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?”

I HATE SCAMS AND SCAMMERS!!!!

I HATE SCAMS AND SCAMMERS!  Did I say that loud enough?  I have done everything I can to stop these annoying calls.  I have signed up on the “Do Not Call” list more than once.  I have tried the “Stop the Robo” caller program…that has not stopped them.  I have ignored the calls with numbers I don’t recognize, but the annoyance of the consistent ringing drive me crazy. I began to take the call making sure it was indeed a non-legitimate caller then I would block the number.  In 3 days…yes, that is 3 days I filled my allotted number of calls I am allowed to block in my phone system.  One would think that having caller ID would help stop them, but they have even managed to get around identifying who they are with that.  Often when I have called the number back, I get that the number has been disconnected.  How can that be?  That number just rang my phone!!!

Over the years I have taken down all their information and then called my local government office…only to be told not to answer the call.  Then I called my local consumer advocate…only to be told to just hang up.  Once when I was so tied up caring for my dying husband, I called the police to see if I could get the Bucks County Police Association to stop calling and they told me,  “There was nothing they could do, and by the way, do not donate to them,” he said, “we get nothing from them.”  Great.

Why is it so hard to figure out what to do to stop them.  In one of my evil moments, I wished I had one of those loud piercing sound makers to blow into the phone once a real person gets online.  I figure if I take away their hearing they would give up calling!

Once I even gave them a bunch of phony information just to get rid of them. I told the foreign sounding voice on the other end of the line that my name was  Dumbia Scammershit.  

I have resorted to pretending I was deaf.  “Hello!”  They would try and say something, and I would interrupt with “Hello…are you there?”  “What?”  “Speak louder I cannot hear you.”  Eventually, with me screaming on the phone, they would hang up.

Another time when the caller would ask their question, I would answer with gibberish, making no sense and having nothing to do with their question.  They would eventually hang up also.

Once I startled a person with, “I am so glad you called.  You need to call the police.  I think I just killed an intruder who came into my house.  He looks familiar…similar to my husband,” I said…eventually they hung up too.

The scariest call I ever had was years ago when my husband left for his second shift job, I got a call asking if I was Mrs. Ford.  He then identified himself (this was before caller ID) as the State Police and that my husband was just involved in an auto accident and could I call someone over to my home while I head to the hospital.  Something told me to call the State Police to confirm the event, and that is when I found out that this was a scam call and the police would never call with that kind of information.  They would send an officer in person.  

Remember years ago when Olean Mills would call and offer up a free 8x10 family photo just for letting them send a photographer to the home to snap the series of photos to choose from?  We all knew the scam.  Take the photos then do a high-pressure pitch to get you to buy a very expensive package.  As a mother of four young children, I did not have the time for such nonsense.  I said no.  Then no again.  And no one more time.  After a bit, the caller asked, “Why Mrs. Ford would you not want a beautiful family photo to cherish the rest of your life?”  After a bit of a pause, I responded in a very serious tone with, “Because sir, you just don’t understand.  My children are so ugly I never take their pictures.  People would just laugh and stare.”  The dead silence at the other end of the phone told me all I needed to know and the calls stopped.

Lately, the “IRS” scammer calls and the “PECO” scammer calls are ringing me two to three times a day.  I let them know they are a scammer and for the most part, the IRS people just hang up.  But the PECO scammers have actually started arguing with me.  Today when they called, I asked them how they could live with themselves scamming people out of their hard-earned money and hung up.  Not that they care but I was hoping the “Mother’s Voice” I shot out there would get to them.  

I am not naive to think anyone could talk to these lowlife-scumbag-bastards into caring. I have decided that it is time to make a daily political call to plead with my congressmen to come up with a way to stop this.  Elderly people especially are so vulnerable to this kind of crap and sadly too many times are scammed out of their money, and it is sad that there is nothing that can be done about it.  

If any of you out there have any ideas, I am open to hearing them.  

“HELLO, WHAT DID YOU SAY?”  “I CAN’T HEAR YOU…SPEAK LOUDER PLEASE.”  “HELLO!”  “ARE YOU THERE?”

Oh I am sorry, I am practicing for my next scammer call.  

WHY WRITE MY MEMOIR?

I lead a Memoir Class in the community in which I live.  The most common question I get regarding our Memoir Group is “Why write a memoir?”  So I reached out to some people I know who are in the process or have written their own memoir and here are a few of their answers:

"I want them to know 'the real me,' to know I had an interesting, adventuresome life."

"To understand my life by looking backward."

"To write something for myself."

"I want to talk about all the fun we had."

“I loved life on the home front during WWII and I wanted my grandkids to know what it was like.”

"I grew up in an Irish neighborhood in Philadelphia which no longer exists. I wanted my kids and grandkids to know what that life was like in the city."

“To share our immigrant story."

"To capture the stories, but not in a lot of depth."

"To write the story of my military life.”

“To share what life was like during the depression.”

You don’t have to have led a spectacular life to write a memoir…you just need to be you, and find the story in your experience.  I have had people tell me their story, then follow that by saying I cannot write so I don’t know how to write my story.  I tell them to write it as you just told it, in your own voice, your own style, and your own way.  It is that simple.

Many people confuse memoir writing with autobiographies.  Autobiographies encompass the entire life of the writer, where memoir writing focuses in on just one given period.  Which is why memoir groups are growing in popularity.  Pick a topic and write about it as you lived the moment.

I share a story about two sisters I know who lost their mother early in their life.  Their father remarried about a year after their mother died.  These two sisters, loved their step-mother but over the years as they went through the special occasions in their own lives they missed their mother and wished they knew more about her.  Afraid they might hurt the feelings of a step-mother who was very kind and loving to them, they kept this desire to themselves.  When their father died, the older sister got a call from the step-mother and let her know that in the attic she found a box of things that looked like they belong to their mother and offered the items up to the sisters.  

The sisters got together that very day and opened the box which began a journey of discovery. In the box were not only photos and mementos but also diaries their mother had written.  Non-stop reading, sharing, laughter and tears until about 4 in the morning when they realized the time but so overjoyed by the realization that for the first time in their adult lives they knew who their mother was, her desires, her experiences, and how much she loved her two little girls.  A joy they share over and over again today as they gaze down on their own children and grandchildren.  

Like so many others today, they keep active journals of thought and experiences for the purpose of sharing who they are with the generations to come.  

There can be many reasons for writing your memoir, but none more important than sharing an ordinary life in extraordinary times.

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…

I’VE COME A LONG WAY

As I sit here this Saturday, not babysitting, or doing anything else for that matter, trying to recover from a short hospital visit, and a diagnosis of diverticulitis and another round of bladder infection, I realized how different this visit was as compared to the first time I went in after losing Pat.  

The first time I went in, I was more acutely aware of not having Pat, my comforter, with me.   I felt extremely vulnerable and alone.  Every question was loaded with reminders of my new station in life.  But this time the experience was totally different.

When the fever and pain told me this was something different and needed attention, I called the doctor’s office and got the direction to go to the ER.  I was calm through the whole thing…in pain…but calm.  I knew I could always call 911.  When a neighbor heard that I was having issues they offered to drive me, too.  I decided to call my daughter who worked nearby and let her know I was heading over to the ER  and she responded with, “I’ll be right there.”  

I let her come and off we went.  At the hospital, the questions no longer were slaps in the face…single married or widowed.  I am what I am. A widow.

I even sent my daughter home with an “I’ll call when they are ready to release me.  Go home and rest until I am ready to go.”  And, “don’t let your brother’s know until I know what is going on.  If they tell me I have the bunga-bunga disease and have a short time to live you can call and get their butts here.”  We laughed and said good-bye.  She would have stayed if I wanted her to.

That was enough for me.  Just knowing that if I really needed someone, there would be someone there.  I know in my heart, if I had called any of the kids, they would of come.

I realize, sitting here today, how far I have come in my journey of learning to live life as a single person.  I am strong, independent and find pleasure in answering only to me at times.  Oh, that does not mean that things are perfect yet.  I still find those moments when I wish I had that hug, those cuddle moments…but you know when you can’t…you have to let go.  This latest experience told me I am okay.  

BUTTER VS BUTTER

THIS?

 I am not myself lately.  The last 48 hours have brought to me a small medical issue.  Nothing to take me down but just make me goofy….you know what I mean.  You are okay, but maybe just not thinking as clearly as you normally do.  Then for some (like my kids) that could be a hot topic of debate—thinking clearly that is!

Anyway, yesterday as I was returning home from a blood test, I decided to not go to the regular grocery store but instead headed to None Such, a local farmers market close to my home.  It would allow me to get in, get out and head home where I really just wanted to hole up, read a good book, and listen to some music to soothe my soul.

NOPE, THIS!

Armed with a grocery list my daughter gave me, I went and began to shop.  On the list was “almond butter.”  Something we have all the time.  But for whatever reason, in my brain, I am thinking “butter” like from the cows.  So I begin to search.  The cooler, the freezer, the gourmet section.  I go from one end of this place to the other.  Do you think I can find this almond butter?  Nope.  So I resort to asking the sweet person shelving goods, 

“Excuse me,” I begin.  “Do you know if you have any almond butter in the house?  I have searched the coolers where there are all kinds of butter, but I can’t find the almond butter.”

She pauses, puzzling my question, “Let me check.”

We walk to the cooler and now both of us are searching.  We walk around to the frozen gourmet section thinking that it might be rare and to keep fresh it might be there.  Nope, it wasn’t there.  I followed her around back to the refrigeration section one more time when I turned to the shelf behind us and saw…Almond Butter…next to the peanut butter.

“Oh my God,” I said.  “I can’t believe my stupidity!”

“Oh don’t feel bad,” she said.  “I was along for the ride with you!”

“I don’t mind sharing stupid,” I said laughing, “makes me feel like I am not alone!”

Both laughing now, I thanked her, we hugged and went on our way.

It is times like these that I examine if it is my age or my momentary bout of sickness that brought me here.  God, I hope it is the second reason.  I have too long to go to lose my mind at this point!  

I’m going now…you’ll find me on the back deck, feet up, book in hand, music and the birds entertaining me, waiting for my clear-headed thinking to return!  

IT’S DOPPELGÄNGER SEASON!

It started a few weeks ago, when a neighbor who bowls in the same league I do, came up to me and asked me to sniff her neck.

Looking at me with that special glint in her eye, she says to me, “Go ahead, smell my neck.”

“Okay”, I said with surprise in my voice, “if you insist.”

“I smell like you,” she said with glee in her voice.

“No,” I slowly replied, “I don’t think so.”

Suddenly, with a look of shock, she steps back, starts laughing and says, “Oh my, you are not who I thought you were.”

“Okay”, I said and with that we both stepped away laughing and continued on with our bowling game.

A couple of weeks later another gal from our league came up to me and with a sweet look of satisfaction, placed a bag of yarn, with a sample of her handiwork included, in front of me with a look about her that told me I should know what this was all about.  I didn’t.  My puzzled face told her that I had no clue what she was doing this for.  

“You wanted to learn how to do this, didn’t you?” she asked.

“No,” I said.  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Then, she stepped back, looked me hard in the face and giggling with embarrassment, said, “Oh no, I thought you were someone else.”

We laughed together and went on about our business.

A couple of days later I went to the hospital for a blood test, and while sitting in the waiting room, an older women came up to me, grabbed me by my shoulders and with panic in her voice asked me what I was doing there.

“Getting blood work,” I replied.

“But why?  What is wrong?” she continued.

“Nothing I said,” I said, “Just routine.”

Then once again, this women stepped back and with a look of shock on her face said, “Oh my God, I thought you were my daughter. I swear  you look just like my daughter!”

With that, she asked if she could take a picture with me to show her family.  We had a good laugh about the whole thing and went on about our business.

My week ended with one more example of mistaken identity.  I was in New Hope getting ready to usher for the Bucks County Playhouse, when I decided to have dinner before the show.  Karla’s is one of my favorite eating establishment’s where the service is friendly and the customer’s can be fun in a chat.  My kind of place!   Sitting, enjoying a glass of wine while waiting for my salad to appear, a sweet gentlemen shows up at my table with a welcoming smile and said, “Hello, I didn’t know you come here to eat!  I hope you enjoy the meal?”

“Why yes, I come here often,” I said.  “I love it!”

“I am comping your wine,” he went on.  “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thank you!”

And off he went.  When the waiter came by, I asked if he was the owner.  “No, he is the bartender”, he said.  

A few minutes later, a handwritten note came delivered by the waiter, letting me know he was “Ricky, the son of……”

I looked up and saw his huge smile, and I waved and he waved back.

Turning to the waiter I said, “I think he thinks I am someone else.”

After the meal, I went up to the bar and thanked him for making my day special, but that I believed he thinks I am someone else.

“Oh no, he said.  I just left you at my house.”

“No, I replied, it was not me.”

“You are not the nurse that was there caring for my ill mother?” he asked with surprise.

“No, I am not.”

With that, I offered to pay for my wine since it was a case of mistaken identity, but he declined, and we parted sharing a good laugh and a story to tell!

All of us have experienced this from both ends from time to time.  Either seeing someone who we thought we knew or being mistaken for someone else.  A phenomenon that we are fascinated by.  It is the number of incidences that are surprising me.  I believe I have entered the season of doppelgänger!  How else can all these incidences be explained in such a short span of time!  I just hope that my doppelgänger is out there having as much fun as I am!

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!

I AM NOT UNIQUE, OR DIFFERENT, OR SPECIAL

As a young mother I took a workshop on how to best communicate with my children.  During the course of the workshop I was presented with the idea that no matter how unique you think you are, or how special, if your eyes are open and you look around you will see, even in the dark, you are not alone where you stand.

To prove the point, the instructor shared the story about how he decided to order these very special red glasses.  He desired to stand out…be different…a one-of-a-kind man.  “How many times do you see red eye glasses on anyone?” he said.  He searched and searched until he found just the right ones.  Spending good money for these one and only kind of glasses they finally arrived.  To his amazement after a couple of weeks he began to notice others had the same red pair of glasses.  How come he didn’t see this before?

I equate this same phenomenon with cars.  I cannot tell one new car from another.  Not like the old days when a Mustang or Corvette looked like a one and only.  Or my favorite, a Thunderbird.

So you go out and buy that one car that calls your name.  What happens?  Suddenly you notice that car everywhere.  You see them in all colors, on every street.  Yet before purchasing it myself I could not see my car anywhere….that I noticed.

So here I am today…a widow.  Looking back on life we had family members die.  But as a young person you grieved and then quickly got back into the rhythm of living.  Gone but not forgotten are those that had passed on.  

Today, I feel like I am living a cascading event of people passing away all around me.  Yes, I do live in an “active adult community”.  But I have noticed since I became “one”…a widow…that it is not unique, or different, or special…and even in the dark, I am not alone in this journey.  I am one of many and a continuing growing community.  

I am not sure how I am suppose to feel about all this.  I know the world pushes me to say, “get on with it”, but no matter what we think we know about “getting on with it”, when it is our turn we each have to find our own way through the loss, grief, and new growth that will eventually follow.  

I know one thing, I am more keenly aware of those around me.  In a crowd, I watch couples and find myself even wanting to go up to them and say, “hold tight to each other, for these moments are as fleeting as it was when raising your family.”  When I hear a couple bicker, I want to ask them, “Is this really worth the pain you are causing each other?”

But I know this is just life…just as the life I lived and took for granted.   The good thing about this realization, is accepting the fact, that I do not stand alone in the dark as I once thought I did.  And this is a good thing.

WHAT ARE YOUR VALENTINE'S DAY PLANS?

"Embracing my singleness" was an answer option by AARP, who sent out a questionnaire asking what my plans are for Valentine’s day.  The question options were typical of what you would expect from such a questionnaire.  Sweets for the sweetheart or dinner for two, etc.  One answer was “Will embrace my singleness.”  After filling in my answer, AARP sent a follow-up message giving you the total answers to date.  I was struck when it showed that the number one answer was “Will embrace my singleness.”  Boy, there are a lot of us singles out there!

Valentine’s Day, along with New Year’s Eve remains the two hardest days to get through since Pat passed away.  Oh what we take for granted when we have it and what is missed when we don’t.  

What fills me during these times, is the reality of how much I miss the tenderness of touch.  I can close my eyes and still remember the moments, but it only succeeds in making me yearn for that long hug and warm embrace even more.  I don’t know if I will ever be able to say that to be without intimacy is okay, but I have to find ways to get beyond the ache.  

With so many single men and women out there, one would think some places would do something to create a welcome to those without partners.  

I have kept one promise to myself.  I have begun to invite friends in.  Oh not a big party kind of invite, but small, intimate groups so conversation and laughter can occupy the time.  I remembered, with my last invitation, how much I loved preparing the meal and planning for friends.  And when they came, the joy of conversation and the hugs hello and good-bye felt wonderful! 

I haven’t figured out what I will do on Valentine's Day, but I will do something…go to the movies, attend a show, have some friends over….something.  I refuse to sit home and endure the commercials on TV that remind me how alone in life I am.  So if you see me knocking on your door, remember it is just me looking for a little TLC.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you!

LORD, HELP ME PRESERVE MY DIGNITY!!!!

Me as I start my new chapter in life!

I am in a new chapter of my life.  And the goal?  To keep my dignity about me!  The chapter you ask?  Surviving working with a trainer and physical therapist.  Beautiful people in body and spirit, both of them.  I especially enjoy the young man, Dean, who is my trainer.  A brilliant young man who takes his work very seriously.  But he puts my body in positions that I haven’t tried since I was six months old.

Age I could last lift my legs
over my head.

I mean, when is the last time you put your legs over your head?  You know the position.  The getting-ready-to-change-a-diaper position!   Okay…maybe six months is pushing it, but not more than two years old for sure!  The worst part about this position is the fear I will fart in his face as he pushes my leg toward the back of my head!!!!

I look around the room and there is a younger women who, laying on her back, brings her legs up over her head and reaches back toward the wall with her toes.  I think to myself, “My God what I am doing here?”

The work I do with Dean is not cardio…but it sure makes me sweat.  By the time I walk away from him I am sweating as if I was in a sauna and my face is as red as an apple.  From the outside it looks simple.  At least he makes it look simple.  

“Just stand with your back to the wall, open your arms to your side and your elbows at 90 degrees, hands up in the air….touching the wall with the back of your hands.”  He demonstrates and I think, ah an easy one.  Sure.  I stand with my back against the wall, lift my arms as if I am surrendering to the gunman, push my arms back to touch the wall…pushing…pushing…I can’t touch the damn wall!!!!  

“Don’t worry,” he says.  “You’ll get there, just don’t give up.”

I want you to know that standing in this surrender position and lifting my arms straight up and then back down is very hard for this 68 year old body!  

Balance is my weak spot.  I mean it is so bad that if a policeman pulled me over for a DUI, I would just have to surrender because I could not pass his “stand on one foot and lift the other” test.  I would fall over on my face and he would haul me in!

I'll always love to cook!

And can I ask, why the mirrors?  In this place there are mirrors everywhere.  I don’t even like to look at myself naked in the privacy of my own home and yet here I am in a room full of young sweaty bodies who seem to be able to tie their legs into pretzel holds, unable to move without catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Do you know how hard it is to try and do these exercises while seeing my “old women’s body” flopping around on the floor?  Most of the time I just close my eyes…and that does not help either!!!

As hard as this is…and it is hard…I will not give up on working to get my strength back into my muscles.  There is so much I want to do and places I want to see, and all require a good deal of walking and hiking and damn it…I am going to do these things!!!  Until then, Lord, please help me preserve my dignity!

LAUGHING AT AGE

Getting ready for bed last night, I broke out into hysterical laughter.  What it takes to get through a regular days activities today as compared to when I was younger….well…let’s just say it is time consuming.  Doctor appointments, funerals, and dealing with an aging body is what fills the time of most seniors today.  Me included.

When i was young and had to go somewhere, I would just grab my keys to the car and take off.  Didn’t think about anything except to count the heads of the kids with me and go.  Today, I must lay everything out (so as not to forget anything), then make a potty stop just as I prepare to enter my car to leave.

With some luck, I might be able to do that errand and return without having to stop somewhere out in the world to do a potty stop again.  If I am that lucky I almost always find myself scurrying into the house with my knees tight together so as not to drip and race to the bathroom.  I remember Pat would often laugh at me as I would return from my errands, shouting, “I have to go will be with you in a moment” as I flew into the house, past him into the bathroom.  Now and then I wouldn’t make it and I would get angry at his laughter as I was making right the mess I had created.

Another discovery about aging is that things are not as tight as they once were, and our pucker power is not as strong as it once was.  Having gone in for some tests lately, I try and warn the techs who are dealing with me that my holding power is not as good as it once was.  They usually try and assure me that everything will be fine.  Inside my head I am thinking…yea fine…wait until you age!  So they fill me up with water, tell me to hold it for a lot longer than I am able, and even make me move, roll over and sit up…all with potential disaster as my backdrop.  It is embarrassing enough to have to get naked in front of these whips, but the torture chamber that I believe on some level they secretly enjoy putting us through is downright devastating to someone who is trying to preserve whatever dignity I may have left.  

I remember a couple of years ago having to have a barium enema and again me telling them to please work as quickly as they could as my holding power is not what it use to be.  Well they filled me up, let me lay on the table and with every muscle I had, I tried to hold it back while they snapped the pictures, rolling me on my left, then on my right.  In the middle of the picture taking, another technician walked in and a conversation ensued.  Not about me.  About lunch and who was going where.  All the while I was trying to breath slow and hold….breath and hold….deep breath….in and out….slowly….holding as tight as I could…and oh my God I am not going to make it!  Needless to say their conversation was cut short.

I remember the day when bedtime came I just went in, washed my face, brushed my teeth, slipped into a gown, sprayed myself with a bit of cologne for my best beloved, slid under the covers and drifted effortlessly off to sleep.

Now I have to plan when to take my last meds of the day (because I need to have a bit of food in the belly), prepare my CPAP machine, put in my mouth guard (because the CPAP machine is causing me to grind my teeth and I cannot afford to break my front teeth), prepare the water for my night time dehydration (due to the CPAP machine), wrestle with the pillows to find the sweet spot where the elephant attached to my nose can be out of the way so I can sleep.  

Oh how I miss the simple days…a youthful strong body, good pucker power, and the ability to move about the world with little thought except for where I was heading.  There is one bright spot in all of this…I have a sense of humor about who I am today that I know I did not have years ago.  Why if I didn’t enjoy a good laugh at all of this, then it would not be worth it!

LAUGHING IS THE BEST MEDICINE

As my Virginia and North Carolina trip winds down, and we start thinking about heading back home, I sit here laughing just remembering all the reasons we laughed these last few days.

As we traveled to explore retirement possibilities for Dee, we experienced things you don’t want to hear on a road trip, like, when we got out of the car we heard someone say in another part of the parking lot, “Ya know…some people just need killin!”  

That is one way to make a person perk up!

Out of my mouth, as we were shuffling things around the car in the parking lot, I shouted out “So how many drugs did you bring?” Laughing Lucyann, John and Dee began to watch over their shoulder to see if anyone heard us!

I mix up the words vibrator and massager.  To me they both vibrate so I don’t understand all the fuss…So while sitting in the dining area of the hotel in Asheville, rubbing a sore area between my shoulders, I say to my sister-in-law, “Sure wish I had a vibrator!”  A man at another table started for a long time at me as I finished my breakfast.  And I thought he was flirting!  

Going to the farmer’s market is John and Lucyann’s past time.  I know why.  Not only can you get a bounty of wonderful food, but there is entertainment too.  It makes for a great way to start the day.  But I also discovered another reason.  The friendliness of the people in the south is a great experience.  Here is why I say that:  I am wearing what I fondly refer to as “my people attracter” pendant that my friend Flo made.  It is a beautiful piece of agate created into a necklace.  No matter how many times I wear it, someone comes out of the crowd and let’s me know how beautiful it is.  A nice way to start a conversation with a stranger.

So here I am at the bread maker’s stand when the young lady starts her flattering comments about my pendant.  Then her male partner starts in.  As we were chatting I catch out of the corner of my eye a man standing there staring at me, quietly mouthing the word beautiful…beautiful…over and over again.  Getting all flush I thank them all and let them know I may just never leave this place because they have made me feel so good!  And they did.  Once again I thank Flo for her creative conversation piece!

Another moment that put a smile on my face happened last night.  John and Lucyann went out to the back yard for their evening ritual, while I finished up some emails in their family room.  I suddenly heard two young men chatting outside and realized they were on the property.  Soon they came walking across the front of the two windows in the room.  I called out, “Can I help you?”  

The one young man took off running across the street.  I went to the door, opened it and asked what they wanted. 

 “I can’t find my cat,” he said.  

“What does your cat look like?”

“It has spots,” he replied all the while fidgeting. (I’m thinking, spots?  I never knew a cat to have spots.)

“So why did your friend run?” I asked.

“I don’t know, maybe he is scared.”

“Why would your friend be scared of looking for a cat?”

“I dunno,” he replied.

“So what is your name?”

“Billie Bob,” he answered.

“What is your last name?” I asked.

“Billie Jones.”

“Can I bet on that?” I asked.

“No ma’am,” he said as he took off down the road.

I don’t know what they were up to, but I loved his honesty!

Another lesson learned this week is that you can’t be too literal with some people.  A young mother, with her four year old son showed up at her sister’s house only to discover that her son forgot to put underwear on.  So she told him to grab a pair of his cousin’s underwear as they both were the same age and near the same size.  Dutifully he did, not seeming to be bothered that his cousin was a girl.  As the visit was coming to an end, she called him back into the house.  He came running, with his cousin beside him.  

“Take Annie’s underwear off.  We are leaving now,” she said.

“No, I don’t want to.”

“I said, take Annie’s underwear off now!  We are leaving.”

Whining now, he says, “but I don’t want to.”

“Look,” the mother begins to shout, “take off Annie’s underwear right now or I’ll spank your butt.”

With that he runs over to his cousin Annie, knocks her down and pulls off her underwear!

Yes, as this week comes to an end and I find myself back home again, I will miss the side splitting laughter that was experienced over and over during this trip.  But boy do I have a million reasons to smile!!!

THIS WOMEN’S JOURNEY

AARP magazine  has printed  a few articles recently, about how important sex is in our lives.  And it is.  But when faced with the world of being single how does one handle it?  With the fog of widowhood lifted, I find myself waking up to a world, with new rules.  I struggle to know how to handle this new world at times.  In this place anything seems to go, and it appears to most, to be okay.

When I was young, there were rules and there were consequences to breaking those rules.  Men could often go through life and break them with few if any consequences, but women, got tagged with harsh names like, tramp, whore, or slut.  Even if she were a victim she often got told she asked for it by the way she dressed, or behaved, but a man was not made to accept the responsibility for his behavior in the same circumstances and definitely not the same level of responsibility.  He often was thought of as the conquering hero and words like conquest were often associated with his behavior.  

My daughter gave me a book titled “Getting Naked Again.”  In it, the author prepared the new single, from widow to divorcee, to face the new dating scene.  I thought she had to be kidding on some level.  Things could not of changed that much.  After all we are all still human, and there are physical consequences to playing a loose game, even if today women don’t have to hide the way they once did.  

So, here I am, desiring on some level to have those moments of intimacy with that special someone.  But here is where the dividing line occurs.  I cannot be a friend with benefits as they say.  I know some people can, but I am not one of them.  It is a vulnerability issue.  I have to have trust and a believe there is no intent to harm.  I had that for 45 years with Pat, who put me first in everything.  But I too, put him first in everything in my life.  There were times I didn’t feel like I deserved such unconditional love, but there was not one day while he was alive that I did not feel loved by him.

So someone please tell me, how we can go out, be that intimate and walk away as if we just shared a cup of coffee? I know some will be uneasy about this writing.  But this too is life and living the new life as a single person is something that many of us will face at one point or another.  I just wish I had the answers.

THE DRESS

As I mentioned in the past, I am working on a project that is providing me with an opportunity to relive my life through the pictures I have collected over the years.  This has taken me on a journey that is both a reminder of events and people that are no longer with me, and also of times and events that have caused pain.

We all have had those moments in our life that have seared a dark spot in our soul.  Eventually it may recede, but when you see a reminder through a photo, that moment can arise that makes you carry the feelings, as you did, those many long years ago.

Such a moment happened when I saw the photo of me in the print dress.  I must tell you, that in high school, my self esteem was way below a “zero” as it is for many students.  Nothing unusual.  I can only say I was not one of the “cool kids”.  My parents were what I call “working poor”, so dressing us in new clothes for school was not a family tradition.  I worked since I was in 8th grade to buy what few clothes I owned.  If things got torn, I would pin them.  I remember a moment when my Dad was so upset with the pins in my clothes that he ripped the outfit off my body and told me to put something else on.  The problem was, there was not a lot of something else to wear.  

So when my Aunt Berniece gave me a brown and white print dress that fit me perfectly I was in heaven.  I wore it a lot.  Too much it turns out.  I wore it to school at least once a week.  I happened to wear it on the day we had our school pictures taken.  In the mean time our school was preparing for our homecoming.  

Homecoming at Grant Community High School was a big event.  We had a parade in town with the school clubs and each class participating.  It was followed by a bon fire on school property that the senior football members spent the day gathering wood for.  The football game would be followed by a homecoming dance.

Now I never thought I would ever be asked to go to Homecoming, so I volunteered to work at the dance.  To my surprise I did get an invitation from a young man in my class to attend the dance with him.  I said yes but with the caveat that I had already committed to work at the dance.  To make things worse he also invited me to join his brother and his date after the dance before having to head home.

“Oh that is okay,” I said, “I have my Dad coming to pick me up.”

Now I realized in school, that all the girls going to the dance were out buying new dresses for the dance.  But we could not afford to buy me a new dress, and I did not have a job at the time, so I had to turn to my closet…and you guessed it…I decided to wear the brown and white print dress that I felt so good in.  

The evening was a disaster.  The poor boy spent most of his time at the dance waiting for me to stop working, and the little time left to spend at the dance was awkward to say the least.  It was a night we both wanted to forget.  Not because of him, but because I was such a dope.

A couple of weeks later, while sitting in study hall, (wearing that same brown and white print dress) our school pictures were handed out.  There I was, sitting in study hall next to the boy who asked me to the dance, looking at my school pictures of me wearing the same dress I wore the day the pictures were taken, and the dance, and as it went, the moment I was looking at my school pictures….when I heard him ask, “Is that the only dress you own?”

I was so embarrassed, that when I went home that day, I put the dress in the burn barrel and burned it along with the evening trash.  

I relived that moment every time i looked at him in school and prayed he would forget in time that he even knew me.  

I can laugh about it today.  But to a young girl, whose wings were just beginning to spread, it was a devastating moment that had to be carried inside of me for the rest of the school year.  In fact, I never attended any other school dance, not even my prom.  

How odd, it is to me, that the first picture taken of Pat and I was a snapshot taken during our first dance on the first day we met, not realizing that it was the first day of the rest of our life!  Now that is cause to smile!

CONTINUING LIFE WITH VIGOR AND THE JOY OF PURPOSE!

Why is it, that the older we are, the faster time goes?  Even slowing down and enjoying the simple moments of living, seem to go by fast.  I get up and before I know it the day is gone and I have to pause and consider what I have done in the day.

The hardest part of getting older is dealing with the loss of those around us.  For us, who find ourselves the oldest in our generation left standing, it is odd to see that no one who started this journey with us, is there by our side when it is our time to go.  We remember our youth when for many life seemed simple and free.  For people like me, it is my young adult life, when the freedom of choice lay at my feet and the world seemed mine to grasp.

I am working on a project that is presenting me with a look back on my life.  It seems a dream at times, and yet I can still smell the river water as I watched Pat fish, or the smell of my newborn baby’s head.  These moments fill me with unbelievable emotions and remind me of a life once lived.  

But today is life too.  What does it hold for a body that slowly moves on, and the mind is still full of youth and vigor?  What does it take to live the twilight years of our life with as much vigor and purpose as it did when we were 20, 30 or 40?  

I know one thing, staying in and isolating oneself is surely not the answer.  Getting out, doing for others, finding purpose and giving ones self away to others in need seems to me the only way to move along in this part of life.

As I walk through the halls of a nursing home, and see the far away look in the eyes of our aged, I wonder what they were like when their bodies had not failed them.  I find myself wondering what kind of a young person they were.    What were their dreams?  Who did they love?  What was their fears?  What brought them the greatest happiness?

When do we cross that line of not living fully, not giving of ourself completely, or searching for that purpose in life?  Is it  because our body won’t allow it?  Or, I wonder if it is the depression of loss that freezes us in time, shutting us down, and closing the door to living that life with purpose and joy that we were once capable of.  

My son and daughter-in-law know a ninety plus year old man who still gives to the youth in their church.  Not necessarily money (although he may very well do that also)…but his time and his energy.  I have thought a lot about him recently as I search for my own purpose in today.  I think, in him and others like him who continue to engage in the people around them, are the secrets to living fully and with joy in our hearts.  

The traveling that I have done this summer, along with observing those around me who are older and still engaged in the world have taught me much about what i want to do with my life as it continues.  I am content in the day, and at peace where I stand.  My children are all very self sufficient and their need of me is minimal.  So it is time for me to reach out and find that one place where I can be of service to others.  I want to continue to live life with vigor and the joy of purpose.  

TOURS ARE NOT FOR SISSIES--PART THREE

Banff with the snow capped mountains all around.

Our neighbor, Canada, is wonderful, in both it’s people and it’s land.  And according to the bus driver of our tour, Bill, we are too.  More than once I heard him say, how lucky for us to share such beautiful land.  And it is true.  

I am also lucky to have seen the Grand Canyon a couple of months before the beautiful Rockies in Canada.  Both areas are special places on this earth.  Our bus tour took us from Vancouver to Kamloops, Jasper, Banff, and Calgary.  The bus driver referred to this type of tour as “Rocket Rockies”.  He told me that it is designed to just give us a glimpse of what there is to explore.  Glimpse is right…more like a drive by shoot, as he would take us into areas and many of the pictures I have were taken out the moving bus window!  

Standing on the streets of Banff with the snowcapped mountains rising up at the town’s edge I wanted to just stand in the streets and soak in the view.  Being hugged by a sea of snow capped mountains is an experience to dwell in.  For the brief time I stood there I wondered what it would be like to wake every day living in this magnificent postcard of beauty.  

Driving around Banff.

British Columbia, Canada is definitely a place I want to explore on my own sometime in my future.  To walk into the piney woods and have it smell like Christmas, to see a caribou herd grazing in the wooded fields, to see the teal green of the glacier waters flow over the eroded rocks of the mountain, to drink glacier water from the top of a glacier…are all just some of things I want to go back to so that I can linger over the experience.  

This tour has taught me one special thing.  Life is too short to rush through it.  I like to wake up to the morning sunrise, and sit out on the front porch to stare at the peach and gold colored sunsets.  I like stopping in the garden and appreciate the flowers and watch the bees work on gathering the pollen needed to make the honey.  Standing by the rivers edge and watching the strength of the water flow by fills me with peace, gratitude, and a sense of how lucky some of us can be in this world that is not always kind.  

This tour has taught me one other thing too.  Living alone in this world is only hard when I stay inside of myself.  Reaching out, being with people, or moving about in life, can fill me in ways that satisfy my longings.  Oh yes, I still have those moments in the silence of the night that I wish I was sharing who I am and what I am doing with the “someone” who loves me, but at those times I must remember that I had it once….for forty-five beautiful years.  That is more than some and better than many.  

So I will continue to move about in this world and explore the beauty it has to offer, meeting people along the way that will fill me with new and interesting memories, so that in the end I won’t have to say, “I wish I would of done that.”

Mary, Judy, and Joan, my perfect roommate.

P.S.  I thank the three ladies who were a significant part of this journey.  Each has filled me with memories to carry me along in my sweet thoughts.  As long as I live you will each all live in my heart.  Thank you. 

A small cabin on Lake Louise. 

Just one of the many waterfalls.

Yes, that is snow on the roof.  Our Canadian brothers and sisters are a hardy group!

TOURING IS NOT FOR SISSIES--PART TWO

Our first stop of the four day tour.

I learned a long time ago when traveling, that most of the time when choosing public transportation you are never in control of anything.  The only way to get through the processes is to take a deep breath, be patient, and learn to enjoy people watching while standing in line, as it can be a great form of entertainment.

The trip started out great.  My lady friends and I were picked up by a limo and taken right to the airport.  Boarding the plane was timely and was seen as a great omen for the start of this wonderful adventure.  The plane started to taxi out on time and head out to the runway for takeoff.  We began to notice some animated conversation taking place between the airline stewards and a young women seated in front of us.  We could not make out what was going on but as the plane stood in the line readying for takeoff, the Captain got on the PA system and announced that we were returning to the gate to enable a passenger to leave the plane.  He apologized and said it would take a while until they located her luggage but we would soon leave the gate again for takeoff.  We sat.  And sat.  And waited.  

Soon the Captain came on again with another apology that we now have a problem with the air system and we were now waiting for a maintenance person to board the plane to fix the problem.  As the cabin heated up, people began to rumble and it became obvious that some on the plane were going to miss their connections.

An hour later we were able to take off.  Connections were definitely going to be missed but a promise to do all they could to help these passengers was made and the rest of us just hoped we too would not miss ours.  All this because someone got radical about being on the plane. Seems to me that this could of been thought out a bit more before she boarded the plane.

Joining a tour, set up by a sadist must also come with the recognition that you are not in control.  (Before I proceed any further, I must say, if I had a choice in the schedule, I would of done the bus tour before the cruise as I would have had more energy..I think) 

Just one view from our tour bus window.

The tour promotor prints out these nice brochures to inform you that your trip will include the opportunity to visit, see, and experience the wonders of the places they plan to take you.  Opportunity is the key word here.  To take advantage of the opportunity one must be in good shape, be able to walk fast in order to get to the places mentioned, and be able to experience the moments in fast forward motion.  Strolling is out of the question…no time.  Minutes count!  After awhile I guessed the purpose to all of this was to get our blood flowing so as not to get blood clots from sitting long spells on the bus.  By the time we got back to the bus, our hearts were pumping and beads of sweat were pouring down our faces.  

A day on the bus tour would start with a 6:00 a.m. wakeup call…hopefully.  Some complained they did not get the call.  You had just enough time to dress, put your large luggage outside your door, hopefully get breakfast (some hotel restaurants made this a challenge by their slow service) and be on the bus by 7:45 to 8:00 a.m.  

The days plans were drive two hours, stop, visit the site, drive again for 2 hours, stop, visit a site…until we reached the town we would be staying, at which point we would be given a driving tour of the town (in case we wanted to explore) and finally around 6:00 p.m. we would arrive at the hotel.  At this point exhaustion was setting in, so washing up and finding a place to eat became priority.  Touring the town did not because most of the time that meant hiring a cab to take you there and in the end that only added expense to the meal you were going to eat.  Shopping was the only other thing available and I am no shopper.  I hate shopping at home, I sure as heck am not going to spend big money for a trip to just shop somewhere else.  I want to feel the area by exploring the streets and get a glimpse of how the locals live.

After dinner, we found ourselves heading back to our rooms to shower, set up our clothes for the next day, and crash into a deep sleep until the next 6:00 a.m. wakeup call…starting the day all over again. By the fourth day of bus touring all 45 of us were getting a bit slap happy in our attitudes.  Couples were beginning to nip at each other, impatience was showing in attitudes of some, and since the crowd was mostly from Philadelphia and New Jersey, their Philly and New Jersey attitudes came through loud and strong!

My roommate, Joan and I just got silly.  (I must point out here that for me Joan was a perfect roommate.  She never complained, and when things got a bit crazy she laughed right along with me…perfect!) We were so exhausted by the fourth day, that when we were given our wake up call at 4:00 a.m. we worried that we may not get the call like some others had experienced.  So Joan tried to set the clock, and I set my iPhone alarm.  We repacked our bags to ready for home and the customs crossing, ate, showered and stretched out in bed early.  Both of us falling asleep, and managing to turn off the TV and lights.

Still in the dark, I awoke to laughter in the hallway, and noise outside our first floor window.  Thinking that we may have missed our wake up call and that we may be late, I jumped up to check the time.  Joan woke up at this time also.  “What time is it,” she asked.

“The room clock says 1:30 a.m.,” I respond.  

“Oh don’t pay attention to that,” she says.  “I tried to set the alarm and screwed the whole thing up.”  

Panicking at this point I checked  my phone.  It indicated it was 10:30 p.m.  “Oh no” I said, “something is wrong.” 

We turned on the TV and could not figure out from it what time it was so we called Room Service.  

“Excuse me,” I said, “but could you please tell me the time?”

“10:30 p.m.” she said.

Joan and I started laughing at ourselves and although we had a hard time settling back down we both were glad that we still had some sleeping time ahead of us.  

I remembered something my husband’s Uncle Bob would say to us long ago. “If you have never been somewhere, a good way to see it the first time is by a tour, then if you see something you really like, come back next time on your own.”  Yes, it takes stamina to take a bus tour in this way, but we did see some magnificent sites.  And yes, I would go back in a flash…on my own to really explore the area.

More tomorrow…..