THINGS I LEARNED CAMPING

I just spent four wonderful days camping.  It was a fun experience traveling with an experienced camper who was good at guiding me through things I needed to know. There were a few things I discovered on my own, so I thought I would share what I have learned. 

Always plan for rain.  One towel for four days is not enough with rain in the forecast and no chance for a towel to dry out between uses.  I did discover how much a towel can still soak up when wet though.  

 I learned that white sneakers and camping are not a good combination!

I learned that sleeping in a sleeping bag in 51-degree temperatures is not bad at all once it warmed up.  Of course, it would have been nice if the camping buddy would have warmed up the bag before I got in it!!

I learned that when damp, cool nights settle in, finding a form of exercise to warm up, the body helped a lot.  We did do some nice evening walks and discovered some beautiful animal sightings and scenes along the stroll.  Although there were many ways to exercise walking was pleasant.

I learned to make sure whatever bottoms I wear should be short enough to not touch the wet grass on those middle-of-the-night runs to the bathroom.  Soggy bottoms are uncomfortable when crawling back into the sleeping bag.

I also learned to make sure to spot the campsite before heading into the bathroom on those late night runs…I stepped out the first night and got turned around and could not find the camper.  I had a flashlight but turned it off as I didn’t want to be taken for a stalker as I looked to return to the campsite.

I learned that camping with a boy scout—always prepared—is good except when he couldn’t remember where “it” is.  That is when it became a giggle session…for me at least!

This camping trip taught me a few other things too.  Like Connecticut only has 25 letters in their alphabet.  It happened when I heard the word “liquish.”  “Liquish,” I asked.  What is liquish?  “You know,” he said, “like the candy.”  “Oh…you mean licorice.”  That’s when I realized they lost the “R's.”  

I also learned about “bibbits” and whole bellies.  I was told whole bellies are the ones with the bibbit.  I had no idea what Dave was talking about, and all I could do was giggle because it sounded funny. I did taste a “whole belly.”  I had one.  It had a soft mushy part.  

It was fun learning first hand that Connecticut people have an incredible sense of humor.  How you ask?  Well, what do you think with road names like Blueberry Hill, Honeyspot Lane, Tootin Hill Road, Fresh Kill Road or Lovers Lane? That made me wonder how many unusual street names there are around us…and how lucky to live on one of those streets!

The best thing I learned from the camping trip is to pick a guide who knows his way around and can make it fun, even when he knew but couldn’t remember.  Many conversations went like this.  

“How would you like to go (pick a place)?”  

“Oh that sounds like fun,” I would reply.

“Okay, I think we go this way, I can’t quite remember, but it will come to me.”

“Do you want me to plug it into WAZE?” I would ask.

“That would be good.”

So I would look up the address, and WAZE would get us going in the right direction.

“Is WAZE telling us to turn here?” he would ask?

“Yep.” 

“Oh don’t turn there, go straight” he would say, and WAZE would adjust, and onward we would go.  

We always got there despite feeling lost from time to time, and once we arrived, he would remember. When we arrived at Mystic Seaport, we spotted an old Indian Guide and stopped to check him out.  In the course of conversation and the sharing of our travels, the old Indian guide soon informed Dave that he was the long-lost ancestor of his tribe, the Fagarwees.  He shared some old tales of travel of the tribe, and soon Dave recognized his place among his Indian ancestors.

So if you are lucky enough one day to find yourself lost with Dave by your side, trust you are in good hands.  You only need turn to him and ask, “Where the Fagarwee?”

HOW EASY WE FORGET

Miranda in WDC Woman's March January 2017

How quickly we assimilate change in our lives.  What we take for granted today, like iPhones and all that they can do, just a few short years ago was only possible in Syfy movies.  One of my first jobs in Pennsylvania was with Mauchly Associates, headed by Dr. John Mauchly.  At lunch, he and I would play an occasional game of chess where during our discussions he would tell me one day we would all need computers in our daily lives and even carry them in our pockets, and I would question him on this futuristic thinking. You see he was the co-inventor of the first digital computer, ENIAC and I was just a stupid young person with no vision.  I am embarrassed by the thoughts of those conversations today.

Those of us who carry any age (like me at 70) have seen first hand those things important in our lives one day, gone and replaced by more efficient items designed to make life easier the next.

It can be fun and exhilarating to experience the new innovations that the creative minds among us create and surprising how soon these new and innovative items assimilate into our normal everyday lives.  

There many changes that occur in our lives that soon we take for granted, going on thru the day with little or no thought about what we are doing or how we do it.  This hit me when I saw the many responses from people who posted negative stories with ugly rhetoric about the Woman’s March that occurred after Trump was sworn in as President.  I struggle with the conversations that take place peppered with name calling to express a point of view that challenges the purpose of the Woman’s March or any position for that matter. Since Nixon’s Presidency, the idea of not standing with a President in office to mean you are not Patriotic is nonsense to me.  No matter who is in office it is our right and obligation to question the deeds of our Presidents.  My voice as a citizen has a right to be heard and so does yours.  Also with this right, comes an obligation to educate yourself with the truth.  I know that seems hard to find in these days swollen with an opinion, but it can be found. 

Take the Women’s March for instance. People I know challenged my stand on the Women’s March saying I supported the march just because I hate Trump.  I want to be clear, I do not hate Trump.  I do not like the policy changes he is making, but I do not hate him.  I do not like his bullying that he does from the podium, but I do not hate him.  I do not like the fact that he has appointed people to head cabinet positions that historically have stood against the idea of that department, but I do not hate him.  I do not like the fact that he wants to dismantle the EPA (I remember when we almost lost Lake Michigan to pollution), but I do not hate him.

When men in politics pass laws and create programs that control what I can and cannot do I take that serious. That is why I stood with those that marched. I have witnessed in my lifetime the power of the pen.  What is given can be taken away.  Trump is showing us this by his decisions.  We have become lazy as citizens and forget those who came before us and the sacrifices they made to give us the freedoms we enjoy today.  But when I feel the pressure of the those who want to take us back to “the good ole days,” I get worried and figure it is time to get active again.  I don’t think many realize how recent some of these rights have been penned.  Let me share some with you.

1936; The federal law prohibiting the dissemination of contraceptive information through the mail is modified, and birth control information is no longer classified as obscene. Throughout the 1940s and 50s, birth control advocates are engaged in numerous legal suits.

1963: Congress passes the Equal Pay Act, making it illegal for employers to pay a woman less than what a man would receive for the same job.  Before this, a woman would be paid less for the same work, and even when laws were passed to stop this, the employers would change the title of a  woman's job to get away with paying her less.

1964:  Title VII of the Civil Rights Act bars discrimination in employment on the basis of race and sex. At the same time, it establishes the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) to investigate complaints and impose penalties.  I remember reading ads that said “No Irish need apply,” “Men only” "No Jews need apply" and “Whites Only.”

1965:  In Griswold v. Connecticut, the Supreme Court strikes down the one remaining state law prohibiting the use of contraceptives by married couples.

1967:  Executive Order 11375 expands President Lyndon Johnson's affirmative action policy of 1965 to cover discrimination based on gender. As a result, federal agencies and contractors must take active measures to ensure that women, as well as minorities, enjoy the same educational and employment opportunities as white males.  Yes, an executive order…like any President can honor or undo.  (Remember the power of the pen.)

1968:  The EEOC rules that sex-segregated help wanted ads in newspapers are illegal. This ruling is upheld in 1973 by the Supreme Court, opening the way for women to apply for higher-paying jobs hitherto open only to men.  

1972:  In Eisenstadt v. Baird the Supreme Court rules that the right to privacy includes an unmarried person's right to use contraceptives.  1972?  The right to privacy?  We all take this for granted!

1972, June:  Title IX of the Education Amendments bans sex discrimination in schools. It states: "No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any educational program or activity receiving federal financial assistance." As a result of Title IX, the enrollment of women in athletics programs and professional schools increases dramatically.  We must realize that we women gained from this program also.

1974:  The Equal Credit Opportunity Act prohibits discrimination in consumer credit practices on the basis of sex, race, marital status, religion, national origin, age, or receipt of public assistance.

1974: In Corning Glass Works v. Brennan, the U.S. Supreme Court rules that employers cannot justify paying women lower wages because that is what they traditionally received under the "going market rate." A wage differential occurring "simply because men would not work at the low rates paid women" is unacceptable.

1974: Until the Equal Credit Opportunity Act in 1974, women were not able to apply for credit. 

1974: The first law giving rights for a woman to refuse to have sex with her husband was passed.

1976:  The first marital rape law is enacted in Nebraska making it illegal for a husband to rape his wife.   Think about this….the FIRST law was written…up until this time it was legal!

1978:  The Pregnancy Discrimination Act bans employment discrimination against pregnant women. Under the Act, a woman cannot be fired or denied a job or a promotion because she is or may become pregnant, nor can she be forced to take a pregnancy leave if she is willing and able to work.

For those with Grandparents ask them what they remember about pregnant women in the workforce.  Many my age remember teachers disappearing from the classroom because they became pregnant. A friend of mine told me a story how her job with a large corporation was ended when her pregnancy began to show.  She was forced to quit. She was an administrative secretary to one of the top men and was told it was unbecoming to the company to look that way.  I also talked to a friend who told me she was directly told she would not be hired because if they did, she would just get married and then pregnant and they didn’t want to spend time training her.

1986:  Meritor Savings Bank v. Vinson, the Supreme Court finds that sexual harassment is a form of illegal job discrimination.  Even today, women in the workforce endure many sexual overtones with little recourse for the woman.  It is still hard to fight the “good-ole-boys” club.  Just follow the latest in the news today regarding the Marine Corp scandal.  

Study the above Executive Orders, Acts, Laws, and Court Cases.  These all came because someone stood up for their rights as a woman.  They fought for you and me.  There was a personal sacrifice to all who took this step.  We take them for granted today, but in the face of the dismantling of many programs now on the horizon of Trump's Presidency, nothing can be taken for granted.  Nothing.  That is why marching with women is important to me, for my daughters, granddaughters, and the woman to follow.  Woman's rights are human rights.

I shall step off my soap box now and go in silence to mend this damn head cold!

IT WAS GOOD WHILE IT LASTED!

Joe Hart, best man, Lucyann Eyre, Maid of Honor, Me and Pat
at the home on Cressman Road where we held our reception.

As some of you have recognized from my last few writings I have been on a melancholy journey lately.  It is because for many in this stage of life this would be a journey of celebration…fifty years of anything would be worth celebrating, but I’ll miss the joy of celebrating those 50 years with my best friend. This would have been the year. 

It all happened so fast.  Our first date in June.  Engaged in August.  Met the new in-laws in September.  Moved to Pennsylvania in October.  Married in November.  So this time of year is finding me looking back and remembering the good times and feeling amazed at how fast the time has passed.  

Today I took a road trip to all the places I have lived since moving to Pennsylvania in 1966.  My first stop was on Cressman Road in Harleysville.    We left Illinois, pulling a U-haul trailer behind my 1966 VW (yes I said pull a fully loaded trailer behind the VW).  We could not travel faster than 40 MPH and that was downhill.  Driving from Ingleside to Harleysville at that speed made for a long slow trip.  Being a new convert to my faith, when Pat asked if we could stop at a hotel about half way there, I asked if he could promise to be “good”.  “I can’t promise that,” he said.  “Keep on driving then,” I said, and we did, 23 total hours from Ingleside to Harleysville.  When we pulled into the driveway, Pat got out, walked through the door with me following close behind, and he turned to his Mom and said, “Take care of Marlene Mom, I am tired and going to bed.”  There I was standing in the doorway, with my new family that I had just met 3 weeks earlier.

I shared Lucyann’s bedroom until our marriage on Thanksgiving Day.  We were perfect roommates.  We both were good at hiding our dirty laundry under our bed.  It was also the place where I began to learn about unconditional love and it’s true meaning.  I was a young woman with not a lot of female guidance from my own mother, so I entered this family like a waif from the wrong side of the tracks.  I learned this when my husband’s grandmother who lived with my widowed mother-in-law, did my laundry and discovered my less than perfect lingerie.  Shocked that I would become a bride with such garments, she grabbed everything out of my drawers and threw it all away.  By the time she thought of what she had done the trash man had come and emptied the trash cans.  

When I returned from work, I was met at the door by a nervous grandmother who guided me to her room and explained what she had done while slipping some money into my hands telling me I needed to go out that night and replace what had been discarded for all I had left was what I was wearing.  

I slipped up to my bedroom and burying my face into the pillow crying with embarrassment, wanting to run away but couldn’t because I had nowhere to go.  This turned out to be a good thing in the end.  When Pat came in from his job, he was told what had happened and finding me crying up in my room, explained for the first of many times to me that when someone does something out of love, I could not get mad.  “If she did not love you,” he said, “she would not have cared.”

Our first apartment was at Pennbrooke Apartments in Lansdale.  I remembered when we got the apartment Nov 1st.  We had less than three weeks to gather the things we needed to set up our first home.  Garage sales and auctions allowed for some good finds.  An old bed from the house, a table from Uncles Bob and Ed set us up for a good start.  We didn’t have much, but we didn’t need much.  We had each other and it was fun.  I remember one night we had gone over to the apartment to set up the kitchen.  After awhile, the apartment manager came knocking on the door with a message from Pat’s mother.  She thought we were there just a little bit too long and thought it time we return to the house.  This made for a good story on more than one occasion during our lifetime.

A year later we found a cheap, $55 a month apartment on Morwood Road in Telford.  A downstairs, one bedroom apartment in the country.  We could have a dog.  It was a small place, yet we had Damian while there and became pregnant with our second son, Justin.  Pat and I actually argued about moving.  Pat wanted to stay…after all who wanted to give up $55 a month?

Our third home was on Trumbauersville Road in Quakertown.  A 3 bedroom rental house allowed us to grow our family that at this time included Joliene.  It was here that we took in our first house guests.  Fresh Air Children from the city for two weeks.  This turned out to cause trouble with our landlord.  They were  black.  He did not like that.  Although we enjoyed having Keven and Michael in our family for two weeks, when the next summer came we were asked by the landlord to not bring the kids out again.  He felt that he was being blamed for having the first blacks in the area and he said if we respected him we would not do it.  It was an awful time for us, for we loved the family we grew to know and wanted them to return to our house.  So we left there and bought our first home on Portzer Road in Quakertown and our first guests were the whole Edwards family.

We lived on Portzer Road for 13 years.  Our family grew by one more, Aaron.  Family picnics, holiday parties, yard sales, and great neighbors made this a hard place to move from.  But when your oldest son could not stand up straight in their bedroom on the second floor (we lived in a cape cod style home with a slanted room upstairs) it was time to move.

We soon found ourselves on East Market Street in Perkasie.  Pat and I knew from the moment we crossed the threshold of this house that this was home.  It took awhile for the kids to adjust to the new school and neighborhood, but the family time at this place was perfect in many ways.  We always seem to find room for those needing a bed and place to stay  until they got  back up on their feet.  In fact, one time we found the kids had put a sign up on our bedroom door, “Boarding House Managers Sleep Here.”  

In the 18 years we lived there we had the following people live with us at one time or another:  Oko (a Japanese exchange student), Little Rich, Big Rich, Penny, Brandon, Tyler, my Dad, my mother-in-law,  Denise,  and Dawn (a woman of many personalities).  The first summer we moved into the house,  Damian’s friend Carl, lived with us all summer causing us to explain to the neighbors that all the kids did not belong to us.  It was a sad moment when I recognized due to Pat’s illness that we could no longer stay in this home of many memories, and we moved to where I am now, a 55 plus community in Buckingham.  

This last move was a bittersweet move.  It was good to downsize.  Taking care of a large home and yard by myself was beginning to weigh on me.  Moving here was a form of relief even when it did also mean that Pat was ill and could no longer do steps.  I knew when I moved in here that this would not be my last home but it has been a great place to be, especially with the outreach during Pat’s illness and eventual death.  

But it is time for me to move on.  I can look back at each one of the homes I have lived and remember the good moments and happy memories.  For this I am grateful.  But, as I once said to one of my sons, "I am not dead yet."  I do have a life to live and I am working to make the best of it. Even when my thoughts fill me with what once was, I know that I am grateful for all that it has been.  

My life with Pat was more than I ever imagined it could be.  And because of our life, I know that if I remain open to all possibilities, it could happen again.  I just have to get in touch with that spirit within me that directed me to take a chance all those years ago and not be afraid.

But damn…it sure was good while it lasted!

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…..

NATURE'S SERENADE

Trumpet vines reaching for the sky

waiting for the hummingbirds to stop by.

Feeling alone 

but how could this be

surrounded by the songs 

of the birds and the bees.

The evening sounds pulsating 

by the cicada’s dance

Frogs and crickets darting about

taking a chance

while bats join 

in the evening flight

of birds gathering 

in the waning light.

How can one feel so alone

surrounded by nature's serenade

quiet I sit as the evening sun starts to fade.

I ponder, as the day is done

is it just me…am I the only one?

I am reminded by the frog's bullhorn blair

that I only need to look to see them there.

As one day ends and I say good-bye

to the pain I carry 

that could make me cry

I settle in for the night

surrounded by the moon’s guiding light

as the frogs and night birds sing

hoping that a new day will bring

the music of the birds in flight

showing that everything is alright

I’ll just step outside and wait

as trumpet vines reach for the sky

waiting for hummingbirds to stop by.

GIVE BACK MY COUNTRY?

Life is messy.  It has always been messy.  But being messy is not bad.  It means we spend a lifetime of accepting the change that occurs…always, hopefully, trying to make it better than it was.  So this begs the question, what does it mean when I hear someone say they want their country back.  I wonder, back from who?  Back from what? 

The phrase, “give me the good ole days”, always sets me off.  For me, these are the good days…not the 40’s, 50’s 60’s….not even for a second.

I remember those days as everyone having a place in society and severe consequences if you broke society rules or was not born the right color or in the right place.  If you are a white man, who had money in his pocket, you do miss those days.  But for everyone else, life was a struggle.  Women who were being beaten in their marriage, kept it quiet and hidden because the choice was to be out on the street without any support system to help them get back on their feet.  

A woman pregnant out of wedlock?  You had hell to pay.  Often sent out of town for the duration of the pregnancy or get married immediately, even while in high school.  Forever branded, few had second chances at life.

Sexual abuse as a child?  Hide it.  Don’t raise a fuss.  After all, if you did tell, it was often the victim who suffered the consequences of the reveal.  Few times did the perpetrator ever get punished.

Women who had a “reputation” were in the end shunned and scorned.  But the men who played this game were treated as heroes in the conquest game.

Married outside of your faith?  You would often be thrown out of the family for such disrespect.

Were you gay?  Who knew?  Gay men and women were buried so deep in the closet they could hardly be found.  Overhearing a conversation a while back, I heard, “I didn’t realize there were so many gays.”  

Marry a person of a different color?  Forget it, you were often driven to live in the big cities where at least you had a chance to live without harm. Have children? They were the ones who suffered the name calling and bullying.  Acceptance in our society was difficult at best!

Life has always provided opportunities to challenge what we believe.  The moral choices that we made today can seem a no-brainer, but at the time, it was painful and a struggle to accept the changes it brought.  

I remember the 60’s and early 70’s when our country was in a state of upheaval and we all wondered where it would all end…would we survive…would there ever be peace again?  Free love and drugs would prove to have consequences…eventually we learned.  We grew up.  

I am glad to have been born in the United States of America where we have struggled since we accepted the Bill of Rights and our Constitution, to honor “where all men are created equal”.  It is not always easy.  Fear makes us do strange things.  Hard choices make us want to retreat into what is familiar.  Strangers can sometimes scare us until we stop and get to know each other… man to man…woman to woman…child to child and recognize in others that which is in ourselves.  

I don’t buy the cry, “Give back my country.”  We have it now.  This moment.  And it is our responsibility to always carry the torch where all men are created equal so we can live in a world where all are treated equal and with respect.

You can have yesterday if you want it…but give me today.  I am happier here in the now!

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!!!!

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.  

FATTY FATTY TWO BY FOUR...

There is nothing funny about Comedian Nicole Arbour.  She is getting a lot of attention these days for her “Fat Shaming” video by those who have the courage to produce their own video fighting back.  The truth is, fat shaming is not just what Nicole Arbour does, it is what many do.  I believe it is the accepted form of bullying.  When is the last time you heard anyone say to someone who makes fat crude jokes, that they should not.  I haven’t.  I would be interested to hear if you have.

I am going to lay it out there…I have never been thin.  NEVER!  In 5th grade, my report card shows that I was 1/2 inch off my adult height and weighed 155 pounds.  A weight I carried right up to my first pregnancy when I was 23 years old.  Each of my four pregnancies added some weight (reaching 175 lbs) until I became the long-term caretaker of my dying husband in which I gained my most weight…a weight I carry today.  No excuses…it’s just what happened.  I have been on many diets over my life time.  I would initially lose weight but eventually it came back to where I started.

Carrying weight above what society says should be, has taken its toll on my self-esteem and emotional well-being.  Starting in those elementary years right up through today, I can honestly say not a day passes that I don’t experience something by someone that lets me know I am fat.  

In my 8th grade class from Gavin Grade School, we had a tradition of signing autograph books as our class graduated elementary school heading off to high school.  Some of the boys in my class filled my book with poems reading, “Fatty, fatty, two by four, can’t get through the kitchen door….” sending me out with a life time of insecurities and self conscience and negative attitudes towards myself.  And in my case, this treatment was only the frosting on a cake that was already soured by a complicated childhood.  

I never had a safe place from “fat comments.”  Over the years, conversations with long distance relatives would often include a question, “lose any weight lately?”  It would sting, but I would brush it off the best I could.

Look, I get how weight can be a detriment towards good health, but at the same time I also recognize that sometimes weight is caused by more than poor choices.  My daughter suffers from Polycystic ovary syndrome, which showed up while she was in college.  One noticeable symptom of POS is weight gain.  It is heartbreaking to watch how differently someone you love is treated just because they carry more weight than what is “acceptable” by society standards.  

Yes, bullying comes in many forms.  And the video that Nicole Arbour produced is a form of bullying.  In a society where we celebrate those who call people who disagree with them “losers” and name call anyone different than themselves, I don’t know how to expect anything different.  I am filled with sadness when I see how we tolerate being cruel to one another.  I cannot change the world, but I can choose to be kind and accepting to those around me, no matter how different they are as compared to me.  

9/8/2015

AGING IS NO JOKE

Before I embark on any trip, I do a lot of research about the area I am going to visit, setting up road map information and laying things in chronological order to ease my stress on the trip.  Planning becomes so important in making it easy and stress-free.  

Too many times, I have watched people enter their aging process with no plans, only the attitude that “something will come along to take care of me.”  No worries.  No fears.  Just wing it.  For many of us, that is all we have to work with. When we wing it, too often we are asked to make these life changing decisions when we are least able.

I know many of us are not in a financial place to plan for the worst-case scenario, but I don’t see anything wrong in taking time to search what the system of aging offers so we can best understand what we will be faced with.  Other wise, tough decisions have to be made in your name, surrounded by a lot of kicking and screaming, 

Taking care of our seniors when they can’t live alone is an expensive proposition.  For those without long-term care insurance policies, we must rely on family and government programs and hope that family or room can be found to help with care.

People more knowledgeable than I have written volumes about what we face today when entering alternative living arrangements.  As I mentioned some posts ago, my friend, Martin Bayne, has been a long time advocate for better living situations in assisted living facilities.    His website, http://thevoiceofagingboomers.com/ is considered one of the best because he has been living in an assisted living facility for over 10 years.  In his 50’s, his body was in need of help, but not his mind.  He continues his work today, constantly challenging those who own and manage long-term care facilities to find better ways to create a home for our aging citizens.

One thing we can do to help those that will be our caretakers is prepare all the necessary paperwork, laying things out to make it easy to discover.

One site that I have been using to get my own personal things in order is called, “Get Your Shit Together”.   http://getyourshittogether.org/.   Yes, you read that right….Get Your Shit Together!

This is one of my favorite sites because it gives you a checklist of all the documents everyone should have in their files.  Not only does it provide a checklist, but it also provides forms that you can easily fill in and print out.  It’s easy-to-understand-explanations of what the documents mean help me understand the truth from the myths we think we know.  

Right after my Dad died, I decided to create an “IN CASE OF DEATH NOTEBOOK”.  I purchased a 3-ring binder, added some plastic sleeves, and began to gather the information necessary to deal with my end of life issues.  When Pat died, I discovered it to be a gift to myself.  I pulled out the book, opened a page, contacted who I needed to contact, making notes and filing the notes with the paperwork until the process was complete.  I did not have to search for anything as all the paperwork I needed was all in one place.  When the death certificates came in I placed them inside the book and used or made copies to file with all those institutions that needed them.  Leaving the balance in the book for when my time comes and in case the kids need them to finish off my estate.

The following is a sample of the items I had in my “IN CASE OF DEATH” notebook.

Obituary information:  This may sound silly to you, but what I found in my own family is that when sitting in front of an undertaker, still reeling with the shock of loss, you and your family members have a great deal of trouble remembering.  Having things written out simply helps simplify the moment.

MEDICAL POWER OF ATTORNEY DOCUMENT

MEDICAL LIVING WILL

POWER OF ATTORNEY:  Note most financial institutions will require their own, so don’t assume because you have a POA that it covers everything.

LIFE INSURANCE POLICIES

MEDICAL INSURANCE INFORMATION

COPY OF WILL COVER WITH A NOTE WHERE THE ORIGINAL IS LOCATED

Military information:  If you served in the military keep your DD214 (Discharge Papers) on file.  They will need it to provide all the military honors your are entitled to.  If, like my husband you are receiving disability payments from the VA, you also need this information to inform them of death.

Marriage and Birth records:  At least copies with notes on where you keep the originals.

Financial Accounts:  I update every quarter when the new statement comes in so that my family will have the last statement on record.  (A good practice is to always keep the first statement showing what you started with.

Bank Account Records:  I take December’s statement and keep a copy of it in my file to give information on bank and information needed to inform of my death.

List Assets:  For most of us this will include our home and car information.  A good habit is to make a copy of important information concerning both your home and car, along with a spare set of keys for each in these pockets.

A COPY OF YOUR UTILITY BILLS:  I found when dealing with these issues you need these for the account information and contact numbers.  I usually copy the last bill of the year and place in this pocket.

A LIST OF PASSWORDS FOR YOUR ACCOUNTS.  In today's world of online banking, doctor sites and other sites that are important to us, we find that we are overwhelmed with the need to collect our passwords.  Your caretaker needs to have these to carry out your wishes when the time comes.  I understand these have to be protected so a note where they can found is good to place here.

I share this with you to inspire you to make things easy for your future caretakers and like I discovered when my husband died, a gift to yourself.  

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….