Reverb 13: Day 6 -- Memories and aging

Today's prompts:

1. There are so many “precious things” that are presented to us each day; discoveries and treasures found in simple moments, memories we wish to store in our hearts and keep with us forever.   What precious things have you gathered in 2013?

Which memories from this year do you wish to keep with you always?

2. Blowing out the candles | You're another year older!  How did you celebrate the passage of another year?  Did it turn out the way you had hoped?

1.  Of the many precious things that I have experienced in 2013, two remain my most vivid, two memories that never fail to soothe my soul and gladden my heart and create a deep sense of peace within. One is when we are safely in our great room, wood stove fire glowing, angel lights above it gleaming, kitties snuggied into their tuffets, and my greatest love sitting in his chair and I in mine. It feels safe and warm and loving. 

The other place also involves my Tony and the kitties, and it is when we are warm and safe in bed for the night in our 'great green room,' with clean sheets (flannel in winter, lovely organic cotton in the summer) and both of us reading, both kitties settled on the bed, and kindly dark quiet surrounding us. It just does not get better than this.

2. We chose to celebrate our birthdays, six days apart (same year) in a lovely wooded campground in western Marin County (California), very near the Point Reyes National Seashore. To no one's surprise, we spent both days by the ocean, driving those twisty, windy windswept and nearly bare hills and seeing the dairy farms (known by letters, not names), cattle roaming the hills, and nearly always within sight of Mama Ocean. We visited several beaches and sat for a long time watching the waves roll lazily in, the sea blue and quiet, the sun glinting off the water. We talked about so many things -- children, aging, memories -- and soaked in the wisdom and peace of the eternal water and ancient land. We took a walk along the San Andreas Fault, the Earthquake Trail at the Point Reyes Visitor Center, where we were reminded of the enormous energy that is contained under our feet -- I felt it all the way through the top of my head -- and watched a group of school children running from marker to marker to read about the fault line and discover the natural features of the area. 

I confess to feeling older and not especially loving that, especially walking along the trail with the kids running past us and their mothers and teachers following at a brisk pace. I want time. I want the days to slow down some -- just yesterday Tony commented on how fast they go by.  I am grateful for each of them, but aware that there are fewer ahead than there are behind me.

I can close my eyes now and see the waves rolling in on the chilly beaches, sunlight surrounding us golden and warming.  And I'd like to spend my birthday every year by our beloved ocean, drinking in that constancy.

Yes, I'm still around...

Okay, so it's been four months. I've been busy recovering from foot surgery, getting back on my feet, going places, doing things. Living my life. I am not making excuses, although I find it somewhat interesting that I have not really been inspired enough to write anything for this long -- me, who always has found catharsis in the written word.

Not for lack of subjects and opinion, mind you, this prolonged blog silence. I've read a lot. I've thought a lot. I've fretted and worried and given thanks and had moments of joy. I have thought "I need to write about that" but haven't done so. It has not been a priority.

At least part of my lack of writing here has been privacy-driven. Some of the things that have most cluttered my thoughts are difficult topics to deal with, and to write what I want to write could/would infringe on the privacy of others, and  I am not yet able to dismiss that and do it anyway. And yet these are the topics that are often uppermost in my mind and in my heart. Tough stuff to learn, tough to process. And to admit it all, especially here. Not happening just yet.

Today, though, I strolled through a website that lists 25 posts from women who either have grey hair, are thinking about growing out their hair, or are currently doing so. And I'm here to add my two cents.

I've been grey for 10 years now and have never loved my hair and style more than I do today. Like so many of the women in those posts, I colored my hair for a number of years most specifically to deal with the grey that was coming in, and to maintain more of an age-neutral appearance when I was working in an industry with many far younger people who knew I was older, but not how much older. Yeah, I dyed it when I was in college and in my late teens and 20s just for fun (unlike many women who began to go grey in their 20s or 30s), but I spent a lot of time and money getting highlights over the years, and had gone back to dyeing it when I was in my late 40s mostly to cover the grey, and like so many women of that certain age, had gone auburn/reddish. (Why is that, do you suppose? Does every woman secretly want to be a redhead?)

When I finally broke down and went to a stylist in the San Francisco area, she gave me highlights and lowlights and styled it in several fun ways over the next six years. I had curls. I had waves. I had straight and shorter and shaggy cuts. I had burgundy and blonde and brown and platinum and gold and even bright red highlights and lowlights through her creative foils.

But when we moved here, out of the corporate arena, in 2003 and I no longer wanted to do that kind of upkeep on my locks, I decided to let it all grow out. It wasn't bad, either, although I kept it fairly short during that process. But there were no skunk lines on my hair part for me since my base color was all mine, and it was simply growing out highlights/lowlights, which had blended so well with my hair color anyway.

It's been periodically longer and shorter ever since, but the style is the basic bob -- one that works exceedingly well for my fine, very straight hair. And the color is amazing now-- greys and silvers mixed with the bits of brown, a streak or two of white, and overall shiny and healthy and something no colorist could replicate very easily.

My current stylist told me recently -- and not joking -- that she would have to refuse if I decided to color it again, not that I am thinking about it. I know that my hair color was a major factor in at least one person's decision to let her hair go back to its natural color, and hers is now a long, silky, silvery grey mix that beautifully frames her face and accents her eyes! And I know that I am lucky that my hair has become such a wonderful color, accented so perfected with the simple style. 

I realize that hair color is a deeply personal decision, and that truly some people need some chemical help as they age to look and feel their best. And I also understand that some are reluctant to let go of the self-image they've carried for decades, believing that if their hair is still the same color, they will look younger.  Not everyone is comfortable with allowing the grey to show; not everyone looks good with it, or feels good about it. It's all okay, whatever choice is made. (But make a choice, please, and follow through....)

Recently I was walking behind someone who had at least an inch and a half of white hair showing at the roots through the light reddish color of the rest of her hair. It was not flattering. I know women who are definitely past 60 who still color their hair the dark brunette of their youth -- but it doesn't match their skin tone or eyebrows anymore and usually makes them look older, not younger, and emphasizes the wrinkles and changes in skin texture and color. My mother had a friend who dyed her hair jet  black until the day she died -- and it was such a harsh clash with her softer skin that it made her look sick and mean and angry even though she wasn't any of those.

We change as we grow older. Our skin develops those age and laugh lines, and tones soften. Our outlook is different; our priorities refocus. I believe this is reflected in the ways our bodies and appearances change too. Our greying hair softens our appearance, usually brightening and emphasizing our eye color, and goes with the changes in our skin and coloring. Grey hair doesn't mean you've given up on looking and feeling good!

I like this time of my life. I am more at ease in my aging skin than I have ever been, and with the wisdom and insight I have acquired (often painfully) over the decades. Do I love all the changes in my body and appearance? No. But I do what I can to look and feel good with them. And that is the most important change of all: being where you are, understanding the things you can change anda accepting the ones you can't. I'm grateful every day for it all.

This amazing body

With some of our recent health issues, I've been thinking a lot lately about my body, and contemplating each part, especially this morning as I lay on the massage table.

Like most women, and many men, too, I suppose, I'm not a huge fan of what's there. It's long and lumpy and somewhat squishy. There is dimpled or wrinkly skin where it was once smooth. An assortment of scars and marks decorate limbs, torso, even face.

A couple of toes are bent and a little stiff; my thumb joints are thick and frozen. My gait can be a little stiff, depending on achy hip joints or lower back; my left elbow doesn't flex all the way out; my shoulders creak and my neck can grind.

But it works.

My legs take me where I need to go, and my balance is pretty good as long as I do regular yoga. My feet need extra cushioning in my shoes these days but they are straight and still nice looking. I can stand up straight and tall: my back is no more curved than it's ever been, and I consciously 'telescope' my spine and pull my shoulders back when I stand. I can bend over to pull weeds or plant seedlings or pick something up off the floor and get back up again without help.

My arms and shoulders let me carry shopping bags or groceries or pots or piles of fresh laundry or kitties or babies, and I can hoist a sling full of firewood into the house if I need to. My hands slice and chop and shred food for our meals, and I can still easily type with all 10 fingers, and knit or sew or thread a needle.. They may be a little lumpy in places, but they don't hurt.

My eyes see well, actually better now that I've had cataract surgery than I saw all of my adult life, and they let me read and watch movies and ocean waves and plays and see my honey's big brown eyes right before I turn out the light at night. My ears bring me music and the chirrups of the birds that flock to our feeders and the soft mew of our kitties and the footfalls of the deer outside our window at night. They may not pick up every word sometimes, but that's usually no great loss.

My mouth may have gold and silver and porcelain in abundance, but my teeth can chew anything I want to eat, and my throat easily swallows the big vitamin supplements that we take every morning. My voice still carries to the back of most rooms and my words are clear.

My hair is bright and thick and healthy, silvery gray though it may be. My mind works well enough for me to understand the books and magazines I read, the conversations I have, and even to memorize lines. It may work a bit overtime in remembering trivia from many years ago and replaying scenes from my past, but I can usually corral those wanderings and come back to what is here and now.  I see things from a perspective that generally cuts through to the heart of the situation or to the essence of a person, and I am not afraid to say what I see and think, although I am careful to choose my words.

I know that our physical appearance can make a lasting first impression, especially upon those who are younger. But I am aware also that outward appearance does not necessarily reflect who we are and what we can do, and as I age, I have begun to look more deeply before I venture an opinion about someone.

I have an amazing body. I am so grateful for all that it does, for all it allows me to be and do. And now, more than ever before in my life, I  am consciously, intentionally working  to keep it healthy and strong for as long as I can, and to say 'thank you' every day for all that I do have. If yours works, if it does what you need it to do, you should, too.

The Scintilla Project - Bonus Day 2

What is it that you're sure you'll never forget about being this age, or an age of your choice?

**************
I've never been one to remember exact years or even exact ages, unlike my ex-husband who could tell me exact years and sometimes dates of certain events. Oh I remember some milestones -- date and year and place, if applicable -- and usually they are dates I'd prefer I did not remember.

This year I am 64, and I'm sure I will not forget it: it began uneventfully enough in November, but just after Christmas I was put on a heart monitor for a month and we discovered that I have atrial fibrillation, certainly not untreatable but nevertheless frightening.

And then my beloved husband retired from work near the end of February -- after being in corporate life since 1968. We'd been planning and talking about this day for literally years, and it had been delayed more than once in the last year because of situations at his workplace.

 He'd gotten his own smack-upside-the-head moment shortly after I'd gotten news about the afib: he has type 2 diabetes. (He's written about it in his own blog, Cat-E-Whompus. Triple whammy here: both of us with health issues, and retirement -- the latter certainly anticipated and welcomed, but an event which ranks right up there on the stress level with marriage, death, and childbirth.

Early in March, I was finally getting used to the afib meds, adjusting as blood testing deemed necessary, and beginning to feel more like I could resume a 'normal' life. He was getting used to his new meds and we'd adjusted our diet somewhat both to lose weight and for his diabetes. We planned a quick ocean getaway.

And then on March 5, I was gobsmacked with what we think was a kidney stone: a thoroughly unpleasant experience that reinforced the feeling of how quickly life can change. And Tony got the green crud infection that has taken so many people out for weeks, feeling sick and weak and coughing up crud.

Four months since we turned 64, and all of a sudden we both are feeling fragile and old, vulnerable, unsure of how much I dare do, how far we dare travel, and wondering what is next.

I want a do-over.

Slowly I'm coming back to the place where I feel good, that life is resuming its more predictable pace. Tony is nearly over the cough and is feeling much better. We've both lost weight, a good thing. My meds are working, and as I've talked a bit more about the afib, I'm discovering how many people have it and continue to work and play and just 'carry on.' And many others know first-hand about kidney stones. I am not the first person to face these challenges, and I'm learning from others how to do it.

So there are two choices here: I can slow my life and activities down in fear of illness and stay close to home and doctors, or I can do all I can with medication and sensible management and do the things we want to do in retirement. At 64, I'm choosing the latter. But this is a year I'll never forget. And I hope it gets better than it has started.

Transitions

A week ago today, Feb. 24, was a significant day for the two men who I have loved: my ex-husband Jim turned 70, and my beloved Tony retired.

Those are big steps.

Jim, I'm glad to report, had just come back from an extended trip through the Deep South with his wonderful wife Susan, and seems to be thriving and happy. I am lucky in that our divorce was fairly simple and that we remain friends. His wife was one of my students long, long ago when I taught high school in a little rural Missouri town. She attended the college where we worked, and we had some infrequent contact through the years. Several years ago she'd contacted Jim to see where I was, and they ended up dating and falling in love, and they married a few years ago. That makes me very happy.

Tony has been thinking of retirement for a long time, and it has been discussed, delayed several times for various reasons, and the timing debated for more than a year. Last Friday finally arrived, and he was given a good sendoff by his colleagues -- and he found it more emotional than expected. He has worked at a corporate job since he was 20 years old. As he likes to say, that was longer than the space shuttle flew, and it's now retired too.

So it's a new stage then in our lives, this state of not-working-for-a-paycheck.  None too soon, either: both of us have discovered some health glitches that require some attention and focus, and some redirecting of our habits.

I expect that wrapping our heads around this will take time. I know that years ago when I left an extremely stressful job and moved to another state with my family that it took me about a year to thaw, and some very deliberate behavior-modification too: I remember making myself sit on the back deck swing for 10 minutes every day and just watch the squirrels and birds playing in the greenbelt. Eventually it worked. But I came out of that a changed person.

Our job now, as I see it, is to certainly take care of the routine things like cleaning, finances, property maintenance, and going through the old files and books that were part of our past jobs to sort, pitch, and give away what no longer isneeded.

But it is also to cultivate the spirit that we've neglected or not had time for: the fun-loving, adventurous, knowledge-seeking, creative inner self that we know is there, wanting to come out and play after all the years of being an adult.

And our job is also to make it happen sooner rather than later. We do not know how long we will live: few of us know that, ever. But there are enough stories about people who get unexpectedly dire diagnoses or who die in accidents to make us want to make our moments meaningful and full of the life we want to live. Our health glitches only make that clearer.

For a long time we have tried to live one day at a time. Truly now our restrictions are only those we impose on ourselves, and it is up to us to choose how to live each day of our lives, for the rest of our lives, as long as we can do that. It is a time for second chances and new beginnings, once again.

Doing all we can

For years we have used a phrase as our touchstone: "Do all you can, where you are, with what you've got."

It's similar to John Wesley's admonition to:

“Do all the good you can, By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can, In all the places you can,
At all the times you can, To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.”

 

And only slightly skewed from Theodore Roosevelt's "Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."

 

That applies in every situation, from housework to job (although I'm quite aware that many employers expect their employees to do way more than they ever should be expected to do for way less money than they should be paid).

 

For us at this moment, we're applying it to our own health and well being, as well as to our usual daily attitude and tasks. Both of us have some new medical wrinkles that we're trying to wrap our respective arms around, and neither of us is especially thrilled about having them.

However, as Antsy McClain would sing, "It's all good if nobody gets hurt, Another day alive, Amen, I'm on the right side of the dirt."  

 

So many of us who are fortunate enough to make it through much of our lives without big medical problems take good, or at least decent, health for granted. The things I did to my body when I was in my 20s and 30s -- whew! Booze, cigarettes, chips, dips, too much  and too rich food. A little exercise, never enough. Doing what I needed to do to manage job, household, child care, husband, volunteering, and all that goes with it, even if I didn't get a lot of sleep. I was young, I was healthy, I could do it ALL.

Wellllll.....not really. Not without eventual consequences.

I don't know if the issues I have now are the result of some of the stuff I did as a younger woman or the happenstance of heredity; probably some of both. Fortunately I dropped some really bad behaviors in my 30s and early 40s, and that has helped to get me this far. I do medical checkups and testing regularly; always have. We've changed how and what we eat so that the heart-attack-on-a-plate-type foods are either gone or eaten sparingly only occasionally. 

 

Most importantly, we pay attention to what our bodies are saying: where and how something hurts, what feels right and good and what doesn't, and noticing when something is 'off.' And we check it out, scary as it may be to do so.

 

We have health insurance. THAT can make the difference between catching a problem and being able to treat it, and finding the problem only when it is too far gone to ignore and you end up in an emergency room, often in dire straits.

 

***Begin Related but not exactly on topic Rant****

That anyone in our country should have to settle for the latter because they cannot afford the blood tests, the EKGs, or the often inexpensive medication to treat such conditions as high blood pressure or diabetes is criminal neglect, abuse even. 

 

(I won't even comment about the folks who have insurance or can afford healthcare but choose not to seek regular medical treatment because they are afraid of the results. That's just stupidity, from where I sit.)

Those who do not support universal healthcare are mostly those who already HAVE health insurance and who can afford it: our Congressional representatives, for instance, have really good insurance. They and the highly paid lobbyists representing big pharma and big HMOs are the ones who are controlling the state of healthcare in our country. They apparently aren't troubled at all that so many people can't afford the checkups and diagnostic tests, even if they would be able to find $4 for a prescription to help their bp or diabetes or heart health. And they plant the 'big government controlling YOUR LIFE' scare seeds in the minds of those who don't usually think for themselves to 'prove' that universal healthcare is a terrible thing. 

***End of Related but not quite on topic Rant*** (for now)

So with Tony on the cusp of retirement, we've discovered a couple of new issues that will definitely take priority for us in the next months. Like so many, we've envisioned retirement as a time of relaxation, fun, travel, enjoying friends and family,  tending to our home and garden. And we still plan to do that, but health has suddenly taken top billing on our To Do list. 

 

Vulnerability takes some adjustment, mentally as well as physically. We've been active participants in life for a long time, doing pretty much what we felt like doing. To admit that some of the parts aren't working like they used to, and that indeed need regular monitoring and medication to continue functioning,  requires more than a little reflection. As Tony said, there is a sort of grieving process: giving up the ghost of what you thought would be to accept the reality of what is. It's another part of this aging process, I guess. Things and plans that used to seem important take a back seat when you start to understand what is REALLY important: your health and that of your loved ones.

We know we are fortunate: we read the obituaries and it seems that nearly every day there are deaths of people who are our age -- 'natural causes,' some of the obits say. (My gut reaction is that anyone MY age is too young to die of 'natural causes' but in reality, they do.) And we're not infirm by a long shot. Our legs and arms and minds work just fine. And we are grateful.

 

If we do all we can, where we are, with what we've got, paying deliberate attention to and taking good care of our problems, we should be fine enough to do pretty much anything we want to do.

You don't know what you got....

Joni Mitchell's lyrics are running through my head today: "Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you got
Til its gone..."

While I'm not talking about paving paradise and parking lots, I am thinking of how we age and the subtleties of how it happens. Aging is not something I thought about at all in my 20s or 30s, and never a lot even in my 40s, although there were plenty of changes in that decade that had to do with aging and perhaps maturing in one way or another.

And even into my early 50s, an especially wonderful time in my life as Tony and I met and eventually got married, the aging process was noticed, but was not yet a big deal.

As I approach 65, it is becoming more so.

There is almost no brown left in my hair, I noticed during a haircut this morning. It's a mix of greys and silvers with a touch of white here and there. Over the years, it started as a sort of mousey brown and changed to a darker, richer reddish brown, and I experimented with various colors and textures -- perms, weaves, dark, blonde, light, red,streaked... And now it's straight and soft and full and fine. And grey. And it really works for me.

Older faces DO have wrinkles and creases, and I have 'em. And the awful jowly turkeyneck too, something I've yet to see successfully dealt with without a surgeon's intervention. I hated turkeyneck from my 20s. But I'm not doing any surgery that isn't absolutely necessary, lemme tell you. Turkeyneck doesn't qualify as essential repair. And hands -- ooo, those nasty veiny, my-aging-grandmother hands.  Moisturize. Moisturize.

Things don't work like they did, from the limbs and joints to the bladder and teeth. My urologist pats my hand and says, shaking her head, "Beth, God didn't mean for us to get old." My joints, several of them repaired with plates and screws, still work reasonably well, but that's if I keep taking the glucosamine-chondrotin-MSM stuff and drinking my folk remedy cocktail of grape juice and Certo. Yikes! I sound more like my grandmother every year!

Health takes more maintenance. Like a classic car, we're in the 'shop' (doctor's offices) more frequently, and the older we get, more tests/meds/effort are required to make sure the parts are running adequately. No matter if things have been reasonably okay up until now: you don't ignore the little stuff any longer because it can easily turn into bigger deals: expensive, complicated deals that can definitely mess with your quality of life.

Oh, food. That's definitely changed. We were talking about fried foods the other day, and  I realized that it has probably been decades since I fried a chicken. Mashed potatoes and gravy? A couple of times a year, at the most. If I fix rice, it's brown and basmati, which has the lowest glycemic index load.

Who knew anything about glycemic index back in their 20s or 30s, or even 40s?  Who cared? I ate and drank pretty much whatever I wanted, as did most of us. Not any more, although I'm grateful I appreciate fresh veggies and fruits as much as I do.

Now all this stuff isn't gone, but it's definitely changing. We take so much for granted on our path through life, or at least I sure did, always understanding that I'd get older, but not even slightly getting how much change aging brings, and how sneakily it creeps into your every day life, year by year. One year you're bouncing around in heels and cute little strappy sandals, and the next -- well, sooner than you'd think -- your feet are killing you and you're searching for 'comfort' shoes that are at least a little stylish.

I didn't appreciate most of it when I had it, either. I like to think I'd have taken better care of my skin, my body, even my health, and stopped eating or drinking things that were clearly not good for me even then.

So listen up: if you're lucky enough to live long enough, you're going to start to show the results of all the things you've done to your body over the years. Your skin and hair and teeth and organs are going to begin to show that they've carried you a long ways, and sometimes over a lot of dirt road.

Appreciate what you've got in your amazing life machine when you're young and aging is waaaaayyyy down the road, something that parents and grandparents do. Sooner than you think, you'll be there.
 
It's not all bad, mind you, this aging thing. But that's another day.

Working on a post

Okay, so I'm working on a longer post, and I didn't get it done today. I'm thinking about aging and how things just change a bit at a time until one day we look at ourselves and wonder what happened and how did we get to be this age?

There are tradeoffs. You get older, but you also get smarter, or many people do and I like to think I'm one of them.

But bottom line is that I wish I'd paid more attention to things over all these years.

See you tomorrow with the full story.

Reverb 11 -- Day 8 -- Labels and Joy

#1 -- Prompt: What label/story/box/belief clipped your wings this year? How can you flip the script in 2012? What’s your new story?

#2 -- Prompt: Joy. Take us back to a moment in 2011 when you experienced pure, unadulterated joy.

#1 -- I'm pretty sure of myself: a strong woman, reasonably confident in who I am, what I love, what I believe. I believe in change and in growth. But my belief in who I am and what I can do was shaken substantially recently by a casual comment made by a friend during a committee meeting.

For three years I have participated in an annual theater performance benefit. I've performed the same role -- an outrageously funny, bawdy, even slightly shocking monologue that had audiences -- and the cast -- rolling with laughter. I love acting and am eager to do this piece again as well as more theater in 2012. I think I'm pretty good at it -- I've been told that by people whose opinions I respect, and the audience seems to respond well to my characters, both this one and others..

So. During the course of the meeting, as we were discussing how to get more people involved in the production, my friend commented, nudging me,  that …”we’re getting too old to do this.” I gave her a long look of – I don’t know – surprise? Shock? Denial? – and she added, “Well, I’m getting too old.”

Much later, the ice weasels started their partying, eventually settling into a steady chant of "You’re too old! You’re too old!”  It woke me up this morning an hour before I normally am conscious. And I began questioning whether or not I was indeed ‘too old’ to do not only this particular event, but pretty much anything in theater.

“You’re 64 years old!” they taunted. “You look ridiculous up there, saying such age-inappropriate things and making a total FOOL of yourself! Stick a fork in it, tootsie, you’re done! You’re too OLD to act anymore, honey, and nobody is brave enough to tell you!”

We don’t see ourselves as others see us. I see from INSIDE looking out at the world, and while that ‘me’ is not only perfectly capable of doing pretty much anything she wants to do, she also doesn’t feel ‘old’ (mostly). But I began questioning how OTHERS, especially those who don’t know me, might see me on stage, and concluded that perhaps I AM ‘too old.’ The idea just completely flipped my whole impression of who I am and what I should be doing with the rest of my life, and I didn't like what I was feeling or thinking.

I’ve talked since with a few people who I knew would be honest with me, and I’m not ready to throw it all in just yet. As long as directors cast me in roles and I’m capable of memorizing lines and blocking, I’m staying onstage.  I’ve never done well with labels since I never quite fit into societal or corporate boxes. TOO OLD is not going to be one I allow in my life either, not yet.

#2 – We vacationed on the Oregon coast this fall in a lovely rental apartment that had a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the mighty, mighty ocean endlessly washing over the little beach below our deck. It had been raining and blowing for a couple of days, and we had snugged in with plenty of food, snacks, and reading material.

One particular afternoon, I was propped with numerous pillows on the cushy chaise end of a sectional sofa that faced that glassed wall, and had an afghan covering my legs and feet while I read my lusciously long and detailed novel. Most afternoons I’d close my eyes for 15 or 20 minutes, dozing a little, relishing the quiet, the solitude, and pleasure of just being by the ocean and doing exactly what we wanted to do.

This afternoon, though, Tony had moved from a nearby chair where he had settled with his laptop to the sofa next to me, and put his head on my lap, the rest of him covered with another fleecy afghan. The ocean’s constant roar – louder that usual because of the storm – was soothing, the light was soft, and we were warm and together. With my hand lightly stroking Tony’s head, I closed my eyes and gave thanks for such a perfect moment of joy.

20 things I wish I'd known earlier

I've been thinking about doing this list ever since I read this blog post on The Lettered Cottage. Layla Palmer illustrated hers with wonderful photos and included some of her favorite quotes, and I loved it.  

So on the eve of my 64th birthday -- how did I get to be this old so fast! -- here are some things that I would tell my teenage self. I'm not putting photos here, but picture your own self as you were when you were a high school senior with all those dreams and desires and plans.

I probably wouldn't have listened carefully enough back then to have understood some of the ramifications of my actions and non-actions. And I probably wouldn't have believed some of the stories that I now tell about my life. But for what it's worth, here is what I would say now to my teenage self:


1. You are pretty, although I know you don't think so now. You're taller than average, yes, and you desperately envy the girls with the great hair and bubbly personalities who are "average" height and weight and build. But one day a man is going to fall head-over-heels in love with you and your long legs, your green eyes, your straight, fine hair, and your what-you-see-is-what-you-get personality, and he's going to tell you every day how loved you are, how pretty you are, and how lucky he is. You will feel like you won the lottery with him. Promise.

2. Your big voice that carries so far and that you try so hard to control will serve you well one day. People will want to hear your words.

3. Your mother and father love you more than you will understand for many years. Cherish the family times; listen to their stories; hug them every time you get the chance, and listen to their advice, even when it irritates the living crap out of you. One day you will miss hearing their voices so much that it makes you cry.

4.  Not everyone is going to like you, and you aren't going to like some of them either, and that's okay. You don't have to be a people-pleaser; in fact, you'll be better off if you just be who you are instead of who you think they want you to be.

5. Listen more than you talk: you'll learn more that way. Everyone has a story that they want to tell someone. 

6. And think before you speak: be sure the brain is engaged before the mouth opens. Your words carry a lot of weight: be sure your message is clear. You are very good at the quick, sarcastic comeback, but it can hurt others, and you really do not want to do that. 

7. Take care of your body: parts wear out faster than you'd think.

8. Moisturize your neck. Really.

9. Write. Keep a journal. Remember stories and practice writing them down. You'll make money from writing, and you're good at it, better than you think you are. You will want to write a book.

10. Be easier on yourself. Disbar that critical judge that lives in your head who tells you all the shoulda-coulda-woulda stuff. Be who you really are, and love yourself.

11. Be kind, even when you do not feel kindly. There is not enough kindness, ever. Thumper had it right: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

12. Be careful with the alcohol, the chocolate, the rich, fried, buttery foods. It is all about portion control. And you'll never not love sweets, but you'll eat more veggies than you could ever think.

13. Practice gratitude every day. Even on the worst days you can find something to be grateful for -- a hot shower, a cup of Earl Grey tea in your grandmother's china teacup, clean sheets. It makes things easier.

14. Ask for help. You do not have to do it all yourself. You CANNOT do it all yourself, although you'll try and suffer for it until you learn better.

15. Cherish your friends, but be sure you know who they are. Not everyone is trustworthy: guard your confidences.

16. Children are a mixed blessing. You will love your children more than you could imagine, but you will also suffer great pain when things happen to them that a kiss and a hug can't make better. This will always be true.

17. Live each day as though it were the only one you have, because you never know if it might be. Plan for the future, but live in the moment. And let go what is past: you can't change what happened.

18. Time speeds up as you get older. Do things you really want to do sooner than later. Listen to that little voice way deep inside you: it will steer you where you need to go even if others are telling you differently.

19. Be patient. Wait for what is right. This will be a lesson that keeps coming back to you, one day at a time.

20. Do. Not. Settle. Not for a relationship, not for a job, not for a dream. Get clear about what you want, and then make it happen. You have tremendous power within yourself.

What would you tell your 17-year-old self?

Letting go -- again

That old lesson of letting something/one go seems to constantly be in front of me, but a blogging friend posted a poem the other day that really helped me understand the concept in a new way, easier to wrap my head around.

It said:

To "let go" does not mean to stop caring.
It means I can't do it for someone else.

To "let go" is not to cut myself off.
It's the realization that I can't control another.

To "let go" is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To "let go" is not to try to change or blame another.
It's to make the most of myself.

To "let go" is not to care for, but to care about.

To "let go" is not to fix, but to be supportive.

To "let go" is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being.

To "let go" is not to be in the middle, arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their own destinies.

To "let go" is not to deny, but to accept.

To "let go" is not to nag, scold, or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To "let go" is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.

To "let go" is not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future.

To "let go" is to fear less and to love more. 

--Unknown--

It's not new, it' s just new to me. The quote is all over Google.

Perhaps it feels relevant because we are on the cusp of change again: our youngest princess has moved to the Seattle area with her family to start a new, hopefully better life, although it's been a rocky start since her husband's (felony child-abusing) ex immediately filed a declaration that resulted in her receiving the three older children temporarily, and creating great turmoil. A court session tomorrow should result in V and D getting the kids back, and visitation mediation happening via phone. Nonetheless it has been difficult all around, especially for the kids, who have lived full-time with V & D for more than four years now. We've been on board to listen and soothe and comfort, and help as we are able.

Perhaps it feels relevant because I have worked hard to 'let go' of Princess #1 and my tendency to want to micromanage her life and choices, and for the most part am succeeding. Doesn't mean I'm sleeping all that well at night, when the ice weasels come out to play, but I'm not in her face all the time anymore -- healthier at least for me; it has got to be less frustrating for her. Her choices and decisions are hers to make, not mine, and the consequences of those choices also are hers, and I am not going to make them mine. The poem above helps me feel less like I'm abandoning her or that I don't care, because I do, very much. But I am not the responsible party here.

That said, I spent a good bit of July and August on the car search and ended up reasonably happy (although my tendency to second-guess myself after the deed was done appeared at least briefly). That's done. I've let it go. (really)

And we're looking at some changes in our lives too, although until it is actually fact I am not saying exactly what it is in this forum. These are good things, though. 

Another thing I'm in the process of doing is letting go of all the people I used to be: a very busy career woman, an active church and choir and committee participant, an involved mom with a school-age child, a do-it-yourselfer who painted, papered, stripped wood floors, made most of my clothes as well as R's dresses and tops. I'm not there anymore; I'll never be there again, nor do I want to go back. 

I confess to having some ideas of making some simple clothing again, since I find it hard to find styles I enjoy in colors that are pleasing, and especially for a reasonable price. I will probably end up volunteering in some capacity eventually, although nothing is singing loudly to me right now. I want to nurture my creative side again: I've been so caught up in managing R's affairs and illness and the business details of that for so long, and there is always something around here to clean out or tidy up or cook or fold, and so I've procrastinated finding my creative self for a long, long time. I want to let the need-to-ought-to-do stuff slide more and spend more time reading a novel or even beginning to write one, finishing the charm necklace I started two years ago and do more repurposing of my old jewelry., I want to put my ideas for landscaping our yard into action and start getting the bones in place.

 

I do not want to spend more time worrying about other people's lives and how they could fix them if they just listened to me. I want to let that go. All of that.

And I'm also beginning to accept where I am on the great wheel of life. I have fewer years ahead of me than are behind me. My butt-time career is really over, and I won't be climbing any more corporate ladders, not that I ever really did, with so much of my working life spent in non-profit and public sector areas. While I'm pretty tech-savvy and I read a lot about pop culture, I'm not in the main target audience for anything except Medicare supplemental insurance and walk-in bathtubs. I don't offer opinions anymore to anyone who will listen, and sometimes I'm sorry I opened my mouth when I do, partly because I'm realizing that disagreeing with a long- and strongly-held opinion is pretty useless and usually merely frustrating.

Life is short, too short to spend one more moment doing things and saying things that don't much matter to who I am. I'm letting go of the desire to please people, sometimes just by not saying what is in my head and at the back of my throat, but most definitely by not putting myself in a vulnerable situation in the first place -- i.e., doing something somewhere with people that I don't really care much about. I'm letting go of other people's expectations of what I will do or how I should act, and am resolved to be just who I am.

Yes, it IS all about me from now on!

 

(Well, that'd be me and my honey. But he loves who I really am, warts and all, and encourages me to be more me. It doesn't get better than that.)

That's my new plan for the rest of 2011 and forward into 2012. Be who I am now, let go of my need to control and please, seize the day for the good that we find in each one, and let regret go.

A mixed bag of July

Such a month it has been, this July. Unusually for these parts, we had many cool days where no air conditioning or swamp cooling was needed, we had some rain, and only a handful of days over 100 -- nothing approaching the usual round of 112+ degree days that is the fare du jour here in the north state.

 August may bring some of that, but it also brings a sighting of fall, although we know we will have some hot days well through September and sometimes even in October, but with cooler nights.

July has been stressful for both of us. Early in the month, Princess #1 rolled her SUV, totalling it. She was unhurt although shaken, miraculously, but that has left her without wheels and her boyfriend's car is unreliable on a good day. So I've done a fair bit of chauffeuring here and there, although I've tried to make it fit my schedule and not her whim, and have also done the bulk of research to find a new one for her, one that will last for a long time, and that is within her budget. Fortunately, she still has back disability dollars in the bank which need to be spent by this fall, so that along with the check from the insurance company should be sufficient to get her a decent car.

My ex observed cheerily from his home in Missouri that 'car shopping can be fun,' to which I suggested he get his butt out here and go with her. He backed off, but did send some pages from Consumer Reports which helped, and I've spent lots of time on Edmunds and Kelly Blue Book.

I think we've found a car for her, and possibly one for us, actually, although we weren't really looking hard. (Our 12-year-old Corolla has been a steady, reliable vehicle, requiring almost no extra maintenance, but it also is on the brink of things starting to deteriorate from sheer age.) So today Tony and I will go to the dealership so he can drive the car -- another econobox, really, but with some cute factor thrown into the practicality) -- and then I'll try to negotiate a deal for both cars.

R also goes on Medicare in August, and that has been a huge learning experience as well, as I've learned about 'benchmark' prescription plans, low income financial aid, and what and how expenses are covered.

And then there is the Congressional circus, with all the posturing and pontificating and pouting and pandering that has made news night after night. As we look towards retirement, this is extremely unsettling for our financial wellbeing, and unbelievably frustrating to watch the self-righteous Tea Party members who are refusing to play nicely with anybody, including members of their own party, and to wonder if anyone in the Republican party even is aware that there are more people in their districts who are not millionaires and big businesses than those who are. Most seem determined to throw our country under the bus in order to make their stand and get their own way; certainly they seem quite willing to bring federal programs and paychecks to a complete halt.

They underestimate us, I think. Obama's speech this week woke up some of us and the switchboards and websites were flooded with messages telling representatives to shape up and get on with it. But that will be a mere ripple compared to if Social Security, disability, and veteran's benefits checks are missed, even one.  People will lose their homes, will go hungry, will die, and there will be rioting, I believe.

Pretty dire scenario. I hope the Congress will start behaving like mature adults who are elected to represent ALL of the people, not just a wealthy few, and do what is right for our country. In raising the debt ceiling -- something that has been done over and over and over in the past, and is simply agreeing to pay bills we've already incurred -- we keep our credit rating in the world and act responsibly about paying our debts.

The budget issues are separate from this matter, and deserve to be addressed as such, but again, not by throwing people who depend on such programs as Social Security, disability and veteran's benefits to survive under that big honking billionaire bus. What they seem to forget -- and have for years -- is that WE fund Social Security with our wage dollars. It is not money to be spent or withheld by Congressional whim: it belongs to us and the government has been the (poor) caretaker of those funds. 

Okay. I'm getting off the soapbox. For now.

But it is stressful to read and watch, even the bits I permit myself to do. Suddenly I feel like our financial future -- our retirement nest egg -- is badly threatened by the actions of people who are not even elected by me and those in my area (not that our Wally Herger is a lot better). And it's all beyond our control to do much.

I feel as though I'm maintaining, not growing, not creating, just maintaining and doing what needs doing. I try not to beat myself up about not getting in a garden this year -- the first time in years I have not done so -- or about the other things that clutter my office space -- receipts, notes, assorted R papers -- or about losing that stupid 8 lbs that has gone back on again, and dealing with my own health issues. But these times are stressful right now.

I'm longing for some ocean time, too -- the constancy of the waves, the sea air, the crying of the gulls overhead, the smell of the salt and seaweed and fish all mixed together. The ocean helps me clarify and sort through things and dismiss those that are less important. It blows out the cobwebs and the sun-baked ennui. We're planning a trip for fall. And with August's coming, each day moves that relief a little closer to reality.

Just one wild and precious life

In my favorite movie and play, Steel Magnolias, Truvy says, "Honey, time marches on, and eventually you realize it's marchin' across your face."

Today a friend sent me the Baby Boomers Battle Hymn. "Holy crap, we're getting older!"

As my grandmother would have said, "'T'aint funny, McGee."

It's already May 5 and it's flying by. We'll be in 100-degree temperatures all too soon. And then it will be Christmas again.

It is, I suppose, the nature of youth to behave as though there is infinite time spreading before them and that they are, despite evidence to the contrary, pretty much invincible and indestructible. I sure acted that way, perhaps not exactly 'pissing my youth away,' as the You Tube version goes, but without any real acknowledgement that our time here is finite and precious.

It's only when there are more days behind us than in front that we begin to realize how quickly this life slips by. I'm so there.

That's why I'm striving these days to take care of myself, to tell those who I hold dear how I feel about them, to let go of things that drag me down, and to make some inroads on the things I want to do. I hope I have many more years, good years, ahead of me. But I don't want to face the end of this life wondering what I might have accomplished had I paid better attention to what was going on around me, to my health both physical and mental, and to those I have loved most and best.

So I resolve to do the following:

Relish something each day, be it a good book, a loving relationship, a beautiful flower, a devoted pet, a piece of really good chocolate. And be aware that it is good. Say prayers for those who are hurting and for myself. Be kind. Do at least one thing 'for the good of the order' -- I don't have to do it all in one day, but one task every day will get the job done. Tell my friends and family that I appreciate them and love them. And love who I am becoming, wrinkles, gray hair, stiff joints and all. God is not finished with me yet, and I may have discoveries and contributions to make that I haven't even dreamed of. And give thanks, every day, for this one wild and precious life.

Catching up -- bits of thought for 2011

While I've composed bits and pieces of blog posts in my head this past month, they haven't made it to actual type and format. I'm sorry...but also if you've missed me, I'm glad. I'll try to do better.

I've really missed Reverb10, which kept me writing nearly daily in December, introspectively examining the past year and figuring out what was impactful. I know there are prompts out there, but it's not the same thing.

I began a post about taking care of myself and my determination this year to do just that, but it didn't get far. That said, I AM doing more for my own good this year: a weekly yoga class that uses muscles I didn't remember I had, walking at least 10 minutes a day, monthly massages that rejuvenate my body and my spirit from a marvelous masseuse who also uses energy work to enhance her magic fingers, and better permission to read during the day if I want -- something I haven't allowed myself to do much of in some time. I guess it's because I think it's unproductive -- and yet I'll read on the computer for several hours, blogs, websites, etc. Go figure.

Anyway, I'm working on all of it, mostly successfully.

I've spent some time petting kitties too, especially since a friend recently lost her dearly loved 11-year-old cat, and his sibling kitty just three months ago too. I was so sad for her loss, knowing full well how devastating the death of a much-loved animal can be -- dare I say even more, sometimes, than the death of a human? I think it's because with animals we just are who we are and they love us anyway, warts and all. Animals sense a troubled spirit and try to soothe it; they give back so much acceptance and energy and patience with us despite our moods and our troubles. They are with us daily, especially if we're at home much of the time. I appreciate our little boys and am always happy to hold them and pet them when they spring into my lap, even when I don't always appreciate a furry tail in front of my computer monitor.

And I've been following the giant storm that's icing its way across the Midwest today -- deadly ice in Missouri and Indiana -- both states in which I've lived -- and other cities too. I still have relatives and friends there and have been concerned for them. So far, they assure me, they're fine.

We have such spring-like weather right now, with highs in the 60s and approaching 70, and sunshine. Last week we had some bad fog in the mornings and evenings, but it's not ice and snow. (Actually we need more winter -- rain and cooler temperatures -- because all this false spring makes fruit trees blossom too early.) But it's hard to remember what it's like to have below zero temperatures and ice over everything and deep snow -- and we both have had our share of that. I am not a fan of the 110 degree summer days, but I'll take that in order to have the relatively mild winters we have here -- little or no snow, good rain, and temperatures that only rarely get below freezing. Fifty miles in three directions, however, will put us right in a snowbank with plenty of cold ~ another thing I do like about living here.

So here we are in February again: a short month, sweet holidays, a bit more winter (I hope), and then March comes with spring, and then July isn't far behind with hot days.

Time goes faster as we get older, I think. The hair looks a bit more gray, the skin a bit more weathered, the flexibility a bit less. And I look at myself in the mirror and wonder how that all happened so quickly? I remember being 16, waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up for a date. I remember being 21 and about to graduate from college and get married, and I remember when my now almost-35-year-0ld daughter was a baby, feeding herself pears and cottage cheese with her hands rather than the spoon, and getting it all over her sweet face.

I wouldn't go back.

But I'd sure like to slow this time down a little bit more, savor the days and the love and the weather and the kitties and the tastes and the kisses a little longer. I'm heading rapidly toward what I used to regard as 'old' -- and I know what eventually comes -- and I'm not ready for that.

So I'll try again, always, to live where I am, in this moment, with this chore or this joy or this taste or this hug, and to really, REALLY be present. That's all I can do.

Adventures in grandparenting

There is a reason why we have children when we're younger.

It's patience and stamina and a go-with-the-flow outlook, partly. And it's not really even patience: I have more nowadays than I did when my daughter was little. It's definitely stamina: I have been flat-out pooped the last few nights. And I'm afraid that I'm more gone-with-the-wind than go-with-the-flow these days: I've grown very attached to our routines and the ebb and flow of our days as they are now rather than ready to adapt to anything at a moment's notice.

We've been taking care of our grandson, who turned two June 11, for the last three days. Cute as he is, amusing and charming and full of energy and curiosity -- and remarkably well-behaved -- I will be fine watching him go out the door soon with his auntie to go to another auntie's house until his parents return tomorrow.

He's exploring his vocal ranges right now in lieu of taking a nap. He is not in distress, other than that he doesn't particularly want to be there, but the way he yodels and vocalizes tells me that he's amusing himself as much as he is registering a protest at being put down for naptime. I'll get him up in a few minutes and give him a snack before Auntie R comes to get him. (Yup -- you guessed it -- soon as she called to say she was coming, he fell asleep.)

Our kitties Cheswick and McMurphy will be greatly relieved that he is not around tonight as both have spent much of their time lurking under the bed since he's been here. Cheswick has been more interested, although he tends to stay under things that G can't reach, and G delightedly says "Kee-y! Hes-we! MEW!" (Trans: Kitty, Cheswick, MEOW) when he sees him. Mac, on the other hand, wants nothing to do with him and has hissed loudly at his approach, running into the bedroom to hide.

It's been fun, mostly. It's been exhausting, mostly. He's a really good child -- he minds pretty well, especially for independent two, and is good natured. His momma has taught him well. He's a natural-born soccer player -- he already has a great kick and even a dribble, and LOVES to play ball.

His momma says he isn't a picky eater, and he probably isn't, for the kind of food she fixes, but he didn't love my salmon burgers or asparagus much, although he ate some of both; he was far more interested in the ketchup than in the chicken fingers we had at a restaurant this noon; and he licked the peanut butter and jelly off the whole wheat bread but didn't eat any of it. He likes strawberries and bananas but is only so-so with plain yogurt even sweetened a touch. His parents (much to my dismay) brought a giant-sized container of Nestle's Quick to flavor his milk, and he sure knows how to ask for 'chikit' milk, which is the only way he wanted to drink any of it. On the other hand it has been HOT, and nobody feels much like eating when it's over 100 degrees, even with air conditioning.

I found myself listening for him if I wasn't in the room, and even asleep, I had one ear cocked, just as I did when R was little -- actually, I did that until she went off to college! I'd forgotten how wearying it can be to constantly be attentive to a child. It was fun to watch him play with rubber duckies and boats in the bath, nice to snuggle with a lavender-scented toddler just before bed, read "The Little Red Caboose" and "Do Cows Eat Cake?" and listen to lullabies playing on the CD player. He didn't want to snuggle with Granddaddy, although he played ball with him for a long time and would go talk to him. He's a momma's boy though.

So it was an adventure, and I am impressed (and amazed) with my friends who regularly keep their grandchildren. I guess they're just in better shape than I am, more stamina, more patience, better food!

Re-evaluating

My right wrist is in a lovely purple cast and there is a plate in my wrist binding the broken bones permanently together. I have become increasingly amidextrous and can type with my left hand and using the right middle finger. I can shower, even put on makeup sorta kinda, but I can't open cans with my manual canopener.

I've had lots of help from my beloved Tony and Princess #1 and from a few friends, though many have offered. I've taken lots of naps. I've watched lots of television. I've read. I'm healing. This will not last forever.

But it's thrown me completely into what lifecoach Martha Beck calls a death-rebirth cycle. I've been reading her Finding Your Own North Star and while I haven't done all the exercises, it has been a revelationary process. I'm taking it all in, sitting and thinking, and just being rather than doing much of anything.

We go through the death-rebirth cycle and the subsequent dreaming, acting, living ones many times in our lives, and I guess this is time for yet another for me.

For one thing, I am not writing/meeting deadlines for anyone right now. I can't take notes, can't type well nor effortlessly (which makes it tedious and tiring), and had been having trouble buckling down to actually do stories anyway. So I asked a friend who is ripe and ready for this kind of challenge if she would like to take it over, and all the editors eagerly embraced the idea. It works for me, for her, and for them. Definitely the right thing to do.

But that leaves me without an identity I've had for some time -- not unwillingly, mind you, but still an adjustment, and with some loss to be dealt with.

I can just hear what Beck calls "everybody' chiming in with "geezeopete, Beth. It's not cancer, it's not a brain tumor, it's not a hip or worse. Get a grip!'

So shut up, critics. I know all this.

But I also think a change has been brewing for a while, and this event pushed me into it. Time to look at where I am now, what's important to me, what I *really* want to do now, how I get there, wherever it is.

This has made me feel my age more than I ever have. I have long known how fragile we are physically; this and a few other, hopefully minor, health issues that I'm getting checked out have made me more aware that we only get so much time here, and how do I want to use that?

One thing I know for sure: my husband is the light of my life and I am soooo grateful to have ther relationship that we do. It is a rare gift. I believe, and we both cherish it -- all the more because we spent a lot of years individually without it, not believing that we would ever be lucky enough to have it. I want time with him, as much as the Universe gives me, and I will do what I must to keep myself (reasonably) healthy and alive in order to have that.

As for the rest -- I'll figure it out eventually. The Universe aklways points me in a direction if I listen and look and stay open. Sometimes it is clear. This time it is not. I'm emotional at anything, I have flashes often of people and events from my life, and I'm trying to understand why and what I need to learn from that. I think of my parents at this age and wonder if they, too, tried to understand where they needed to go next.

Perhaps I'm overthinking -- and I have done that in the past. Perhaps I'm looking for signs that aren't there and won't be.

It is a time for re-evaluating what was and finding the path through what is to what's next.

PS I purchased Beck's book. I have not been paid to recommend it.

Managing time

With another birth year celebrated this past weekend, I have been a bit introspective about life in general, my life specifically, and what I want for this coming year.

It's not for lack of subjects that I haven't written since Oct. 30. And it's really not even for lack of time. I'm examining time management -- what I do with the time I have every day, the same 24 hours we all have.

Back in my late 30s and 40s, I managed time rather well, between managing a household, a school age child, a job and half hour commute each way, chorus rehearsals, church meetings and rehearsals, grocery shopping, and the usual household stuff.

You do what you gotta do, I suppose, and mostly I think I did pretty well. Yes, I probably immersed myself in lots and lots of 'doing' but that's what was required at the time.

I don't seem to be as efficient these days. I know I spent more time than I should on the computer, poking around, reading blogs, writing a bit, researching, playing a stupid game or two. I still have the grocery shopping and assorted errands, and I help daughter #1 manage things that she has trouble with or is hesitant to do by herself.

My mother always seemed to have a clean house (of course we helped by cleaning our rooms without fail every Saturday, as well as other chores), things organized, cupboards and drawers that weren't jumbled, and still had time to play bridge, walk, and for many years, she was a teacher and still did all that. She and Daddy square-danced for years, attended church every Sunday where she worked in the library and he sang in the choir, had an active social life with a couple of groups.

So why are my cupboards and drawers jumbled, many with stray crumbs in the corners? Why is my office desk covered with papers and piles of source material for stories? There are two or three baskets full of magazines -- Cooking Light, Bon Appetit, Sunset -- that I am sure I'll go through one of these days. I have a box with old Christmas cards stashed under the desk, and my laundry basket always, ALWAYS has a dozen socks whose mates have gone on vacation -- but you can be assured that if I throw them away, I'll find the mate the next day.

My house is not dirty. I dust, vacuum, keep counters clean, and -- okay, I'll confess that sometimes I do leave dirty pots or dishes from a late evening dessert snack soaking in the sink overnight -- but I do try to keep the kitchen reasonably tidy. My bed is made every day, but there is always a stack of magazines on the floor and books on the table next to my side. We always have newspapers and magazines on the ottoman in the living room, although I try to put them in the recycling bin every night or at least straighten the stack.

Somehow I'd assumed that by the time I got to be this age that I'd be an excellent housekeeper and that it would all be effortless.

But it isn't. And I'm not.

The office is right now a catch-all for stuff I intend to sell on eBay, the aforementioned source materials and notebooks filled with interview notes, mail that needs shredding or answering, scraps of paper that have phone numbers or Web sites on them. I have a beautiful new workbench waiting to be assembled, but first I have to clean everything else up and rearrange my desk and computer station, and hopefully eliminate at least one or two pieces that are currently holding printers or files. I LIVE in the office most days. It's where the treadmill is, the computers, the photo equipment, the eBay goodies. But it's a mess.

It should have been cleaned by now, my inner critic says. I should manage myself better and not spend so much time reading stuff online or playing that stupid Facebook Bejeweled Blitz. I'm an ADULT, ferpetesake, an old one at that! I ought to know better. Priorities!

Sixty used to feel pretty old to me when I was in my 30s and 40s. Oh, I knew plenty of 60-somethings who were very active and had a really good time with life, and they seemed to have life pretty well figured out. Yeah, issues sometimes threw curveballs at them, but overall, life was good.

And I guess that's where I am. Overall, life is good. Yes, I need to work on time managment and getting the office cleaned up and crumbs out of my silverware drawers. But what I also know is that life is short. Spending time writing notes to a friend who is sick is more important. Reading something that inspires me and makes me smile is important. Walking on that treadmill and watching a tv show on hulu.com while I do it is important. Being there for my daughter is important, and being there for my husband is important. Taking care of me is really important, even if papers clutter the desk.

Meanwhile, I'd sure love to ask my mother how she did it, why she managed her time the way she did, and what she'd change if she could. I wonder if she felt like she had it all together when she was my age. I wonder what age she felt inside when she was in her 60s. I wonder if she liked her life the way it was.

Time flies, whether you're having fun or not

As if it wasn't enough to perform "Steel Magnolias" five times a week, I watched the movie yesterday. I have always loved that movie. Even though I knew what was coming, I sobbed anyway.

But since we're well into production, I wanted to see how the six women stars played their characters. It'd been a long time since I watched it. And it holds up well.

One of the things that touched me greatly, though, was in the features section of the DVD, seeing playwright Robert Harling speak about why he wrote the play in the first place. I knew it was a form of grief therapy for him when his beloved sister Susan died, much the same way that Shelby does. But he elaborates some, and I could feel the anguish of the brother at losing her at such a young age. He wanted his nephew to know a little more about his mother, to understand what she did in choosing to have him.

That, and seeing all those actresses 20 years younger, made me think of my own age, my own stage in life now, and all the things I missed out on as a younger person -- all the wasted time, the ill-thought choices.

Not that there weren't some great times and some good choices, mind you. And I wouldn't go back and do it again, not really.

But for some reason seeing the movie made me aware -- again -- of how brief our life here really is, and how unaware we are of that when we are young(er).

In our 20s and 30s, and yes, even the 40s, the awareness of our own mortality is usually non-existent, barring life-threatening illness, accident, or the early deaths of those we love. I, at least, plowed through any number of days without appreciating what I had, even squandering them by not taking care of myself physically (or mentally), just sort of meandering through years without a lot of focus on who I am and what I wanted.

I was a "good" girl, pretty much doing what others expected me to do and be, with a few stubborn streaks thrown in and a couple of fairly bad habits, including smoking and drinking to excess. It wasn't until I was into my 30s that I began to cut those out of my life and to think about what I really wanted and to discover who I really was. And it took another 13-14 or so years to be able to decide what I wanted to do about it.

And while I don't spend time mulling over my past mistakes, I am aware now of how unaware I was -- how unaware my friends and acquaintances were -- of how precious time is. How you can not get back one single day, no matter how much money or love or wishing.

The conundrum, of course, is that you have to get older to really understand this. And then it's too late.

Not that life is over, mind you! No, as Shelby tells Clairee in the play, "There are still good times to be had!" And I do believe that. Life is what you choose to make of it, every day, one day at a time.

But my prime time is over. The 40-something generation is in the power years now -- this is their time now, their time to make the world different, to change their lives, to realize their potential. And the 30s are right on their heels.

I remember those years so clearly that it feels very odd to realize they are over and that part of my life is finished. It still startles me sometimes to catch a glimpse of myself in a window or a mirror and see the mantel of age draped over my hair and my skin and my posture. It's not unattractive, just not always in sync with how I think of myself.

But what really resonates is time: how quickly it goes, what I do with it. There is not a day that I don't say gratitude prayers -- many times a day -- for my husband, our home and friends, for my life as it is and the opportunities that I have and that present themselves so frequently. I didn't do that when I was younger, at least not often. I didn't cherish each day. I wasn't aware that I didn't have all the time I needed to effect whatever change I wanted to make.

I wasn't aware.

I don't know how to help my children understand that, if indeed it is even possible to make them understand it. Perhaps it takes age and perspective.

I can only hope that they will live long enough to see and to understand. I'm grateful that I have and do now.

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you. ~Carl Sandburg

Time is the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of lightning, at once exists and expires. ~Charles Caleb Colton

Time is what we want most, but... what we use worst. ~William Penn

Time is an equal opportunity employer. Each human being has exactly the same number of hours and minutes every day. Rich people can't buy more hours. Scientists can't invent new minutes. And you can't save time to spend it on another day. Even so, time is amazingly fair and forgiving. No matter how much time you've wasted in the past, you still have an entire tomorrow. ~Denis Waitely

Marking another year

Today is my birthday, my 61st, another year into this seventh decade of my life.

It feels like such a short time since I turned 60 last year, and THAT is one of the great lessons of aging: as we age, time speeds up. I want time for this birthday. I want good, quality time. And I guess it's up to me to make my minutes and hours and days to be just that, hm.

In this last year my hair is longer, greyer. My face has more lines in it. The texture of my skin is changing, although it smooths when I slather on rich moisturizing cream (lesson for those of you who may be under 40 -- always, always moisturize your face and neck and arms and legs).

My braces are off. My smile is big.

We spent time with extended family in Nashville and in Ashland. We watched movies, TV, read. We survived several days without electricity and a summer of smoke and fires. We got mad and we got over it. We laughed with our wonderful Red Bluff circle of friends.

We have an adult child living with us again.

Through it all there is a common thread: we create our own destiny. We are responsible for the choices we make and the consequences of those choices. We get to choose whether to be happy or sad, to be grateful or to be angry, to change or to stagnate.

There are days when that is the only thing that makes sense to me -- that we have a choice about our actions. It isn't that I always like the alternatives, but there ARE choices, even in harsh economic situations and unsettling times.

We do all we can, where we are, with what we've got.

That'll get me through this next year too, with the hope and many prayers that if I keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep a grateful heart and stay open to the goodness of the Universe, we will be all right.

Can't speak for anyone else: what they do is THEIRS, not mine, to manage.

But I will be okay.

I am so grateful to see all those grey hairs and life-lines in my mirror, and to begin another year. I am grateful to have second chances and new beginnings at life. I am HUGELY blessed by a wonderful circle of friends and girlfriends in this little town, who have already honored me with wonderful food and parties and gifts, and who continue to hold me close in their hearts with love and kindness.

I hope I return to them some of the joy and love they give to me.

May I never lose sight of the gratitude of this moment, this day. It is all we have, right now.

Powerless

I am working hard to accept that I am powerless over people, places, and things. As always, it is hard to do. I want to fix it.

Okay, okay. I'll admit I can be a bit of a control freak. I want things the way I want them -- which is to say I want the people I love to have a good life, to be free from undue suffering, to have the ability to bring themselves out of a funk and to cope with the big lumps life sometimes deals us.

And some things that have been problems for my loved ones seem to be smoothing out a bit, not that there still aren't issues. But one I thing I know is true: everything changes. Nothing stays the same.

I'm grateful for time and persistance, just slogging through the day sometimes, and doing the next right thing as it comes up, whatever it is. It's hard to do, but it usually pays off eventually, with some easing of the anxiety and fear and anger and grief. Not gone, but eased. That's where two of my loved ones are this day.

But when we're looking at major depression and the side effects of medicine, that's a whole 'nuther kettle of fish. How long do you give it a shot before you call the doctor? And how far do you push the person -- especially since I want to keep communication as open as possible?

I want it to be better. I want it NOW. (or in the near future...) I want progress.

A friend told me once that I was too analytical when it came to my own behavior and also that of others. I do analyze a lot -- maybe it's rationalization -- maybe it's the result of years of reading and self-analysis. I don't know how to turn it off, and am not sure I want to. It does help me to understand behavior and why people act as they do, mostly.

I do know that I need to try to let go the things that I can't change or fix. I guess that dealing with my own emotions is as involved as I need to be, and to once again try to accept that I can't fix other people's problems. (I bet I get obnoxious, too, when I offer "helpful" suggestions.....)

Eh.

On another note, I'm reading Randy Paush's The Last Lecture. He's the professor who has left this legacy for his children and his students, and who was featured a couple of times on Oprah. He died July 25 of pancreatic cancer.

It's about living with a death sentence, and it has the truths in it that I deeply believe: life is what you make it, and you can only live it one day at a time. But you treasure each of those days: none of us knows what day will be our last one. Tell people if you care about them. Mend relationships with people you love. Be good to yourself. Give thanks for what you have. Play. Pray. Laugh. Hug someone.

We are so busy "doing" what we have to do so much of the time that we forget about our inner selves that need nurturing and encouragement to just "be." I think that's one of the things that bothers me so about depression -- you can't SEE the disability, and it is frustrating both to not care what you do with your day and to watch someone you love spend their precious time like that.

Anyway...

I am grateful for September. That means that cool weather and rain isn't so far off. I am really done with summer, not that I ever do it very well. I want more cool nights with covers tucked up under my chin, and rain....settling the dirt and dust, and washing things clean.

And I'm powerless over that too, darn it. Patience and time will change it. Meanwhile, I have a life to live, one day at a time.

I am grateful for friends and for birthdays -- we celebrated another birthday in our little neighborhood circle this weekend, full of good food, good talk and laughter, and blessings. It is good to mark the years like this -- with people you care about and who care about you. That is truly the blessing of aging, to find that and cherish it. I hope my actions reflect how much I care about these people, and how important they are to me.

And life goes on today...another day, one day at a time. I am grateful for whatever it brings me, for I am still here to experience it.