TRAVELING DOWN THE ROAD

Coyote Roadhouse
Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin

I want Thanksgiving to be over!  I cannot escape the yo-yo ride of emotion that has been with me since the summer started.  As I have said earlier, this would have been our 50th anniversary year, and I celebrate without my best friend by my side.  This past week I drove a friend out to Wisconsin to see her only son and daughter-in-law in their new home.  A journey for my friend turned out to be a sentimental journey for me.  It was Oct 7, 1966, that I moved from Ingleside, Illinois to Harleysville, Pennsylvania.  

Taking Audrey to her son in Wisconsin provided me an opportunity to drive through the place of my birth and where Pat and I first met and fell in love.  I was taken back by the emotion that rose up as I drove by Belvidere Road…Gurnee, Rollins Road…places, and names that are permanently etched in my bank of memories.  

The spot where Lake Michigan meets Green Bay.

The trip had one of those serendipity moments too.  Audrey’s son and daughter-in-law manage the Coyote Roadhouse in Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin.  The Roadhouse is one of those bar/eateries that locals love and where everyone knows your name.  As we walked in, although strangers,  we were greeted like lost old friends…a Midwestern attitude that I immediately recognized.  Great conversation, friendly faces, and some really good food made for an enjoyable time.  Later, talking to Carrie, Audrey’s daughter-in-law, she asked where in Illinois I lived. 

After telling her that I graduated from Grant Community High School in 1965, she indicated that her waitress, Diane Pinkham’s family is from there.  It turns out I graduated with Betty, her sister-in-law.  Small world.  Smaller when you think of how everything lined up to make this moment happen.

Door County Wisconsin is a beautiful place.  If you look at a map and check out the area between the bay of Green Bay and Lake Michigan, you will see a little strip of land tucked up between these two bodies of water.  I could easily see that life was hard for those who lived there all year round.  Working every hour you could while it was tourist season carried you through the winter months when everyone went home.  

What struck me, was how connected those who lived there were with each other.  Especially the art community.  Because I dabble in oil painting, Scott took us to some of the many galleries in the area.  What I observed was how supportive they were of each other.  “Oh, you like oil paintings?  Then you should check out the gallery at such and such.”  I would get a history of the artists represented.  Did I like photography, then it was a must I see so and so.  Many of the galleries we visited were artist owned.  The joy was in the conversation and energy felt during our conversations!  

It was a great trip with my friend Audrey.  I was glad to be able to take her out to see her son and his new home.  It was also a good trip for me.  I am reminded that life is still to be lived and there is much to explore.  And I look forward to the adventure of meeting new people and seeing new places…especially if they are all as friendly as the gang at the Coyote Roadhouse.  You should stop in if you get up that way.  They would be glad to see ya!

TRAVELING DOWN THE ROAD

Coyote Roadhouse
Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin

I want Thanksgiving to be over!  I cannot escape the yo-yo ride of emotion that has been with me since the summer started.  As I have said earlier this would have been the 50th anniversary year, and I celebrate without my best friend by my side.  This past week I drove a friend out to Wisconsin to see her only son and daughter-in-law in their new home.  A journey for my friend turned out to be a sentimental journey for me….timing.   For it was Oct 7, 1966, that I moved from Ingleside, Illinois to Harleysville, Pennsylvania.  

Taking Audrey to her son in Wisconsin provided me an opportunity to drive through the place of my birth and where Pat, and I first met and fell in love.  I was taken back by the emotion that rose up as I drove through Belvidere Road…Gurnee, Rollins Road…places, and names that are permanently etched in my bank of memories.  

The spot where Lake Michigan meets Green Bay.

The trip had one of those serendipity moments too.  Audrey’s son and daughter-in-law manage the Coyote Roadhouse in Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin.  The Roadhouse is one of those bar/eateries that locals love and where everyone knows your name.  As we walked in, although strangers,  we were greeted like lost old friends…a Midwestern attitude that I immediately recognized.  Great conversation, friendly faces, and some really good food made for an enjoyable time.  Later, talking to Carrie, Audrey’s daughter-in-law, she asked where in Illinois I lived. 

After telling her that I graduated from Grant Community High School in 1965, she indicated that her waitress Diane Pinkham’s family is from there.  It turns out I graduated with Betty, her sister-in-law.  Small world.  Smaller when you think of how everything lined up to make this moment happen.

Door County Wisconsin is a beautiful place.  If you look at a map and check out the area between the bay of Green Bay and Lake Michigan, you will see a little strip of land tucked up between these two bodies of water.  One could pick up that life was hard for those who lived there all year around.  Working every hour you could while it was tourist season carried you through the winter months when everyone went home.  

What I was struck with was how connected those who lived there all year round where.  Especially the art community.  Because I dabble in oil painting, Scott took us around to some of the many galleries in the area.  What I observed was how supportive they were of each other.  “Oh, you like oil paintings?  Then you should check out the gallery at such and such.”  I would get a history of the artists represented.  Did I like photography, then it was a must I see so and so.  In many of the galleries, we stopped they were artist owned and could found on premise for some wonderful conversation.  

It was a great trip with my friend Audrey.  I was glad to be able to take her out to see her son and his new home.  It was also a good trip for me.  I am reminded that life is still to be lived and there is much to explore.  And I look forward to the adventure of meeting new people and seeing new places…especially if they are all as friendly as the gang at the Coyote Roadhouse.  You should stop in if you get up that way.  They would be glad to see ya!

CHERISH THE MOMENTS

Cherish the  3 a.m. time in the rocking chair trying to calm the colicky  baby.

Cherish the moment when you have had three nights of interrupted sleep because the baby is not well. 

Cherish the moment when the kids come flying through the door with mud on their shoes on your newly scrubbed floor.

Cherish the moment…when you pace the floor as your teens return home on the minute of curfew.

Cherish the moment when the basement floods but together you figure out how to clear it out.

Cherish the moment when you watch your spouse play on the floor with the kids and manage to break your favorite vase.

Cherish the moment when you find tears flowing from the fatigue you feel because the day was so full and you have not had one minute to yourself.

Cherish the moment the kids are fighting in the back seat of the car on that long road trip.

Cherish the moment your teen screams at you about how you don’t understand.

Cherish the moment when the kids return home from college and clutter the house.

Cherish the moment when your child comes in crying and you are the only one who can comfort them.

Cherish the moment you spend the night worrying about the choices your child makes.

Cherish the arguments you had with your spouse.  At least you were communicating.  

Cherish the moment you felt alone in the house because they were all gone…you at least knew they were all returning.

Cherish the moments you laid your head down on the pillow just glad you made it through the day without killing the kids.

Cherish the moments.  For too soon the opportunity for those moments go away and you are left standing at the door wondering what happened to those days, wishing you could be back there…full of life…fatigue…worry…stress.  For they are days you will describe as the best days of your life.

KEEP ON MOVING ON

I write to process life as it presents itself to me.  Plain and simple.  The other day I wrote about the loneliness found in the aging population.  You only need to look around you and you can find it if you want to.  For me, writing about this loneliness helps me to understand that it is a normal passage of life.  Lucky are those who are the first to die in the partnership.  The first to die still has a family intact, an advocate when you cannot think or act on your own, and most important that someone close who knows when you need the family nearby.  You are never alone.

But once you lose that partner, you stand alone in the world facing most all these moments by yourself.  I remember after Pat died, thinking on more than one occasion, how long would it be before someone found me if I should collapse in the house?  And when I talk to those who live in my community who find themselves in the same position as myself, this conversation comes with lots of I-know-what-you-mean head nods.  Yes…yes…yes….me too is the common idiom.  

And the truth is, there have been occasions here in the community where people have died and it was a few days before they were found.  It happens.  We do not want it to be us…but it could happen. The most common assumption is that having children is a safety net for these things to not take place.  Not so.  Our children are busy living their own lives.  A full schedule makes time pass quickly between calls or visits.  

There is a level of fear that some express when it comes to these vulnerable moments.  I don’t know how you make those moments go away.  I try to fight them by staying busy, but the truth is this does not always satisfy either.

In the beginning of my journey of learning how to live alone, I wrote a poem titled, “Keep Moving”.

Keep moving.

No time to think

No time to miss

the things that gave me joy

So I just keep moving.

Keep moving.

To stop is to feel

I don’t want that now

the pain is too real.

Just keep moving.

Keep moving.

If I stop

I know the pain will take me

to places, I don’t want to be.

I just keep moving.

Keep moving.

A wife, a mother I used to be,

It feels so long ago

What am I now?

I really don’t know

so I just keep moving.

If I keep moving

the pain won’t be real.

If I keep moving

it will be hard to feel

the dark that fills my insides.

I just keep moving.

Oh, what do I do?

A wife, a mother I used to be.

What am I now

in this club, I did not want to join?

A child?

My parents both gone

a child no moe.

A wife?

My husband passed on

a lover no more.

A mother?

Children grown and gone

with lives of their own,

a mother no more.

A grandmother, yes.

So sweet when they are young

but as they grow

I am an old person they know.

So what am I these days?

I float—keep moving along

afraid to stop because

I know the pain will overtake me.

I keep moving.

No desire to stand still

Oh God

please tell me your will.

So many steps ahead.

What could each one bring?

If I keep moving will I

know when it is okay to stop?

Just breath—be quiet, listen, feel it.

A new day will dawn.

New things will come.

Stop moving long enough and

just take it slow.

Who am I now?

I just want to know.

Existing is not enough

purpose has to be the stuff.

Keep opening doors,

who knows what I will find.

Keep moving.

This will buy me time.

I hope the day will come

when I no longer feel the need to run

to fill my time and space.

With some luck

I will find my place.

STOP

Breath—Listen—Feel it

Everything will be OKAY.

There are times this still is my cry in the night.  I am better today than when I first wrote this.  But living alone can still be a struggle for me from time to time.  Loneliness is still that dark hole I feel occasionally.  Not sure of my place in the lives around me can still fill me with emotion and uncertainty.  But filling my time with things to do is all I can do and like that river of pain that flows beneath my soul, sometimes it rears its ugly head and I just have to let it pass through me until I get up and move forward again.  

I also recognize that I am in an emotional place…50 years ago this month I said yes to a marriage proposal that changed my life forever.  50 years ago.  How can time pass by so fast?  How can it be that long?  50 years ago I was starting a new life.  And now 50 years later I am starting a new phase again.  Life.  Passages.  Normal.  And all I can do is remember what I wrote back in the beginning of this new journey…to stop—breath—listen—feel it…and know that everything will be okay.

AUGUST

One always thinks of spring as the time for renewal and change.  Leaving the dark of winter behind and opening up to the new possibilities   But with August sending off the next generation to their new lives through college, work or marriage, we recognize that this too is a time for a change and new opportunities.  

I’ve been seeing postings from those who are facing the “empty nest” as children go off into their new lives and I whisper under my breath….wait…it gets more so as time moves on.  

In conversations with fellow neighbors, who as a group find ourselves in similar settings, watching our grandchildren go off to school, and remembering our own like it was yesterday…many from a distance feeling more and more out of touch with what is going on in their daily lives.

You are a part of their life as they see it…but not as we see it.  We sit in a corner, distant from their everyday. I remember the shock when Grammy Ford thanked me for inviting her and Uncles Bob and Ed into their lives.  I was stunned by the comment.  We always felt their presence even when we were not together.  I didn’t get it then.  I do now.  For it is true.  Children once grown and gone either invite you into their life or keep you at bay…inviting you only when it is time to celebrate one thing or another.  

Poolside conversation by fellow neighbors (a 55 plus community) find many of us feeling the same distance and not sure how we feel about it all.

Loneliness is the theme of many here.  What does it take for someone to step outside of one's door and develop a life not associated with family.  Making new friends takes hard work, and not having the comfort of familiarity and history adds to the loneliness and feelings of being disconnected.  Even the couples here in the community express similar feelings.  Add the loss of a spouse and those feelings get magnified.   These are normal passages I am sure.  There are too many around me that I see expressing the same kind of feelings for it not to be.  

There is one woman in our community who is very sensitive to these wails in the night and sets up all kinds of activities and gets frustrated when those she hears cry out for friendship and family not take advantage of what is presented…but then depression can do that to you.  Make you feel that you don’t have the energy to step outside and face the world and work at making new relationships.  

There is a song written by John Prine and made famous by Bette Midler, called “Hello in There” and the chorus goes:  

“Ya' know that old trees just grow stronger

And old rivers grow wilder ev'ry day

Old people just grow lonesome

Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there, hello”

WHAT’S NEXT, con’t

Back in June, I had indicated that I was thinking about what remains in life, where do I go, how do I get there and what do I do to make it happen.  Traveling is high on my list.  How to afford that when traveling alone has a surcharge…imagine.  A penalty for having no one in your life.  An odd thought really.  

Anyway, a friend shared a website called “TrustedHousesitters.com”.  Travel anywhere in the world and your lodging only costs your attention to the house and animals left by the owners.  Not a bad tradeoff.  

The other list of things to check was where to go to downsize both physically and financially.  This has been what has taken up a lot of my time…getting an education about what is next.  I am glad that I looked into this now while I am of sound mind and body.  To deal with this later in the game means the kids would have to step up and take over and the issues that can arise for them can leave lifetime amounts of guilt…something I don’t want to create for them.

So I went searching for independent apartment living.  Pennsylvania is a wonderful state to live in for seniors.  The county has a Department of Aging that provides information that at first can overwhelm you.  Here is what I have learned in this journey as a senior living alone.

First, there are two kinds of institutions out there….for profit and not-for-profit.  When considering entering one of these, know that they look at your financial status and in most cases won’t accept you if you do not possess enough money to carry you through their statistical time period of needing assisted living.  So if you live and die suddenly…this is good.  If you live and go from living to nursing home care, this too is doable.  But if your life finds you needing long term assisted living, well, let’s just say this is the part that will drain your bank faster than water over a damn.  And although these senior institutions don’t want to kick you out due to lack of funds, they will.  

Now some have a benevolent society within the institution, but if your needs go beyond what they want to carry, you will be asked to leave the facility.  Good luck family!  In some instances, an application for financial need can be exercised but in these cases, the senior needs to be destitute. 

Let me share a story of a women I met and talked with regarding an incident with her father.  Her mother had died when she was a young women.  Her father never remarried.  Living a bare bones life his senior years found him barely making ends meet.  No pension…no savings…just social security and even that did not keep up with inflation over the years making it impossible to live on his $900 a month.  She and her husband built an in-law suite in their home and for over 15 years they lived compatibly together.  The father had put the daughter’s name on his checking account…just in case.  Over the years the son-in-law would do odd jobs for his neighbors or friends and would stick some of the money into his father-in-law's account to allow for those needs of the father without him having to ask for help.

So it went until Dad had a stroke.  With the daughter and son-in-law both working, they were forced to place Dad into an assisted living facility where they immediately applied for financial aid.  Accepting him based on what they showed as Dad’s income, and sure he would qualify for help, they waited to hear that everything would be okay.  Protocol for the financial aid is to do an audit of the financial status of the senior requiring help.  The shock came back to the daughter when the facility phoned her to say their Dad did not qualify because the audit showed that he had $75,000 more than they indicated during the time period prior to entering the facility.  The daughter tried to explain it was their money in the Dad’s account and the reason they put the money into the checking account was to allow Dad the freedom to care for his needs without having to ask for it from her.  

The facility said this money had to be counted as the Dad’s unless they could prove it was their money.  Now forced to hire a lawyer the facility said those items that were deposited as checks showing the son’s name could be subtracted from the amount on the table, but those monies placed into the account as cash would remain on the table as Dad’s, so now they had to pay the facility $32,000 and again Dad was not eligible for aid.  They were forced to withdraw their father from the facility, take out a line of credit against their home and repay the facility the amount owed for Dad’s care.

Stories like this remind us what hardships can occur when we linger our senior years in a disabled condition needing assistance but not nursing care.  

Talking with this young women helped me solidify my own decision on where to go next.  

More to follow…..

WHAT'S NEXT?

One would think as we age, life would be easier to navigate.  Life experience does bring wisdom, but aging can bring events into our life that we have not experienced, proving that living life at any stage can bring new challenges.

As I look around the neighborhood (a 55 plus community or active adult community as they like to be called) I can see the future.  Like a train coming at me in a tunnel, there is no escape…at some point, I will be slammed just like others before me.

The one thing I am determined to do is to live and not be a financial burden to my children.  I hear them say to me, “Mom, don’t worry about not spending your money…live and have fun.”  Inside I am thinking right…wait until it is time to change my diaper!  There is a joke circulating that reads:  Does anyone know why baby diapers are called Luvs & Huggies while old people diapers are called Depends?  Cause if a baby craps in their pants, you are still gonna Luv'em & Hug’em. If an old person craps in their pants, will they still be Luv'ed or Hugged? That "Depends" on who's ass is in the Will.”  We old folks may laugh at this one but I have not heard anyone tell this joke without hearing a chorus of “ain’t that the truth” following.

So I am exploring the “what’s next” in my life.  I am proud of the fact that I am living and doing what I am doing at this stage.  My husband was uninsurable since he was 36 due to medical conditions so there was not a large life insurance policy to pad my aging days.  What I am living on is what we together saved during our working years.  With wise advice and prudent spending habits that allowed us to enjoy life and still save I am lucky.  But with my health being good, and money not easy to grow, I must maintain the balance in my life that I have always lived in order to continue my independence.

Like many I am sure, I feel out of sink with the world.  I’m 69 and still full of spunk and a desire to wander around and see a few more things before I can’t.  As I see it, I have about 8 to 10 good years left in me that I can do these things without any physical handicaps.  And because Pat and I were “cheated” out of those opportunities by his illness during those “empty nest” years, my desire is strong.  But few my age are as wanderlust as I am.  They have already traveled….gone places….done things…they are content with a trip nearby and hanging around home.  I get that, but for me, that means traveling alone and a higher cost for a trip.  So that being said, how do I make my money stretch so as not to be a financial burden to my kids and still enjoy my days doing a bit of what I want to do.

 So, I begin the journey of looking to downsize.  These decisions are not easy and cannot be addressed in one writing.  I am discovering it can be very complicated and VERY expensive.  I cannot imagine as the baby boomers fill the senior spaces available how competition for the limited opportunities for seniors will only increase what is already a pricey adventure.  No wonder I see so many around me still working to make their money stretch.  

So my first thought is, do I want to get a part time job to make my money stretch?  But then that really limits my ability to travel and seems to defeat my goal.  So staying here and working does not seem to be the place I want to go to first.  

When I let it be known to my kids what I was thinking I had one son who offered up his place with a willingness to install a mother-in-law apartment in their home.  A possibility.  But I worry that the one that gets me gets me until the end.  I was thinking about the 3 that have settled into homes and their lives.  All of them got a helping hand, even if a small one, in some way when they bought their first home.  I worry about my daughter, who alone in life does not have a working partner like the others have had…and part of me would like to provide that helping hand to her like the others got.  So “moving in” with one has some positive opportunities.  But before I make my final decision, I shall explore other “senior” possibilities.

I’ll let you know what I find!

MY WAR ON ME

I have not spoken much about my war on me.  It has been a long one.  Those inner voices that scream at me about how I don’t measure up to the rest of the world.  It dawned on me the other day, that if someone outside myself would actually speak to me that way, I would be fighting back.  More important if I spoke to others this way I would have no friends….EVER!!!!  So why do I do it?  

I have not said much about my new adventure in Weight Watchers.  But self-image is the core of my war. I have been going to WW since the middle of January and for whatever reason…this time, it seems to be working.  My fight with body image began very early in life.  I don’t recall not ever feeling fat and out of place.  When going through some old files I came across my 5th-grade report card where it showed my height and weight.  In 5th grade, I was 1/2 inch off my adult height and 155 lbs.  In 5th grade, I was my adult size surrounded by skinny “little girls”.  I carried that weight until I was pregnant with my first child at age 24.  Each of the four pregnancies put on more weight…and so goes my life.  

Another reminder of the outer messages received as a kid can be found in my autograph book that our 8th-grade tradition provided for opportunities for us to wish each other well in our high school life.  But along with the typical “Wishing-you-good-luck-in-high-school” thoughts were messages that said, “Fatty, fatty, two-by-four, can’t get through the kitchen door,” and “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m sorry your fat and so are you.”  There were others too that were just as flattering.  Messages that I laughed at but inside the knife went deep.  

With an aunt in our family that topped 300 lbs, I was always told that “you are just like Aunt Betty”.  Another cut….As my pregnancies added more weight to my body, phone conversations from long distance family members would always include, “So have you lost any weight lately?”  Always a reminder that being me as I am was not good enough.  So the war in my head went on.  No matter what kind of person I was, or what I accomplished, or what I did…it was never enough to say I was okay.

So here I am…69 years old…alone and feeling in so many ways that I am still not good enough.  When I went for my annual physical this year, the doc said to me, “You know Marlene, you are so lucky to be as healthy as you are at this age with your weight….if only we could get you to drop some of those pounds.”

So, like many other times before, I decided to take myself to Weight Watchers and give it a try.  And this time, for whatever reason, it is working.  In the past I would go to WW and the first week would be great, the second good, the third I would begin to white knuckle it, the fourth and fifth weeks I would be looking for excuses to miss the meeting.  You know…I would gain so if I missed this week and was good the next I would go next time and lose…only that would not happen and I would drift away.  But not this time.

Since the middle of January I have lost over 23 pounds, but more important I feel physically great.  The new program is my perfect fit.  But more important is the inner war that always waged on no matter what I did… is quieting.  Really.  For the first time in too long to remember I am not screaming at me about what a failure I am.  The tools that WW shows me has given me choices and not made me feel like I have to deprive myself in order to loose weight.  Instead, it is choices…and I seem to have transferred that thinking into other areas of my self-worth.  Choices.  One simple word but the power it gives…amazing.  

I am making no promises here…just taking one day at a time and learning that the power of my choices can still allow for good times and happy moments. I am also learning that I am okay just being me and I can only hope that all of this can help push back those aging issues that can take us down, leaving me with time for all those adventures still on my bucket list, because by damn I am going for it!!!!

MAKING ROOM FOR EVERYONE

What gives us permission to be 

so ugly to our fellow man.

Could you stand face to face

and be as mean as you can

just because you don’t agree

on some political plan?

I want to live in a world that has room for everyone.

I want to live in peace

I want to respect the man

even when he begins to cease

I want to live in a world that has room for everyone

Where I can walk and not feel fear

Is it too much to ask of God while I am here?

Life, like a salad, has fruit and vegetables that can stand on its own

But mix them together we can create a delight. 

An experience of sweet, sour, crunchy and soft

With the right sauce, it can taste just right.

Oh, give me the world that has room for everyone.

This is all I ask

Because I don’t want the day to come that

my child is the one the world does not want to make room for.

SAYING GOODBYE WILL NOT BE EASY

December 12, 2006
Garrison and Me

Garrison Keillor is retiring.  I am sad.  I knew it was coming.  When I saw him live at Avery Fisher Hall he announced to the audience that at age 72 (at the time) he was putting a date on his retirement.  The audience groaned in unison.  But the time is coming this summer and all I can think is what will I do on my Saturday nights!!! 

Sitting with a glass of wine on the deck, or driving home from babysitting the grandkids, you would find me in that land of Lake Wobegon, Minnesota listening to the live radio show, singing songs, sometimes shedding tears, but always….always having a good laugh.  

I have had the pleasure of seeing his radio show, Prairie Home Companion, on four different occasions during my lifetime.  Each one unique but enjoyable beyond description.  When my daughter worked for the New York Philharmonic, her position always got me a trip backstage into the green room so I could shake his hand and tell him what a joy he has been in my life.  This humble man was never full of himself and I always felt he was embarrassed by the praise, whether it came from me or the ones who came before me, he was always thankful for your kind words.  The first time I met him I said to him,  “I spend more time with you on a Saturday night than I do my own husband.”  He laughed.

My daughter arranged for a picture to be taken of the two of us at my first ever meeting with him.  My nervousness got the best of me as I went up to his side and put my arm around his waist.  Not realizing that I was  grabbing the fat roll around his waist, I suddenly got red in the face as he leaned into me and said, “You get real friendly!”  Stumbling over my words and laughing like a giddy school girl, it was a moment I will never forget.  He was a kind gentle giant who I feel honored to have met (and squeezed).  

During the last performance, I saw at Avery Fisher Hall, sitting in the VIP box, overlooking the audience and the stage, laughing so hard at his stories, I kept trying to keep in check my exuberance.  When intermission came, a staff member came up to me and said, “Mrs. Ford, the staff is worried that you are not having a good time at the show!”  I laughed and then worried I was being too loud.

“I’m sorry, was I laughing too loud?” I asked.

“Oh know,” he said.  “We enjoy hearing your glee!”

Another part of aging is learning to say goodbye to those things you have loved and enjoy.  This will not be an easy goodbye for me.  Oh, how I will miss those wonderful words,  "Well, that's the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."

THE ICE MAN MAY COMETH…

I’ve been away to the mountains of Pennsylvania, helping a friend recover from a bad spill and the following surgery.  With her son coming in today to take over her care for a bit, I am hoping after picking him up from the airport, to come home. 

Coming off the mountain though will have some challenges if the weather prediction holds up.  We are to have some brief snow showers.  Not a great accumulation but enough to create icy conditions on the roads.

Funny how time, experience and location can change one’s perspective.  I grew up in Northern Illinois where snow was just a hiccup in the days plans.  Nothing was ever cancelled unless you couldn’t see the hand in front of your face during the storm.  Slip the snow chains on over your winter tires and you were good to go.  I don’t ever remember school being closed for snow events.  But I do remember some fun rides with our school bus driver as he made some interesting turns on our lakeside roads!

When I got my driver license, my dad said to me, “Come on girl.  You and I are going driving.”

We got in the car and he directed me to drive out onto the frozen lake.  That was not so unusual around us as our lakes would freeze over and we often saw vehicles drive out onto the ice, pulling their ice houses for a winter of ice fishing.  

So off we went, onto the lake.  “Now step on the gas,” my dad said.  “No faster,” he continued.

So I did.  Suddenly he reaches over with his foot and slams on the breaks forcing our car into a tailspin.

“Turn into the spin!” he yelled.  “Turn into the spin!”

We must have done that five or six times before I could catch my breath and we stopped.  “Now,”  he said, “you will be able to drive anywhere anytime because you will instinctively turn into the spin, stopping the spin.”  

In all the years of my driving, I never used that technique but once…a patch of black ice in the wee hours of the morning as we headed down to North Carolina for a family visit.  Thank you for the experience, but I hope to never have to test my skills again.

So here I sit, looking out the window onto the gray skies hoping against hope, that the flurries won’t bring the icy conditions forcing me to cancel my trip home.

As a friend reminded me in a message sent this morning, “Don’t take any chances with the weather.  Home is not going anywhere.”

So I’ll plan with flexibility in mind…

THE BUMPY ROAD OF AGING

Aging can be a bumpy road.  As I watch and help my friend through her latest crisis…the first one she finds herself alone in after losing her husband, we share a lot about this time of life.  I have mentioned in the past that I think the first one to die in a relationship is the lucky one.  To be surrounded by your life partner, family or friends is a wonderful thing.

But when that partner is gone, there is a dynamic shift in one’s life.  Children are no guarantee that someone will be with you in the hour of your greatest need.  Especially in the society we live in.  

But as I hover here and watch my friend, I recognize another lesson in life.  Be flexible.  Keep up your humor.  And find gratitude in those that do step up and give you assistance.  

Living in the community in which I do, I see those that are cranky beyond description, and it makes it hard to help someone like that.  No matter what is done for them, it is not enough.  Or they complain that this or that is not satisfactory.  Eventually, anyone who steps up to help drifts away, frustrated because no matter what is given it is never enough.

Then there are others, like my neighbor and friend, whose gratitude sweeps you up and without burdening just one, each friend carries a small load, so it does not feel like a load at all to those who help.  Both have a great sense of humor and can laugh at themselves while doing their best to push ahead with their own situation filled with acceptance and gratitude.  

I once said to my daughter-in-law Kelly, “When I get old, if I become cranky, unreasonable, and hard to deal with, you can put me in a room and lock the door!”  Without missing a beat, she responded, “Would you please put that in writing!”  So I did.

“Dear future Marlene,

If you are reading this letter, it is because one of your children have approached you and said it is time to give up driving, or move in with someone, or go to a place where you can be watched…and you are probably saying no not yet…well, it is time to put your big girl panties on, put a smile on your face and be grateful that they care enough to look out for your wellbeing.  So do as your are told, please.

Love,

Past Marlene

PS:  Just in case you doubt this suggestion just remember the problems you encountered with your cranky friend.”

I mentioned this note to my son and his family while at dinner with them one night…when a phone call came in.  I took it and then immediately forgot about it.  A while later, Damian asked, “Who was it that called Mom?”  

“Called?  I don’t remember anyone calling”

“Mom,” he said with a shock, "you just got a call 20 minutes ago.”

I had to stop and think, and couldn’t remember the call.  Then suddenly it came to me…”Oh, that call!” I said laughing.

My granddaughter Honor turned to me and said, “Gram, do we have to get that letter out already?”

Yes, aging can be a bumpy ride, but we can still laugh our way down the road!

EXPERIENCING TWO KINDS OF FOG!

A few days ago, as I sat quietly and alone in my home, after getting one notice after another about this friend or that in a predicament…being asked to help here and then there, only to get “here” canceled, and end up there…it almost became confusing.  It felt like there was a tornado outside my door.  I was just glad it was not me needing help but instead able to give it.

So that takes me to this place… sitting on the mountain top in Paupack, looking down and out over the mountain and Lake Wallenpaupack in the distance, watching the fog envelop the lake that I can’t help but acknowledge that life can be both beautiful and a challenge at the same time.  

This is what aging is about.  Oh I know, as our bodies give up on us, we work to keep our sense of humor and laugh at what time and gravity has bestowed upon us, but we also have the time to sit and enjoy the moments that when we were young we were too busy and exhausted to enjoy.  We have to remind the young people in our life how important it is to stop and smell the roses, as they say.  Funny how many times I have heard those words and yet this morning in the middle of the dance of the fog, I get the importance of it all.  

To be reminded of this at a time when our bodies are being tested and our strengths begin to fade is important.  As I walk with my friend through her immediate challenge, I recognize in my own self the changes that come with aging.

The other day, while meeting someone for the first time, I found myself in conversation, wanting to make a point, but first describing the scene, only to forget the point I wanted to make in the first place.  Like a brain fart…all you can do is acknowledge the moment, laugh and move on.

They are beginning to show up now and then and all I can do is laugh at it.  Like the time I had a doctor appointment, but ended up at the wrong doctors office.  

After a day of taking Audrey to a doctor appointment (that lasted 4 hours…that is another story) followed by a hospital visit, we headed out to the car, got in and strapped her up in the front seat, put my purse in the back seat then saw the white gloves on the back seat  and thought, “these are not mine.”  In fact, the car was not mine.  I had just placed my friend in a car that did not belong to me.  Laughing to the point of almost peeing my pants, I backtracked my steps and laughing said, “God I hope there is not murder in the future of this car because our fingerprints will be all over it!” We laughed a number of times thinking of the scenarios of what could have happened if the owner had come out to their car while she was strapped in and ready to go!  

Then we remembered a mutual friend we knew who shared the story about a time when they left  a show they just attended and walking to their car, could not find the keys to their car.  Thinking that they left a spare set in the glove compartment, and wanting to move on and out as quick as possible, they decided to break the back window, get in, grab the keys and take off, ready and willing to repair the window later.  Grabbing a rock, they broke the back window, everyone got into the car, but when searching the glove compartment for the spare keys, realized this was not their car.  

Yes, this can happen to people of all ages.  Especially in the world we live in today where it is hard to tell one car from another, but when you enter the “aged” it feels more like a jolt than a funny mistake.  Memories that fade, frustrate.  Appointments missed can cost.  You may laugh out loud and try and blow it off, but it gives you food for thought and makes you rethink your organization skills.

So until the next time, I’ll sit here, watch the morning fog circle the lake down below and enjoy the show that nature is giving me this morning.  

IT IS THE SEASON OF HOLIDAYS!

Grandson Leighton at the Dog Train Party!

 I am going to just put it out there.  I am a kid during this time of year!  From the time, the first leaves start displaying their brilliant colors through the first snow fall my adrenaline flows fast and free!

Life, and I mean my adult life…started for me October 7, 1966.  Driving cross country through the mountains with the brilliant glow of the reds, yellows and golds of the trees welcoming me to Pennsylvania, I entered into a family that was grounded in unconditional love and I could feel the change and I embraced it’s every core!  

A holiday has never been just the day for me.  There is such joy in the planning, the preparation and the day….well the day for me is sitting back and watching all those I love and care for enjoy themselves.  

Halloween presents itself with a chance for me to dress up with the kids and go trick-or-treating.  As they got older and didn’t hang with “M-O-M”, I would dress up anyway and greet the kids at the door.  One year I dressed in an old black witches outfit, with a big hat.  I sat on our porch with a large bowl of goodies, head down and still, and when I would see their feet I would pop my head up with a scary “Happy Halloween”.  Those who came to my door grew to know that Mrs. Ford would be doing something silly.  

The pumpkins and fall decorations would hang around through Thanksgiving.  Joined by the pilgrims and the great planning for our Thanksgiving meal.  The Ford family gathered either at Grammy Ford’s or my house.  We are a foodie family which always creates such great excitement amongst us.  The joy for me as I watched the Ford family gather was how, no matter how much time had passed between visits with one another, there was always such a great presence of celebration (and without the drunk fighting).  The tradition carries on today at my son and daughter-in-law’s home.  

Christmas….ah Christmas.  I feel sorry for those who put all their effort into just THE day.  For me, from the moment Thanksgiving is done until I am forced to take the holiday decorations down, it is Christmas.  When my kids were young we would do the advent wreath.  It was such a joy to stop the day's hectic schedule, light a candle, pray and read a Christmas story to them.  Letting each one take a turn to open the advent calendar door or window.  One year to add the spirit of love and the spirit of giving to the lesson I began the tradition of a “secret Santa”.  They had to draw each other’s name, keep it a secret and at least once a week do something nice for that person and not tell them.  It was only at the end that they were allowed to share who they were.  

Along with the normal prep for the holiday I would have the kids make things to give as presents, instead of buy them.  One year we created a calendar and they had to pick a date at least once a month and write a promise to that person.  During the year, we had to keep track and fulfill that promise.  It could be a car wash, a visit to the grandma’s, or bring a dinner to them.  Grammy Ford told me once this was her favorite!  

Our neighborhood after a storm!

One year I drew a picture of Grammy Ford’s house and we had notecards made up.  The kids helped me find the right little basket, and we wrapped them and put ribbons around them.  I can still remember how excited they were. 

There was always the homemade Christmas decorations for the tree.  I loved teaching them the lessons of giving.  

New Year celebrations would round out the season.  They were always fun, yet not rowdy or crazy.  A small gathering of friends, or a dinner.  But a round-robin of phone calls to the family not there always came at midnight.  

When the older generation passed, it took a couple of years for new traditions to take hold.  In my life since losing Pat, I take great comfort in the fact that I know what we are doing for these family gatherings.  Life is so busy the rest of the year, and there can be many lonely moments, but not the holidays.  It is a time for us to come together and celebrate each other, catch up, and be reminded of what is truly important to our life, and that is the love we hold for each other. 

MORE CONVERSATION ON AGING

I lost another classmate this week.  I know at my age, this is to be expected.  We are approaching our 50th class reunion this September and John’s loss makes 25 known classmates that have left this earth.   In my own experience, I have come to believe the first person to die in a relationship is the lucky one.  Family intact, the healthy spouse becomes the built in care-taker, the medical advocate, insurance advocate, and family communicator.  Not an easy road being a caretaker, but it can be more scary facing aging alone.

Most of us do not plan for these times.  My own parents were a great example of this.  Living life, often pay check to pay check, not giving a thought about what the future holds as an “elderly person”, mostly because they didn’t have the resources to plan.   My Dad, who survived my mother by nine years, spent those nine years getting by, doing what most of us do when living life alone after losing a spouse, keeping busy to fight off the loneliness.

My Dad and I had a conversation shortly after my Mother died about his future.  I told him then, that I wanted him to be as independent for as long as he could and do as much as he wanted, but when the time came for him to face that moment where he knew he could no longer care for himself, to please consider moving in with Pat and I.  He did not respond and that was the entirety of our conversation.  As the oldest child and daughter, I took on the long distance role of calling him every day, morning and night (unless I knew he was traveling with his lady friend).  Over time, because of this intimacy in calls, I could hear the changes in his voice and tone, even though his words were, “I’m okay, “ often followed by his activities. 

A trip to North Carolina followed as soon as I sensed something was off with him to discover it was time for that decision.  I walked in, saw his condition and said, “Oh Pop, you know what this means?” as I saw how swollen his ankles were and how out of breath he was with any movement.  I was lucky in that he gave me no fight about moving him up North, and for the last 3 1/2 years of his life, the only thing he had to say about moving in with us was “If I had known I was going to live this long I would have waited longer before moving in with you all.”

That was the total conversation about any end of life arrangements.  I didn’t really understand it then, but now, as I stand alone after losing Patrick, I understand better what it means to face the rest of our life alone, hopefully, independent but still alone.  We don’t want to be a burden to our kids.  We don’t want to cost our kids any financial worries.  As we age, we tend to hang on to what ever we have harder…for those days when we will need it.

But we do a disservice to ourselves and our children when we avoid sitting them down and having the “senior talk.”  I know my brother and I talked about those times long before we lost our Mother and our Dad was alone.  I know my own children have had the conversation since losing their Dad, although I sometimes believe they are throwing dice to see who the loser is that will have to deal with me.  (Kidding of course!)

Next, I’ll cover options…especially when moving in with a child is not one of them.

Next time…

A CONVERSATION ON AGING

Getting old is a challenge.  Take time and  have a conversation with someone you see that is old enough to have their body begin to fail.  An honest conversation will show you that transition into old age is often scary, lonely, and physically challenging.  

When I talk with the elders here in the community, I hear things like, “I don’t want to bother the kids.  They are so busy with their life.”  “I don’t want to bother anyone.”  “I am okay. (Even when they are not.)”  Often,  the eyes on the elderly rest with caring neighbor’s who, more than anyone, are able to see up close the needs of those who have reached this stage.  

As long as health and mental abilities are good, there are no issues.  I know, at 68 almost 69, I find when I hear a comment that refers to my age as “elderly”, I often cringe inside and say quietly, “Really?  Elderly?”  Right now—today—I do not feel elderly.  Oh, I know my body tries to show me in many ways I am.  I look at my hands surprised at times at the wrinkles and brown spots that seem to multiply daily.  I only need look at my naked body in the mirror and watch what gravity is doing to those parts that use to be perky!  My hair grows grayer by the day, my body is apparently rejecting foods I use to love to eat,  my muscles are not functioning at a level they did when I was just 10 years younger.  Oh, I feel the creeping effects of age on me.

Change is the most challenging.  Especially change that comes without choice, like death or health issues that make it impossible for one to stay in a home they know.  Often in conversations with others here, I hear people plant their feet in cement, and do not want to give up what they have or where they are at in life.  A feeling that “at my age, why should I …..” and I don’t always understand this.  With many of us living 25 to 35 years beyond retirement, I don’t get how we can expect our monies to last that long.  I know that I have already been looking at alternatives for myself when the time comes that I can no longer afford to live where I am now.  I get that it could be hard if you are living in the home you raised your family in, with the hopes that you could die there too, but the reality is different.  

Often, a home large enough to raise a family in becomes a physical challenge to upkeep.  It is also not realistic to think that we will die with all the money we had at retirement in the bank.  Some of us may be lucky in that field, I expect I will not be one of them.  The moment I start losing sleep over the fact that I don’t have enough to cover my primary living expenses I hope to be able to find the wisdom to move on with grace.  

I have a friend, Martin Bayne, who I met after listening to him speak on aging on NPR radio.  He has written so eloquently on the art of aging and what we Baby Boomers are going to face in the future.  He rings a bell as loud as he can, but too many of us are too busy living and playing to take the time to listen. His blog, http://thevoiceofagingboomers.com/ is worth a look and has a large following which produces in him the hope that by the time Baby Boomers arrive they will face a different long-term care system that what he has found himself living in.   I will write more about his work later….

CUSTOMER SERVICE IS WORTH THE CALL

Pat and I  worked hard for our money as most of us do.  From early on in my life, I would get annoyed that a product purchased would not live up to the advertised promise.  Especially items I purchased for my children.  

Pat and I had four children in 4 1/2 years.  Money was tight, and Pat especially worked hard for what we did have, so that made me all the more frugal when it came to spending it.  I took great care at Christmas to pick out one “good” toy for each of the four, which meant I looked for the best quality I could afford.  Nothing got me riled up as much as a toy, built for a kid, not holding up to the normal play that kids do.

So early on, if a product did not hold up, I would call customer care and complain, or write a letter and before I knew it, a new item to replace the one broken was very often sent on its way.  This was a privilege I never abused, but when I did have to call, I also never felt bad about calling.

The biggest return came once when twisting a bottle cap off a coke bottle, the metal tore in such a way that I cut my thumb.  I called customer service to just let them know about the issue, more as a curtesy call than a complaint.  Before I knew it, they sent me a couple of coupons for some additional coke product.  Then one day I got a call from a service representative from Coke.  Was asking if he could come for a visit regarding my call to them.  

Upon arriving, we sat down and talked, he looked at the scar now formed on my thumb and we talked about the how and why’s of what could have happened.  Before he left, I was gifted with a couple of rubber bottle openers, some more coupons and a whole case of bottled coke.

This 4th of July weekend I found myself in another disappointing product moment.  I had bought four 1-pound packages of Dietz and Watson Hotdogs.  A product I buy all the time with great satisfaction.  But on this day, when we cooked them on the grill, it was obvious something was wrong when a slime appeared on the cooked dog.  No one would eat them.  There was one additional package left in the freezer.  I decided to call customer service and let them know something was wrong with this batch as the expiration date was not to be until July 18, 2015.  After a short conversation, some code numbers exchanged, they offered to send me coupons to replace those that I bought.  A thank you both ways, and we hung up.

Once again, I say to you all…if you are not satisfied with a product, call or write.  Contacting customer service is worth the call!

COMFORT ZONE TRYOUT NUMBER ONE

Okay, so yesterday I wrote about reaching outside my comfort zone and learning to fly solo with ease and comfort.  Can I say after tonight…I don’t know.  I mean I didn’t fly solo, but I went someplace definitely out of my comfort zone.  Here’s the story….

Joliene invited me to go with her and try someplace new.  She is after all my adventure girl!  She read about this place in Bucks County Taste, an online blog about dining out in the area.  A new up and coming place that use to be a biker bar, with plans of for expansion, a new chef and lots of enthusiasm for the future.  A local place.  In fact, they call it “Local”.  

Off we went.  A beautiful drive down Point Pleasant Pike toward the river.  Arriving, we found a beautiful old stone building with a sign out front near a door.  Walking up to the door, we found no handle.  Ummmm….how do we get in?  Walking to the side patio we spot another door.  Again, no handle and no entry.

Giggling, we started back toward the car when a women from across the street yells out that the entrance is around back.  I looked over toward her and asked, “How many times do you have to shout instructions to strangers?”

“More times than I care to say,” she shouts back.

Thanking her, we headed around to the door in the rear.  A lovely inset stone entrance, with a huge beautiful pot of flowers in full bloom welcoming us.  Opening the door, we walk into a well used bar, with pool table, dart board and about four tables and lots of seats at the bar.  A little dark and dingy looking but filled with character.  Or should I say characters.  The bartender/server was a very small, well-worn old man who was about the size of my right leg.  A squeaky voice that peppered his language so that he was constantly turning to us (the only two ladies in the bar) and saying sorry.  I got the feeling they weren’t use to having women in the place.

Standing there, trying to get our bearings as to what to do, a young man at the end of the bar says to us, that he will be able to judge us better when he hears what we plan on drinking.  Joliene, not shy or backing down chooses a beer.

“Where you ladies from?” he asks?

“New Hope.”

‘Oh this is not a New Hope place,” he says with a smile.

Oh know I say to myself, he thinks we are gay.  That thought didn’t even register with Joliene.

Another old man across the bar begins to share with us how wonderful the food is and how they use local food sources, and how much they make themselves, like the mozzarella balls are made right there…..

“And you know,” says the young man at the end of the bar, “you need to prick a hole in those to let the steam out because they are hot to bite into if you don’t!”

After listening to what sounds like a commentary from the food channel, I say to them, “You know the last time I walked into a place and asked about the food and heard that much positive response, I later found out they were all related to the owner.  You are not related to the owner are you?”

Laughing, he says, “No, I use to be a chef and I know good food.”  

“Nice to know.  Thank you.”

We glanced at the menu on the various walls.  While trying to decipher them, one man points out to us that having the menu on the walls is not really a good thing because if the place is full you can’t read the menu with everyone in front of it.

I chuckled.  It was true.  The one menu was right across the bar with a whole row of seats in front.  If they had been filled we would not have been able to read the board.

We eventually decided on what to eat, ordered the food, got our drinks and sat at the table.  Soon another gentleman walked in with his dog.  A friendly type.  Conversation flowed when he strolled over to the jukebox inviting us to pick out some music on his dime, asking us if we were in town for the gay pride week?

It was everything I could do to keep from laughing.  I don’t know if it was Joliene’s plaid shirt or my short hair, combined with the fact that we said we were from New Hope, but they all had the impression we were gay, so I began to reference the fact that Joliene was my daughter to set them straight.  

The dog owner says, “Here I thought you two could be sisters!”  

Now I didn’t know how to feel at this moment.  Sorry for Joliene because she was hanging with an old women  or happy because someone thought I looked young!  Once we made it clear that we were mother and daughter, the conversation turned to them wanting to take us home!  Now there would be a story!!!!

The food finally came and I must say it was great food.  Everything the men said it would be.  

As we left the place, Joliene proceeded to tell me the rest of the review from the Bucks County Taste.  She said the women who reviewed the place said she found that someone forgot to tell the men in the bar that it was not a biker bar anymore because when she arrived to check the place out, there was a knife fight out in the parking lot.  She decided not to share that part of the review until we were leaving the place.  

I will say, the only gang this group of men belongs to was the over-the-hill gang.  They were worn hard, but harmless, friendly and very chatty.  The next time we go there, Joliene won’t be allowed to wear her plaid shirt and I’ll put hair extensions in, wear a fancy dress with long earrings, tons of makeup….oh wait…then we really would look out of place!

So much for leaving my comfort zone!  Next?

PS:  They really do have some great plans for the place.  Keep your eye out for the news.  They plan on bringing in music, building an outside deck and a second-floor dining area.  They already have a head start on the food!