cyber Stalking 609.749, and Cyber Harassment 609.795. He said they work closely with the FBI because the internet crosses state lines. Coincidently the anonymous person who has been posting vulgar and nasty remarks chose to send 5 replies to the last blog I wrote, R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
The investigator suggested I post what he told me and see if it stops. If not, he will start requesting isp addresses from Google, the administers of Blogspot. It can take a couple of weeks up to a few months.
Last warning! If you don't like what I have to say, don't read my blog. Every nasty reply has been saved on gmail and they all can be traced back to you.
The investigator suggested I post what he told me and see if it stops. If not, he will start requesting isp addresses from Google, the administers of Blogspot. It can take a couple of weeks up to a few months.
Last warning! If you don't like what I have to say, don't read my blog. Every nasty reply has been saved on gmail and they all can be traced back to you.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
I was watching a family eat lunch today. Three girls and their parents. The girls looked 6, 8, 10. The mother did not look happy and the father's back was facing me. One of the girls walked over to see what I was doing and I asked her if she had new sandals. Her dad came up behind her and said, "Third pair, the dogs ate the first two." I thought to myself that if my kid didn't learn after the second time she would be getting $1.99 Old Navy flip flops, not fancy Nikes. I said, "Well you better put them where they can't get them."
The dad wanted to know how much a new heating system would cost and I started my spiel. All three girls were standing real close and he said that the youngest gets antsy. I said I was sure she would understand that we were talking and could wait. Then the wife came over and he said they really do need to replace their furnace. He asked about financing, but Costco does not finance. He asked his wife what she thought and she said in a nasty tone of voice, "I think you are wasting my time if you can't pay for it." She showed huge disdain for him in front of the children. So I gave him a brochure and said to call when he was ready. As they walked away I noticed she was carrying a huge new Louis Vuitton bag that had to have cost a couple thousand dollars.
It wasn't a long scene but it did upset me. She disrespected her husband in public, in front of her children. She treated me as invisible. He was humiliated but did not fight back. My stomach was upset by her vituperative negative energy. I could see things so clearly, he was nothing but a paycheck to her and she did not like him because he was not making enough to keep her in the style she thought she should be kept. And you could see from his face that he was extended as far as he could go. I wanted him to think better of himself. I wanted him, as they say, to grow a pair. I could see how a man like that could flip out and kill his wife. I wanted him to run away and start a new life.
Husbands! Wives! Be kind to each other, treat each other with respect. Remember when you met and how much you wanted the good opinion of each other. Show your children how much you cherish each other. If you must be disdainful, think twice before speaking once, and for goodness sake, don't humiliate your spouse in front of your children.
The dad wanted to know how much a new heating system would cost and I started my spiel. All three girls were standing real close and he said that the youngest gets antsy. I said I was sure she would understand that we were talking and could wait. Then the wife came over and he said they really do need to replace their furnace. He asked about financing, but Costco does not finance. He asked his wife what she thought and she said in a nasty tone of voice, "I think you are wasting my time if you can't pay for it." She showed huge disdain for him in front of the children. So I gave him a brochure and said to call when he was ready. As they walked away I noticed she was carrying a huge new Louis Vuitton bag that had to have cost a couple thousand dollars.
It wasn't a long scene but it did upset me. She disrespected her husband in public, in front of her children. She treated me as invisible. He was humiliated but did not fight back. My stomach was upset by her vituperative negative energy. I could see things so clearly, he was nothing but a paycheck to her and she did not like him because he was not making enough to keep her in the style she thought she should be kept. And you could see from his face that he was extended as far as he could go. I wanted him to think better of himself. I wanted him, as they say, to grow a pair. I could see how a man like that could flip out and kill his wife. I wanted him to run away and start a new life.
Husbands! Wives! Be kind to each other, treat each other with respect. Remember when you met and how much you wanted the good opinion of each other. Show your children how much you cherish each other. If you must be disdainful, think twice before speaking once, and for goodness sake, don't humiliate your spouse in front of your children.
I've thinking about my own life. Have I acted that way? Oh God I hope not. I know I have been out of control, sometimes crazed with anger or frustration and not very pleasant to be around. I hope that I have never made being cruel to another a habit. My marriage had some rough spots for sure, and each of us regrets particular actions or we'd still be married. But I think our children knew we respected each other.
I tried to be kind the rest of the day. I'm going to try again tomorrow.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Removing the knife in my heart
For several months some unhappy person has been making stupid remarks on my blog. As moderator I never post them. They are misspelled insults calling me fat, a whore, boring, and commenting on my lack of sexual attraction or prowess. At first I was upset, but those comments were so totally false and silly, I just would laugh and delete. Today, however, I felt like I had a knife in my heart. Today's comment read, in part:
"You really are a heartless bitch. Your mother, lost her soul-mate. He died! He is not going to come back ever. She is mourning and you are telling her she is repeating a tape in her head. You are the biggest fucking hypocrite ever. You are a heartless bitch. You offend so many of your "readers" when you bitch and moan and complain about your thousand year old parents. You say your father was not much of a man. Let me tell you something - the acorn did not fall far from the tree. You are mean and nasty. I know the day she dies she will be at peace and away from a ungrateful heartless daughter like you".
I wanted to cry, I felt so devastated. I have tried to be kind. I have tried to make amends to those I have hurt. I have used these past seven years to see that my parents had a good end of life. I go to the nursing home where my mother is at least five times a week and she is so happy to see me. I hope I haven't been complaining too much. What hurts the most is that someone in my life really dislikes me and doesn't have the courage to confront me face to face. I have not always done or said the right thing in every situation. I am a mother and if I see something I think is a threat to my children's happiness I will come out swinging and think afterwards.
Before I started this post, I went back and read my last blog. Nope, I was not mean, I was not complaining, I was compassionate, and sad, and hopeful. The writer only saw what he/she wanted to see. Yes, it hurts that someone hates me. But their words have no power. I have decided to remove that blade of malicious negativity from my heart. It is not true and I refuse to bleed. The shoe does not fit, and I won't wear it.
"You really are a heartless bitch. Your mother, lost her soul-mate. He died! He is not going to come back ever. She is mourning and you are telling her she is repeating a tape in her head. You are the biggest fucking hypocrite ever. You are a heartless bitch. You offend so many of your "readers" when you bitch and moan and complain about your thousand year old parents. You say your father was not much of a man. Let me tell you something - the acorn did not fall far from the tree. You are mean and nasty. I know the day she dies she will be at peace and away from a ungrateful heartless daughter like you".
I wanted to cry, I felt so devastated. I have tried to be kind. I have tried to make amends to those I have hurt. I have used these past seven years to see that my parents had a good end of life. I go to the nursing home where my mother is at least five times a week and she is so happy to see me. I hope I haven't been complaining too much. What hurts the most is that someone in my life really dislikes me and doesn't have the courage to confront me face to face. I have not always done or said the right thing in every situation. I am a mother and if I see something I think is a threat to my children's happiness I will come out swinging and think afterwards.
Before I started this post, I went back and read my last blog. Nope, I was not mean, I was not complaining, I was compassionate, and sad, and hopeful. The writer only saw what he/she wanted to see. Yes, it hurts that someone hates me. But their words have no power. I have decided to remove that blade of malicious negativity from my heart. It is not true and I refuse to bleed. The shoe does not fit, and I won't wear it.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
That tape in our heads
Sometimes people have a tape running in their heads and can't find the stop/eject button. It drives them crazy, and in the case of my 98 year old mother, annoys other people too. Right after my father died her tape became, with tears, "I miss my husband." Well, who could deny that? Lots of sympathy came her way. I used a positive message repeated over and over to change that tape. I told her how lucky she was to have had not one, but two men love her. Some women never even had one. She would agree and talk about her sister Judy and how she blew both her marriages. She told everyone how happy she had been for fifty-two years with my father. She would say, "Right before he got so sick he looked at me and said that I was a year and three months older than him, but even if I was a hundred years older, he would still have married me." For the record, her first husband was no jewel, and there were plenty of problems with my old man. If he was a diamond, it was in the rough and everyone knows that diamonds can cut.
The new tape in her head is not as easy to deal with as the old one. The new tape says, "When can I go home?" It begins every conversation, fills in every pause, and never seems to end. It is wearing me down. I have given her the message that she can go home when she gets stronger. She says she is strong, she says she has been eating. I tell her she can go home when she can take care of herself. She tells me she can take care of herself. She can't get out of bed by herself, she is too weak and shaky. Sometimes I vary the answer. The other day she called and asked when she could go home. I told her she sounded like a broken record and she laughed. She knows it, she just can't stop that tape. The other tracks on this tape are the "I'm so lonely, there is nobody to talk to here" and "This place is a prison." Nicest prison in town. I do have empathy and understand the boredom and frustration.
We all have tapes running in our brains. Sometimes it is a problem at work that bugs us night and day until we figure out a solution. Right now I have a game show song repeating over as I fall asleep and when I wake up. I will be kind and not tell you what it is so it doesn't take up residency in your brain, too. That kind of tape is annoying, but not harmful. But there are others that cause pain to ourselves and only we can change them. Those are the messages that we are not good enough, too slow, too stupid, too fat, too thin, unloveable, etc. I have found, by reading true crime stories, that some people who have a victim tape playing react by killing those who they think have harmed them. It can be a parent, or people of a nationality. So many different scenarios. I dislike any kind of fundamentalism. The indoctrination records a tape that is very hard to reason with. Hate Arabs, hate Jews, hate, hate, hate.
Many years ago I took my children to a puppet show at a fundamentalist church. The message given was that we were all born in sin and only by being washed in the blood of Jesus was there any chance of heaven. There was even a song about being washed, washed, washed, in the blood. Children are literal people. Where is Jesus and doesn't he need his own blood and wouldn't it make a mess? I was furious! When you tell my babies about God, you had better tell them that we come from love and we go to love and the message all your life had better be about being love and acting love.
So to life and the message about not driving others crazy with our worn out warped tapes. Let's record something new. Let's do unto others as we would have others do unto us. Not a new song, but one worth covering in our own inimitable style. "Mom," I will say with a smile, "Let's talk about something else. You look very pretty today."
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Alcohol
I grew up in a home where alcohol was lightly used and never abused. My father had a complete shelf of liquor in the pantry and a bottle of scotch or anything else lasted a very long time. In the summer he would make a Tom Collins and we were always able to taste them. Had we asked, he would have made us our own cocktail. A sip was enough for me. I disliked Manhattans, and that was about the extent of his bar tending. On hot days he would sometimes have a beer. One beer, not a six pack. One New Year's Eve, my sister and I stayed home while the folks went to a party. We had little paper party poppers and a bottle of Champale Malt Liquor to use in our celebration. Alcohol was never prohibited, never made to look especially attractive, and just not much of a big deal at all. It amazed me as a young adult that my friends felt the need to finish off a bottle of tequila, or rum or anything. I didn't understand why they didn't just put it back on the shelf for next time.
The first time I got stinking drunk was the night before leaving summer camp at seventeen. I had scotch and port and blacked out. I did not pass out and was sick as a dog the next day. I remember having to sweep the cabin with shaking knees. Anne, my co-counselor, had no sympathy for me at all. It was such a horrible experience that I did not get drunk again for four years. I would have a Black Russian or Harvey Wallbanger on a date, and that was that until I attended a McGovern rally in 1972. I had been drinking some tequila and did not realize how inebriated I was until I started drinking beer. I never drink beer because I can't stand the smell or taste. I guess I was a riot on the dance floor and the town because people told me about it for days. What I do remember is hugging the toilet for days, shaking and ill and wanting to die. I was twenty and told myself I was too old for that shit. On the fourth day a nice young man came by to take me to breakfast. I think he saved my life.
Over the next twenty-five years I had fewer than five drinks. When I started going to conferences I made a Baily's last all night. Sometimes I finished an entire hard lemonade. My daughter found a wine I could drink and hey, all grown up now. These days I have a half of a glass of wine at Thanksgiving and I'm good for the year. I seem to have lost my taste for alcohol.
Last night I met a friend for dinner at Thanh Do. They were swamped and we sat in the bar. She asked for a Vodka Gimlet, and to make it green. She said it tasted like limeade. I had one, too. It was tasty. I didn't feel inebriated until we made our way to the table, then I felt it. Sharon is my age, widowed, and we have a lot in common. We both want to be adored again and talked about what we are looking for. Service was slow and dinner took about two hours. By the time we left I didn't feel the alcohol at all. I went home and watched TV, but midnight found me feeling amazingly sorry for myself and weeping.
Today I was not hungover in the traditional sense. No dry heaves or headache, just tired and slow brain function. A two hour nap after work did wonders. Woke up feeling that here was an other cocktail I could enjoy. I am not saying I won't have one again sometime, but maybe I'll just have limeade instead. All the taste, nothing of the tiredness.
The first time I got stinking drunk was the night before leaving summer camp at seventeen. I had scotch and port and blacked out. I did not pass out and was sick as a dog the next day. I remember having to sweep the cabin with shaking knees. Anne, my co-counselor, had no sympathy for me at all. It was such a horrible experience that I did not get drunk again for four years. I would have a Black Russian or Harvey Wallbanger on a date, and that was that until I attended a McGovern rally in 1972. I had been drinking some tequila and did not realize how inebriated I was until I started drinking beer. I never drink beer because I can't stand the smell or taste. I guess I was a riot on the dance floor and the town because people told me about it for days. What I do remember is hugging the toilet for days, shaking and ill and wanting to die. I was twenty and told myself I was too old for that shit. On the fourth day a nice young man came by to take me to breakfast. I think he saved my life.
Over the next twenty-five years I had fewer than five drinks. When I started going to conferences I made a Baily's last all night. Sometimes I finished an entire hard lemonade. My daughter found a wine I could drink and hey, all grown up now. These days I have a half of a glass of wine at Thanksgiving and I'm good for the year. I seem to have lost my taste for alcohol.
Last night I met a friend for dinner at Thanh Do. They were swamped and we sat in the bar. She asked for a Vodka Gimlet, and to make it green. She said it tasted like limeade. I had one, too. It was tasty. I didn't feel inebriated until we made our way to the table, then I felt it. Sharon is my age, widowed, and we have a lot in common. We both want to be adored again and talked about what we are looking for. Service was slow and dinner took about two hours. By the time we left I didn't feel the alcohol at all. I went home and watched TV, but midnight found me feeling amazingly sorry for myself and weeping.
Today I was not hungover in the traditional sense. No dry heaves or headache, just tired and slow brain function. A two hour nap after work did wonders. Woke up feeling that here was an other cocktail I could enjoy. I am not saying I won't have one again sometime, but maybe I'll just have limeade instead. All the taste, nothing of the tiredness.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Conversations
Eri calls from the nursing home, "Bubby says to bring her something else to wear."
-"Where are her clothes? Didn't they bring them back from the laundry yet?"
-"I don't know. She says she is tired of wearing the same thing."
She doesn't know who to ask, there have been some accidents and she wants different pants. I say I will bring more clothes. I stop by the apartment and get a few more outfits.
"Hi, I am Carol, Harriet's daughter. Where are her clothes? They told me on Tuesday that it would take up to two days for the laundry to mark them."
-"Where are her clothes?" asks the beautiful nurses. They are beautiful, too, one represents West Africa with a round, dark face and braids. The other represents East Africa with a lighter, thinner face and long hair. Both smile and take me in stride.
-"That is what I am asking you."
They tell me how sweet my mother is and call down to the laundry. They will find her clothes.
"Hi Mom."
She looks up at me with sad eyes and says, "How long do I have to be here? When can I go home?"
-"Mom, why are you here?"
-"Because I'm weak?"
-"Yes, and what do you have to do?"
-"Eat?"
-"Yes, and what else?"
She doesn't have a clue. "You need to walk with the walker. You can't go home if you aren't walking."
-"No one takes me, they leave me alone all the time."
-"I will talk to the nurses."
"I would like my mom to get out of bed and go to activities."
-"She doesn't want to get out of bed."
-"Tell her that her daughter wants her to get out of bed."
-"We can ask her, but it is her decision."
-"Can someone walk her?"
-"Yes, we walk her to the bathroom and back."
-"That isn't very far. Can she walk to the dining room?"
They tell me they think that is too far and she should use the wheel chair. They really are as sweet as they are beautiful.
"Mom, lets go for a little walk in the hallway."
-"I feel weak."
-"You won't get any stronger if you just stay on your bed. I will help you."
I find her shoes and help her to sit up. She can barely stand, but once up tells me she has to use the bathroom. She walks like a thousand year old mummy. I can't believe it. How has she gone downhill so quickly? She needs help getting the pants and Depends down. She needs help getting them up again too. She tells me she is too tired to walk in the hallway and I help her back to bed.
We talk for awhile. She is bored and no one comes to see her. I tell her in the past four days I have been there three times, Leslie once, and Eri and Gavin were there just that day. She is amazed it has only been four days, it seems like a month. She tells me she believes me, she just can't remember. I suggest that the next time she thinks no one has visited she tell herself that she's forgotten. This is a woman who claims she can remember her own birth, and believe me, remembers slights for decades. We all say be here now, but I don't think that is working for the old lady.
While we are talking, another beautiful young African lady comes in with Harriet's clothes. She tells me she was off a few days and there was a backlog of labeling when she got back. She takes the other apparel I have brought to label. I feel much better. On the way out I stop by the nursing office to thank them for finding the missing clothing and tell them that they are right. She is too weak to walk to the dining room. They smile at me and I thank them for the good care they are giving my mother. I ask if they think she is imminently dying and they both shake their heads no. I agree that though she is weak, the life force is strong.
As I walk to the car I find myself wondering how long I will need to visit every day. I am a little resentful, and kind of mentally tired. Then I remember the goal I have set for myself once again; not looking for an end, but accepting the process of living and dying and doing it all without resentment however long it takes. Doing it with patience, and hopefully experiencing joy.
-"Where are her clothes? Didn't they bring them back from the laundry yet?"
-"I don't know. She says she is tired of wearing the same thing."
She doesn't know who to ask, there have been some accidents and she wants different pants. I say I will bring more clothes. I stop by the apartment and get a few more outfits.
"Hi, I am Carol, Harriet's daughter. Where are her clothes? They told me on Tuesday that it would take up to two days for the laundry to mark them."
-"Where are her clothes?" asks the beautiful nurses. They are beautiful, too, one represents West Africa with a round, dark face and braids. The other represents East Africa with a lighter, thinner face and long hair. Both smile and take me in stride.
-"That is what I am asking you."
They tell me how sweet my mother is and call down to the laundry. They will find her clothes.
"Hi Mom."
She looks up at me with sad eyes and says, "How long do I have to be here? When can I go home?"
-"Mom, why are you here?"
-"Because I'm weak?"
-"Yes, and what do you have to do?"
-"Eat?"
-"Yes, and what else?"
She doesn't have a clue. "You need to walk with the walker. You can't go home if you aren't walking."
-"No one takes me, they leave me alone all the time."
-"I will talk to the nurses."
"I would like my mom to get out of bed and go to activities."
-"She doesn't want to get out of bed."
-"Tell her that her daughter wants her to get out of bed."
-"We can ask her, but it is her decision."
-"Can someone walk her?"
-"Yes, we walk her to the bathroom and back."
-"That isn't very far. Can she walk to the dining room?"
They tell me they think that is too far and she should use the wheel chair. They really are as sweet as they are beautiful.
"Mom, lets go for a little walk in the hallway."
-"I feel weak."
-"You won't get any stronger if you just stay on your bed. I will help you."
I find her shoes and help her to sit up. She can barely stand, but once up tells me she has to use the bathroom. She walks like a thousand year old mummy. I can't believe it. How has she gone downhill so quickly? She needs help getting the pants and Depends down. She needs help getting them up again too. She tells me she is too tired to walk in the hallway and I help her back to bed.
We talk for awhile. She is bored and no one comes to see her. I tell her in the past four days I have been there three times, Leslie once, and Eri and Gavin were there just that day. She is amazed it has only been four days, it seems like a month. She tells me she believes me, she just can't remember. I suggest that the next time she thinks no one has visited she tell herself that she's forgotten. This is a woman who claims she can remember her own birth, and believe me, remembers slights for decades. We all say be here now, but I don't think that is working for the old lady.
While we are talking, another beautiful young African lady comes in with Harriet's clothes. She tells me she was off a few days and there was a backlog of labeling when she got back. She takes the other apparel I have brought to label. I feel much better. On the way out I stop by the nursing office to thank them for finding the missing clothing and tell them that they are right. She is too weak to walk to the dining room. They smile at me and I thank them for the good care they are giving my mother. I ask if they think she is imminently dying and they both shake their heads no. I agree that though she is weak, the life force is strong.
As I walk to the car I find myself wondering how long I will need to visit every day. I am a little resentful, and kind of mentally tired. Then I remember the goal I have set for myself once again; not looking for an end, but accepting the process of living and dying and doing it all without resentment however long it takes. Doing it with patience, and hopefully experiencing joy.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Both hard and easy
This morning I got out the old red suitcase. It was dusty because I haven't been on vacation in a long time. I brought it over to the assisted living apartment where my mother lives. While Patty, the hospice nurse gave her a shower, I filled the suitcase with nighties and underwear, sweaters, slacks, shirts. Pictures went in a tote with some toiletries. Between Patty and myself we got her into the car and off we went. for me, that was very hard. I knew this day was approaching, but I still got quite sad.
I drove up to Shalom Home West, found a wheelchair and luggage trolley. From that point, everything became easy. The staff welcomed her, the Hospice social worker made sure everything went well. The old lady said she was hungry and she went to lunch where she sat with others and ate some soup. I was able to kiss her goodbye and promised to return tomorrow morning.
The Shalom people have been doing senior care for over 100 years and they really have been lifesavers. They run Menorah Plaza where my folks lived and also have a huge campus with memory care and senior apartments, assisted living, hospice and nursing home. When you walk into their facilities, you cannot smell nursing home, not in the lobby, not on the floors. My mother, who is being supplemented by the county and the state is getting the same care as private pay patients. Thank you dear taxpayers, thank you.
We have told her that if she eats, gains some weight and mobility she can come home. I am at the point where it is OK either way. I am here for the endgame too.
I drove up to Shalom Home West, found a wheelchair and luggage trolley. From that point, everything became easy. The staff welcomed her, the Hospice social worker made sure everything went well. The old lady said she was hungry and she went to lunch where she sat with others and ate some soup. I was able to kiss her goodbye and promised to return tomorrow morning.
The Shalom people have been doing senior care for over 100 years and they really have been lifesavers. They run Menorah Plaza where my folks lived and also have a huge campus with memory care and senior apartments, assisted living, hospice and nursing home. When you walk into their facilities, you cannot smell nursing home, not in the lobby, not on the floors. My mother, who is being supplemented by the county and the state is getting the same care as private pay patients. Thank you dear taxpayers, thank you.
We have told her that if she eats, gains some weight and mobility she can come home. I am at the point where it is OK either way. I am here for the endgame too.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Getting ready for death
Today, the old lady and I had a little discussion about death. We had come back from eating soup at a deli. She laid down on the bed and I told her to skootch over and I sat at the edge. I asked her if she was giving up. She didn't seem to eat much anymore. She told me again that she missed my father. She told me again that he loved my mother, that one did not have to do with the other. And I told her again that I knew the heart had many rooms. Did not her own mother love all five of her children?
She asked me if she would see her husband and I told her that I didn't know. I believe that we come from love and we return to love. I think it is a different existence without a body and we can't imagine it. I asked her if she was afraid and she said no. What is to be afraid of? I told her to think of it as another adventure and she was always ready to try something new. Didn't she take on the adventure of being a mother to three children at the age of 44? Everyone told her not to do it but she did. It wasn't a hard childhood because of her; in fact she alleviated some of the suffering. It was hard because my father was a mad man. He never confronted his losses and it ate him up inside.
She has always been an incredible clothes horse and when she had to move to a smaller apartment we needed to weed out enough so she had room in the closet. Now she can't find anything to wear so I took away most of the dresses and suits and summer clothes. She was grateful to have the room. I told her I would bring back her summer things when it got warm. She remarked if she was still here.
I do not begrudge the time I am spending with her in this limbo before she passes. I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about things that really matter to both of us. We have both grown a lot in the seven years since I moved them from NY. I thought at the time they couldn't last more than a few years. I was wrong. She will be 98 on Friday and I am hosting a small dinner party at her favorite Chinese restaurant on Saturday. One day at a time, that is all anyone has, Mom, you, or me.
She asked me if she would see her husband and I told her that I didn't know. I believe that we come from love and we return to love. I think it is a different existence without a body and we can't imagine it. I asked her if she was afraid and she said no. What is to be afraid of? I told her to think of it as another adventure and she was always ready to try something new. Didn't she take on the adventure of being a mother to three children at the age of 44? Everyone told her not to do it but she did. It wasn't a hard childhood because of her; in fact she alleviated some of the suffering. It was hard because my father was a mad man. He never confronted his losses and it ate him up inside.
She has always been an incredible clothes horse and when she had to move to a smaller apartment we needed to weed out enough so she had room in the closet. Now she can't find anything to wear so I took away most of the dresses and suits and summer clothes. She was grateful to have the room. I told her I would bring back her summer things when it got warm. She remarked if she was still here.
I do not begrudge the time I am spending with her in this limbo before she passes. I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about things that really matter to both of us. We have both grown a lot in the seven years since I moved them from NY. I thought at the time they couldn't last more than a few years. I was wrong. She will be 98 on Friday and I am hosting a small dinner party at her favorite Chinese restaurant on Saturday. One day at a time, that is all anyone has, Mom, you, or me.
Friday, January 13, 2012
How the computer places me
I joined an online dating service. You answer a zillion questions and it can be quite interesting to compare your answers with potential dates. Under the "Personality" tab is a graph that shows where your answers sit in comparison to others. That too, is interesting. Potential dates can see that I am more spiritual, more pure, more compassionate, progressive, political and kind, in that descending order. They can also see I am, (according to their statistics) less adventurous, less experienced in love and life in ascending order. How they reach these conclusions is a mystery to me.
But it does make me wonder. How well do I see myself? How well does anyone? It seems to me that we look at ourselves with either rose or mud colored glasses, and very rarely do we see clearly. I know for me it is always a shock to look at photographs and see how short I am. When I look down, the floor is far away. I can't imagine what the view is for my 6' 8" nephew. I watch little kids. They are the center of their world, at home in their own space.
Many years ago I was pregnant and every night my spouse would rub pure cocoa butter on my tummy. I smelled like chocolate and was under the impression that I had no stretch marks. Then I disrobed in a cubicle with a full length mirror. I had big red stretch marks on the underside of my bulge. They had been there all the time but not having a mirror, I hadn't seen them. (Oh, big, big freak out! Why didn't you tell me? I thought you knew!)
In my mind, I am brave and oh so street wise. I am a woman of the world who chooses to stay home and uses excuses not to travel, either the parents or money. How can I be less experienced in love and life? How? I don't know, but I guess I am, because the computer says so. And we all know the computer never lies. (Garbage in, garbage out.) It does explain why most of the matches they send me are old hippies. What rich guy wants someone more spiritual, and pure? It even makes me kind of nauseous. It does make me wonder, just who I am. I won't spend a lot of time wondering, though. Because, like Popeye, I yam what I yam, and have the forearms to prove it.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Well wishers, uncross your fingers
There is a scene in a book I love, Vision of Light, where Margaret is seeing amazing things and finally asks God if He is giving her a sign. A voice answers that yes, apple blossoms in winter and all the other phenomena were to get her attention. I, too, have had amazing messages, time and time again that I totally ignored. They were too subtle for me. (I could write a book about missed opportunities.) But the other day I was sitting at a table in Costco eating some frozen yogurt and opportunity came right up to me and offered me a job.
When I was a demonstrator cooking steak or fish, I often stood by the young man in the heating and air conditioning kiosk. I would give him samples and talk to him about his life. When he saw me on Thursday, he left his booth and came to talk to me. They were looking for someone to talk to potential customers and make appointments at another store. Would I be interested? On his say so, and without an interview, I started training on Saturday. I did another 4 hours today. Tomorrow I will go into the office and meet the boss and fill out paperwork.
It isn't like cooking steak where folks flock for a free sample; it can be boring, waiting for people to approach. Either they are looking for a new heating and air conditioning system or they aren't. But then you get to visit with potential customers and for a couple of minutes have an interesting conversation. I don't have to sell anything, I just give info and get info. He said I did great and his boss was real impressed with the five appointments we made these past two days.
There is a part of me that really did not want to take this job. It does not pay enough and there are no benefits. But there is another part that says it is a job and I should take it. See how I do, be open to opportunities that come my way. Who knows where this might lead? But more than anything, when an opportunity takes the time to offer me a job when I am eating ice cream, I know it is a sign that I'd better pay attention, abandon what I think I know and be open to learning something new.
Someone asked me what my resolutions are for the new year. I only have two. I want to be more positive and try not to be negative. Here are Bette and Bing to sing about it for you.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Meaningless numbers
Today I took my 97 year old mother to the Jane Brattain Boutique to be fitted for a new prosthesis and brassieres. She is by far the oldest lady they have ever fitted and in many ways, most challenging. Many skinny old ladies who have lost a breast just stop wearing bras altogether and I can see why.
My father met her in 1959 when she was in her forties. She was a knockout and wore a 36 D bra for a long, long time. She is a 32 year breast cancer survivor and has never looked back or mourned the loss of her breast. She is happy to be alive. Some years ago she became so lopsided that her doctor sent her for a reduction on that side and she liked her smaller breast.
Four years ago she measured as a 38B. But she has lost more weight and her bras are hurting her. Today she still measured at 38, but they didn't feel good. The kind young woman finally found that worked best is a 40AA. The old lady was flummoxed; how could those be her numbers? She had never been that small or that large. As she has shrunk vertically, and as her back is bending, the rib cage is expanding. As she has lost weight, all the fat in her breast is gone leaving flat skin. The fitter put in an evener, kind of a lifter, on the good side to even her out.
Well, this is a lot of information and I will finally get to the point. It is about arbitrary numbers and what we think of those numbers and how we let them affect our thinking and lives. 40AA? She is so very skinny, and not even when she was twelve did she wear a double A bra. "But I've always been so busty" she kept repeating. And size 40 chest? The old man only had a 36" chest before he died.
I remember crying over scale numbers when I was younger. I remember cutting a label out of a pair of shorts because I couldn't imagine wearing size 18 shorts. And now, I am much heavier and wear size 14. How can that be? I know a young mother, slim and beautiful as can be, who worries she is not the same weight as pre baby. It is just numbers and numbers can lie. I look in the mirror and see a woman approaching sixty years old. The make-up lady tells me my skin looks younger, but catching myself unaware in a shop window, I don't even recognize that person. Is that me? How can that be?
The baseball great, Satchel Paige said, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" The old lady has to be reminded she is old, in her mind she is still young. I think I would be 36 again, if I could appreciate it more. As it is, I will wear what looks good, no matter what the label says, and apply for jobs no matter the age I think they want. Because what are numbers anyway? Just a way of either enjoying or avoiding being here in the moment. And anyway, 60 is the new 50. Time to do this decade right.
My father met her in 1959 when she was in her forties. She was a knockout and wore a 36 D bra for a long, long time. She is a 32 year breast cancer survivor and has never looked back or mourned the loss of her breast. She is happy to be alive. Some years ago she became so lopsided that her doctor sent her for a reduction on that side and she liked her smaller breast.
Four years ago she measured as a 38B. But she has lost more weight and her bras are hurting her. Today she still measured at 38, but they didn't feel good. The kind young woman finally found that worked best is a 40AA. The old lady was flummoxed; how could those be her numbers? She had never been that small or that large. As she has shrunk vertically, and as her back is bending, the rib cage is expanding. As she has lost weight, all the fat in her breast is gone leaving flat skin. The fitter put in an evener, kind of a lifter, on the good side to even her out.
Well, this is a lot of information and I will finally get to the point. It is about arbitrary numbers and what we think of those numbers and how we let them affect our thinking and lives. 40AA? She is so very skinny, and not even when she was twelve did she wear a double A bra. "But I've always been so busty" she kept repeating. And size 40 chest? The old man only had a 36" chest before he died.
I remember crying over scale numbers when I was younger. I remember cutting a label out of a pair of shorts because I couldn't imagine wearing size 18 shorts. And now, I am much heavier and wear size 14. How can that be? I know a young mother, slim and beautiful as can be, who worries she is not the same weight as pre baby. It is just numbers and numbers can lie. I look in the mirror and see a woman approaching sixty years old. The make-up lady tells me my skin looks younger, but catching myself unaware in a shop window, I don't even recognize that person. Is that me? How can that be?
The baseball great, Satchel Paige said, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" The old lady has to be reminded she is old, in her mind she is still young. I think I would be 36 again, if I could appreciate it more. As it is, I will wear what looks good, no matter what the label says, and apply for jobs no matter the age I think they want. Because what are numbers anyway? Just a way of either enjoying or avoiding being here in the moment. And anyway, 60 is the new 50. Time to do this decade right.
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