TRANSITION

I follow a site called “Begin with Yes”…today the following posting showed up.  “The transition to evening reminds us that life is about transitions too. When we understand that this is just part of the natural unfolding, we resist less and become less fearful. Everything will be OK”

How many times have I written about my own personal transition from wife to widow to single and the challenges it has presented, yet feeling lucky to understand and accept the idea that everything will be OK.  That does not make the pain go away.  I know I sometimes have to wear a mask of “everything is ok” just to get through the day, and so do many other widows I meet and talk with.  

When I talk about my reactions to leaving a wonderful event with family or friends and sometimes find myself breaking into tears heading home alone in the car…they nod and understand…for them too, they tell me.  There is always that moment that you leave the group, get into your car and as I have said before when you close that door that sound of the door slams you into a reality of your aloneness. 

I gave a talk a while back and was in conversation with someone who said, “I pretend to be okay because everyone expects me to be.”  She went on to say, “In pretending, I can often get through the day, but it is not real.”  

How that struck me.  We all wear masks of sorts.  Most of us present to others that which we think they want to see and too often it leaves us wanting inside and nowhere to share the voice we really want to be heard.  

Yet, I know it is up to me at this stage to find my own way, to create a new life.  I often feel like I have each foot in a different world.  One where I want to run and explore and start over…even sometimes thinking it would be wonderful to run away and begin life over.  The other foot stays planted in a need to be around the family.  But I am experiencing more that the family is so busy, and their need for me, is gone, and due to time, distance and busy lives getting together is harder.  And it is not unique to me, it is a common theme.  In the community in which I live, the last census taken by the Homeowners Association showed 52% of the people living here are single-home dwellers.  The quiet that permeates this place sometimes kills the soul!

I remember when I first moved here the first thing I missed was the sound of kids playing on the street.  Halloween doorbells ringing with “trick or treat” sounds.  Noise.  Now don’t get me wrong…quiet is good.  But too much quiet is deafening to the spirit.  I need people.  I need life.  I need to move and dance and play and sing.  So I am preparing for a new transition.  I have decided to sell my home and with my daughter-in-law and son’s invitation am moving into a mother-in-law suite they are building into their home.  Privacy when I want it, yet family when I need it.  

This will allow me to have the funds I need to travel.  This will put me in a place where life is still being lived robustly, yet when I need to step in and be in quiet…it will be there (we are soundproofing the place!)  For the first time in a long while I am looking forward with joy in my heart.  This feels good.  I am lucky.  At 69 I am healthy, mobile, still have my wits about me, and have a few years to get in as much as I can before my time comes to leave this place and by damn I am going to give it all I got and see where it goes.  

The next challenge? Thinning out the “stuff”.

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”

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.

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!

IT FEELS GOOD!!!

Looking in the mirror as we age can be a challenge.  When I see a photo of myself it is different in my eyes than when I look in the mirror, phenomena that we all experience.  I think of my sweet mother-in-law when she attended her 50th high school reunion at Trainers Restaurant.  She walked in past the ballroom where a crowd had gathered, stopped at the reception desk and asked where the 50th high school reunion was.  Pointing to the ballroom she just passed, he said, “Right in that room Ma’am.”   “Oh no,” she replied, “that can’t be, they are all old people in there.”  

I have a question.  When you run into someone who is your age, do you find yourself thinking, “I wonder if I look that old.”  Me too!

I am discovering that losing weight at this time of my life is different too.  I am not doing this because I want to look “beautiful”.  The mirror tells me that every time I see the lines, the sag, the fact that I can slap you silly with my saggy breasts.  The mirror is not my friend at this stage of my life, but it has made me realize that it is what I am feeling that counts these days more than how I look.  

It also begs the question, if I can feel so good going down in weight, why does that leave us when we are going up.  Is it all in the head?  I am sure some of it is.  But when I can walk up a hill and not drag for breath, it feels good.  When I can stop eating before I hit the bloat stage…it feels good.  My spirit is lighter with each pound I have lost and not because I look young and beautiful but because I feel young and energetic.  

I am now ready for those road trips in life.  Those things I want to do are now possible because I can walk without pain, sleep without pain, be physical with pain…okay that last part may be pushing it, but I am once again realizing that I can do anything I want within reason.  Having a 69-year-old body does have its limitations!

My weight loss journey is still a journey I am embracing…it is working and I feel good.  At this writing I have entered a place I have not experienced in over 20 years.  For those who have inquired…I’ll keep you up to date on my journey…no matter where I end up.  For now, it just feels good and I want to hang on to that!!!

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.  

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….

I WILL DANCE WHEREVER I AM

Dancing along the waters edge with the sandpipers, searching for treasures that the surf leaves behind, feeling the sun warm my bare feet each time I get caught by the tidal push of water, I smile knowing how lucky I am to be here—or there…

I realize how blessed I am to be able to find happiness no matter where I am, no matter where I stand, a gift I am glad to possess.  I began to think about all those things that I can find joy in today.  Let me count the ways.

First and foremost are my family.  They have provided me the extreme of all emotions at times, but being happy with them, by them far outweighs anything else I know.

My friends are next.  Since losing Pat, I often don’t feel I have that “best or intimate” friend, but I am surrounded by a diverse group of people who manage to bring me joy when we spend time together.  I am always grateful to those who allow me to be with them—it helps keep the blues away!

My writing comforts me.  As a child, keeping things to myself was so ingrained in my soul, that being open about who I am and what I am about was hard.  Writing became my voice.  It does not matter if anyone reads it or likes it, or gets what I am trying to say.  Throwing my thoughts out to the universe frees me in ways I cannot explain.  The gift for me has been the discovery that I am alright.  I like me.

Being outdoors—in the woods—by a lake—near the ocean—standing by a waterfall—walking a trail--watching the birds—planting a garden—accepting the gifts provided by mother nature is easy and pure joy!  At times, there is not enough time in the day to do all I want to do or see all that I want to see!

Painting is play!  To paint is to be childlike—an area where I was short changed by a childhood that was taken away from me early in life.  Not anymore.  I keep the wonder of learning and exploring forefront in my activities.  Nothing stops me from playing today! 

Birds.  How can I not love birds?  They sing for me, dance for me, and entertain me in ways nothing else can.  In my life, I have always planted things around me that serve two purposes…the birds and me!  First it has to offer food or shelter up to the birds, and second it has to provide me pleasure in its existence.  I provide for them and the birds provide for me.  We make a perfect pair!

And last, but not least, music.  Nothing can carry me higher than the story of a song.  Music lifts me from sadness, will make my heart soar and take me places I didn’t know I wanted to go.  I write and paint with music in the background because it opens my mind and heart like nothing else can.

Life is an adventure and I want to enjoy it all. I know as I walk along the edge of the ocean dancing with the sandpipers, searching for the treasures that the surf leaves behind that I will dance wherever I am.

WATER SOOTHS MY SOUL

Sea Isle City, New Jersey

Thanks to Eileen and her gift of sharing her shore house, I found myself walking barefoot along the winter beach of Sea Isle City, watching the sandpipers darting along the low tide searching for their morning meal and thinking to myself how lucky I am.

It was a spontaneous decision to head down to the shore and I love what being by water does for me.  Growing up in the Midwest, we lived for a time on a lake, in Ingleside, Illinois.  Living on Long Lake, was the happiest time in my childhood.  The mesmerizing effects of living by the water never got tiring for me, but I find the roar of the ocean is a different animal.

From the first moment Pat took me to Ocean City, I was in awe by the power and force of the waves.  My joy, early on, was to be chest high in the ocean riding the gentle waves up and down.  That is until one day while vacationing in Chincoteague, Virginia.  

We decided to spend as much time at the beach as we could before the projected storm rolled in.  Pat, sitting on the shore with the three younger ones playing in the sand, while Damian, my oldest son then age 10, and I rode the waves, were having that perfect family time together when suddenly Damian and I found ourselves in water deeper than we were tall and we could no longer land on our feet on the bottom when the waves went out.  

Not being able to swim stronger than a doggy paddle, we both began to panic when we realized our feet no longer touched bottom.  

“Mom,” Damian cried out, “I’m going to drown!”

Struggling myself to just stay afloat, I could say nothing, but only felt panic.  Pat noticed that we were in trouble but locked on shore with the three younger kids, was not in a position to do anything.  At the same time, the lifeguard noticed our predicament and began to run toward us, when suddenly, a huge wave picked Damian and I up and threw us to shore, face down.  Standing up, my swimsuit at my waist, chest bleeding from the scraping on the rocky bottom of the ocean floor, Damian and I were both glad to have our feet planted on the beach.  

We learned that day about undertow and carry a healthy respect for the power of the ocean.  

I still enjoy walking on the water’s edge, smelling the sea air, watching the sandpipers darting about for food, dipping my toes in and out of the moving shoreline all the while thinking how blessed I am to be experiencing another of Mother Nature’s beautiful gifts!

Thank you, Eileen for providing me another opportunity to experience another of my favorite things.  

WELCOME TO MY NEIGHBORHOOD

As a child, I was surrounded by language that was demeaning and often ugly toward those who were different than “us”, especially if you were black, Catholic, Jewish, or gay.  By the time I was seven years old, I experienced enough to know to challenge this language, both in thought, word and deed.  

We lived in Waukegan, Illinois, and our home was located in the city where school was diverse.  I was a minority in my class.  Top this off with the fact that our home life was not the ideal and often surrounded with alcoholic chaos.  

For me, kindness and generosity, was often felt first outside my home…not from within.  So as a kid, when I would hear my parents and the adults with them, discuss people of color using derogatory terms, in my head I would be thinking, “but so-and-so is not like that, she/he is nice.”  The truth is, my experiences most always were the polar opposite of the language I was surrounded in.

So at an early age, I learned to not trust the adults in my life.  The seed was planted to not only challenge but to base my opinions on my own experiences.

This has brought great joy in my life.  By being open and accepting of differences, (even political ones), I have been blessed to make friends with very interesting and kind people.  

At my age, I have watched society grow more open and tolerant of one another.  I can remember the day when marrying outside one’s religious believes would bring condemnation from family, and often the member who dared to love outside the circle would face living outside the circle forever.  This behavior would bring about great sadness and turmoil to those involved.  

Although it is better today, than how we lived in my early life, it is obvious that we still have a long way to go by the headlines and activities I see today in states where laws are being passed that say, my religious beliefs give me a right to not treat you the same as I expect to be treated.  I don’t get it.  We live in a country that cherishes the right to practice our own faith without harassment or interference.  That government is separate from our faith and is to be allowed to govern the whole, not just the parts.  

Historically, all faiths have a history of challenge to it’s existence.  But we live in America.  We live in a country where we ALL have rights to be who we are, follow our own faith without harassment, and exist in peace.  

My own conversion to becoming a Catholic came about, not by someone trying to convert me, but by experiencing first hand from the Leuthe family of Milwaukee, the joy and binding love of a family unit, that just happened to be Catholic.  I was drawn to them all by their welcoming and outreach.  I have carried them in my heart since those days of long ago.  I have often thought, if they had been another religion I most likely would of converted to that, it was the joy of their existence that I longed for.  Making the decision to follow the Catholic faith, brought me first hand to the prejudice of such an act.  I didn’t convert because I was marrying a Catholic.  My conversion was personal.  Something my family didn’t understand.

I hold with honor, the distinction of being kicked out of my Grandmother Curnes’s funeral gathering, because I had the audacity to challenge the family support of George Wallace and his run for President under the umbrella of segregation. 

Our own existence cannot come without the acceptance of those around us, no matter who they are or what they believe.  For if I want the freedom to believe as I wish—and I do—then I must grant it to all those around me.  I have friends who are Buddhist, Jewish, Protestant, Catholic, Muslim, Agnostic, black, hispanic, foreign born, American, politically Republican, Democrat, Independent, gay and straight …all people who hold a special place in my heart.  I don’t love them because we all think alike, I love them because we accept each other for who we are.  Out of these relationships come wonderful conversations that broaden my own understanding of what it means to be human.  

I was given a writing assignment once, that asked me to describe how a tossed salad was like life.  It was easy.  One vegetable in the bowl alone would be boring and dull to eat, but mixed together with an assortment of fresh and tasty vegetables, bound together by a dressing makes for a satisfying edible experience.  

I believe in us.  I believe in the U.S.  I believe that goodness will prevail.  I welcome you to my neighborhood where diversity brings a richness in life that can only be measured by how I make you feel.  

POPULAR SENIOR PAST TIMES? FUNERALS OF COURSE

Spring is sprung

The grass is rizzzz

I’m heading out 

To where all the bodies is….

My way of saying it is funeral time again in the ok corral.  Yes, the 2nd most popular past time of seniors—the first being going to the doctor’s office—is attending funerals.  And I must say the last couple I have been to have turned out to be enjoyable in a macabre sort of way.  

Two funerals ago, it happened in a snow storm.  It wasn’t so much the funeral that was fun, but the people I went with.  Retired hospice nurses all, (well I can’t forget Jim, our lone man of the group) and neither snow, nor sleet, nor hail, or storm could keep these gals from their final destination.  Once the somber event of the viewing and mass was behind us, it was off to a bakery, then Tony Lukes for lunch.  Hardly any cars on the road due to the storm conditions but there we were!  Yes, we were heading home, and we did not make any changes in that direction, as they were just stops on the way.  But imagine the surprise of the owners of the bakery and the workers in the restaurant when they saw four old farts strolling in to their place of business….and just as old people do, said to the bakery owner, “Since we are your only customers are you going to give us a discount?”

And she did, so we cleared out a few items before she shut up shop and gave us free coffee to boot!  Due to her kindness and jovial nature, you know we will be back there again!

Once again I was traveling with the same group plus Jim…only this time it was one of us that lost someone.  In this case it was an ex.  Let me saying losing an ex is not the same as losing a husband.  I don’t know from personal experience, but watching those around me…well let me just say the murmurings  were funny to listen to.  What made this funeral noteworthy, was knowing the background to the family, the stories of how the man lived and especially what he left behind when he died—tie that into the fact that the priest was a boyhood friend of the ex-wife’s family—well, let us just say to hear the priest dance with his words about how this good man is going to heaven, but ever so gently remind us all that we all have sins on us that need to be forgiven.  

I found myself thinking, “be gentle Marlene, for one day you too will die, and when people are sitting mourning or rejoicing your loss, you better hope someone is praying for your sinful soul so that the door to our heavenly father will be opened for you.”

CHILDHOOD FRIENDSHIPS NEVER DIE

Tom, Pat and a friend from work 1966

Most all of us have walked through our life carrying the memory of an old friend within us.  That someone who lived through a portion of our life, leaving an impact and burning that special soft spot in our heart.  I have not had the experience, but I lived it through my late husband, Pat.  He had three friends through his childhood that he carried in his heart with great affection until the moment he died.

John, Tom, and Joe were the first three friends of Pat’s that I met.  I loved to see them together. They had a history, a connection…something, that in my life could only be imagined, never experienced.  I often told Pat how lucky he was, because he could not travel up or down the 309 corridor without bumping into someone who knew him from his childhood.  

John and Pat were close like brothers.  Their love and acceptance of each other was a beautiful thing to watch.  Of course it helped that John married Pat’s sister, but even so, they always carried each other close to the heart and being with John and Lucyann was always such a happy time.  Even distance did not put a wedge in their relationship.  

But Joe and Tom eventually drifted away physically, yet never in Pat’s memory, thoughts or feelings.  Right before he died he made me promise to try and find the two of them and give the message to them that they were never forgotten and how he carried them in his heart always as his best friends and with great affection. It was important to him that they all knew that he loved them.   I promised I would try.

I first found what happened to Joe.  Joe was the Best Man at our wedding.  We quickly bonded as a couple as he too was married.  Through the first four years of our marriage, we spent most all our social time hanging out with Joe and his wife.  Sometime after my first pregnancy, Joe and his wife separated and divorced and our friendship drifted apart.  Life, family and work filled the time available for both Joe and Pat.  Over the years we did get in contact with him once, but Joe was embarrassed about how his wife left him (he was a man of great pride) and we did not stay in contact.  But that did not mean he was forgotten by Pat.  As I went on a hunt for him I decided to search the obituaries and I was saddened to discover he died in 2004.  I called John to share the news of my discovery and you could hear the breath leave him for a moment as he processed the news.

I first met Tom thru Pat at the Navy Hospital at the Great Lakes Navy Base where I worked.  Tom and Pat went into the Navy during the Viet Nam days on the buddy system.  Pat never cared what he did as long as he could do it with Tom.  In boot camp where they filled in their dream sheet of what they wanted to do in the Navy, Pat chose to put down what Tom wanted to do…dental tech.  In the end, Pat was the one who was selected to go to A school for Dental Tech, while Tom ended up in Corp school to become a Medic and eventually off to Viet Nam.  Pat never made it to his school because on the obstacle course he broke his foot which left him unfit for duty and back home to await discharge.  Tom’s schooling was at Great Lakes which allowed for me to get to know Tom through Pat while Pat was in the hospital awaiting orders to return home.  Tom went off to Viet Nam, returned home, attended college and went off to live his life.  Our first born son carries Thomas as part of his name in honor of the love Pat held for Tom.  

I was recently lucky to have come in contact with a cousin of Tom’s who shared contact information for him allowing me to fulfill that last wish for Pat.  When I called John to share the good news of finding Tom, he too was overjoyed, as he had spent part of last year searching for Tom without success.  

We promised to meet up soon and catch up on the life lived between visits…and when we do, I know Pat will be there too with a big smile on his face.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON

Thirty-nine years ago, on February 25th, it was 80 degrees and Pat and I were trying to push along labour by walking around looking at boats, dreaming of the coming Spring and all the time we will be spending by the shore line of any body of water….him fishing and me chasing kids.  Later that day, my 9 pound, 1 ounce boy was born…our third son, fourth child, making our family complete.  Damian (age 4), Justin (age 2 1/2), Joliene (age 1 1/2) and now Aaron would fill my life in unimaginable ways. 

How is it possible that I have a child who is turning 39 when I am only 39? In my head that is!!!!  This year I will have my oldest turn 45, my second turn 43, and my third turn 41.  This cannot be! I remember living those ages.  Where does time go?  Why does it fly by so fast?  

I was glad that I recognized those moments that filled me with as much happiness as is allowed. I always wanted to freeze frame the time period as it was happening.  I had many of them when my kids were younger…although I must admit there were also those moments where I wanted to give them away to the first person that passed by.  Parenting is never just one emotion.  Ever! Being a parent is the extreme of everything you can feel….Joy…Fear…Love…Hate…Happy…Sad.  You cannot be a parent without recognizing that at any given moment you can be taken on the wild ride of your life.  I remember there were also times at night that I was glad to have put my head on the pillow and not have killed a kid that day.

Ah yes, parenting was tough, but oh what I would give to be standing there in that place again.  

Wait. I do when I visit any of my children’s families and see, feel and hear the craziness that fills each of their homes.  Kids, making noise, with sounds of “Mom….Mom…Mom” filling the air and I am reminded of how tough it really is to be a parent, and me going home to the quiet is good.

I am glad for all of you.  Your choices in spouses, the grandchildren you have blessed me with, and the lives you are all living, fill me with more happiness that you can ever imagine.  Thank you….thank you….thank you!

And Happy Birthday Aaron!