We Get By With a Little Help From Our Friends

A young woman who belongs to my Weight Watcher's group has been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.  So, a couple of the women have started putting together a care package of things she might like at the hospital.  When I heard about it, I volunteered to give her a lap quilt.  When my son was in the hospital for chemotherapy, he would at times get very chilly and wanted his quilt to curl up with.  And then he would get hot...chilly...hot from the cancer fevers.  Unfortunately I have been away for close to three months tending to family things and have not been able to sew...

Every winter I host a Adopt-a-Family Project (AAF) for the kids of students at my college who are part of a giving tree.  Many friends from an online quilting forum help by sending me quilts for the kids. It started slowly but after two years we were able to give every child (up to age 19) a quilt. Last year we had gathered nearly 60 quilts.  I am able to accomplish this by making quilts all year long and packing them away.  For every three charity quilts I make, two go to the AAF project (the third goes to Project Linus).  That stash for next Christmas is where I found a good-sized lap quilt for my Weight Watcher's friend.

 

It seemed to be a cheerful quilt, with lovely flowered backing.  Not too young and yet young enough.  I hope it brings her a bit of joy and warmth.

Now that I am home, it is time to rebuild the children's stash of quilts.
peace~~~

Sandwiched In

On June 1 my mother had a stroke. I took the first flight south and have been staying in her home since that date. At first when she was in the hospital, my sister and I took turns staying with her for hours. I would come to the hospital at about 10 and stay until five; my sister would arrive around three and stay until eight. We would then go to dinner and debrief. After she was moved to the nursing center, I come daily at about 10:30 and leave at 1:00 while my sister would come about four and leave around 6:00. And then we would have dinner and debrief.

Her stroke affected her left side but not her voice. She is slowly gaining use of her left hand, but still can not sit, move to the edge of the bed, stand, transfer to a chair, walk without maximum assistance. She has severe pain from osteoporosis, so she is receiving regular doses of dilaudid. The nursing center doctor wanted something more steady and prescribed a pain medicine that came in a patch. She used it for 10 days before she went completely irrational and mean. The center had to send her back to the hospital because she was screaming and trying to escape and would not allow them to touch her. We asked that the patch be removed and her back on dilaudid. The next day she was once again rational and "normal." Her new normal, anyway.

I had been renting a car for the first two weeks when my brother-in-law said he would fly up to my home in Oregon and drive my car down to Los Angeles. It worked out perfectly.

I had been planning a family reunion since February that was to happen the third week of June, so I needed to deal with that event along with Mom. It was a success with 50 family members coming to town from Washington, Utah, Northern California, as well as nearby cities in southern California. I became the taxi driver, bringing groups of three at a time to visit Mom. She is the oldest and only one left of her generation in the family.

On the 18th of July my husband's father was to be placed to rest in Arlington National Cemetery. So I drove back to Portland on the 15th, did laundry, repacked and we flew to Washington DC.  It was a wonderful, full military honors ceremony, complete with an Army band, white horse-drawn casket, and a 21-gun salute.  I returned home on the 21st, my birthday.  No one really remembered my birthday.  Felt kinda like Samantha in Sixteen Candles.

After doing laundry, I drove back south, this trip with both my sons and my grandgirl.  They stayed a few days in order to spend time with their gramma.

At this point I visit Mom every day for a couple of hours.  Everything is up in the air regarding her stuff.  We started packing things up to be put in storage--she won't be returning to her independent-living home.  We don't know if she will recover enough to move into assisted-living.  Until then, we need to store her things.

At this point I am tired and ready to spend a bit of time with my fella and my pup.  We'll see when that will happen.

peace~~~

Needed: Good Geezer Models

I've been thinking about that middle-age thing that happens to many of us. I mean, what is a “midlife crisis” and what does it mean? To me it is a time of examination: of what we thought we wanted waaaay back when compared to what we have now, of the choices we made and the wondering if it is too late to take the risk to reach out for the brass ring, of aging and changing and loss - loss of abilities, loss of friends, of the life we think we have.

Well I think there is not much we can do if we are going to have a midlife crisis. It either is or it isn’t (and all that in between). I think more importantly to us at this age is this:

we need good geezer models
I mean - well think about it. Aging has had a bad rap in our society all these years - especially for women. (Men become “distinguished;” women become “crones.”) Growing old has been a bad joke - the majority of characters on television or in the movies are young.....and the older people tend to be cranky or selfish or lonely or spoofs - lots of old crackpots in the media. And here all we are - we baby-boomers (the generation who refuses to believe they are actually “aging” - peace brother *flashing the peace sign*) have set the pace for sooooo long.....refusing to bend to the masses and expected norms......and what? Now we have to also create our own geezer models?

I think not.

Some of us have been searching for good geezer models for awhile. I look for them at airports, at the grocery, at the movies, and at family gatherings. I am having a difficult time here. At the airport I tend to find those “distinguished gents” with barrel bellies, wearing plaid polyester pants and have on baseball caps with sayings like, “Gone Fishing!” And the women....well those “old crones” seem to have dyed fluffy hair, glasses which peak at the eyebrows, and shopping bags full of things like tissues and grandchildren souvenirs (t-shirts with sayings like, “Gramma went to Las Vegas and all I got was this t-shirt”) and the barrel-bellied husband’s pills....and they nag one another about what they left on the plane or “Now Norman, you know you always get the directions wrong” and stuff like that. Not really inspiring, eh?

What is the criteria for a good geezer model? Growing older with dignity and grace.....accepting life is as it is and not something else....accepting others as they are and not someone else......not constantly discussing their ailments (I mean I am glad they had a good bowel movement, but do I need to have that image while I eat?)....wisdom and advice but realizing that taking advice is a choice.....constantly growing and learning.....not giving up nor giving IN.

Not too much to expect from a role model, eh?

Paul Newman was a good geezer model.....so is Joanne Woodward....Katherine Hepburn......Jimmy Carter.....my mom is a pretty good geezer model (except for that annoying habit of telling me all about people of whom I have no clue.... their names and details of their lives and searching searching searching for the exact date it happened “Was it Tuesday? No, I think it was Wednesday.....*voice fading*....no no! *conviction in the voice* It was Monday last month...*slight pause*...or was it the month before?”) *rolling eyes*

Yep. GGM’s are seemingly few and far between. I continue to search. And try to decide if I want my midlife crisis today (I want to be young enough to enjoy that red convertible and those two or three young babes on my arms - what? what?....that is the male version of a midlife crisis?? damn! sex discrimination even in my own crisis?) or perhaps wait a few years until I can afford it (I could live to 135!! It could happen!). Decisions....decisions.

Meanwhile the beat definitely goes on.....peace~~~

The Celery of Life

Okay...so the morning went as usual......we woke up later than we had planned. We are heading out to San Antonio, TX to spend a few days and wanted to make sure everything was in order before we left. Never been there and I love old missions. And the Alamo. And a bit of warmth after the very cold windy days here lately. We dropped off the dog at the pet sitters (I had taken the cats to the kitty jail already. They were so happy to go that they sang and laughed very loudly all the way there) and headed to the Park n Fly lot. So far, so good. But the airport was crazy. I watched everyone of us get all excited about those little things, standing in a long line to get xray-zapped...rushing to the gate so you can sit and wait. You know, all those things that make us crazy.  It reminded me of my Celery of Life analogy.....


The Celery of Life   Work is over and you have a ‘few things’ to get at the grocery. You enter the busy-cause-everyone-is-stopping-for-a-few-things-after-work store with your shopping list in hand and rush to grab a grocery cart - usually out of the hands of someone seemingly weaker than you. The front right wheel wobbles a bit, slightly dragging the cart to the right so that you have to fight a straight walk. And you consider offering this cart benevolently to that little old woman you knocked over in order to grab it.....but realize there are no other carts.....and you move off through the masses.

You first walk through the produce department for the onion, then on to the bakery department. Then you meander up and down the isles, searching for just the right box of cereal....slowly moving, searching all the shelves, weaving back and forth in an effort to avoid a head-on collision with the other shoppers.

Suddenly, out of the blue, unexpectedly (redundancy is good) the cart stops! You are flung against it, your body doubled over the handlebar. The surprise throws you and you almost lose your breath. You shake the cart, try to move forward again and...nothing. You try to move the cart backwards, then forwards and...nothing. Your blood pressure rises and you start to sweat, to swear, shaking the cart, bouncing it up and down and...nothing.

You bend down to examine the front right wheel and find a little piece of celery has lodged in the hub....lean down and pluck it out. You stand, smooth your clothing, look around and smile at the other shoppers, then continue on your way.....

How many things every day take us by surprise and we immediately react as if this was the biggest deal in the world...only to find it is simply a small piece of celery lodged in our hub that really only takes a plucking out and moving on.

peace~~~

Coolness

You remember that old game: if you could be any animal, what would it be?  Well I always wanted to be a leopard.  Man they are so sleek and cool and sophisticated.  They slink around, powerful shoulders moving in sync with the earth, head down but taking in everything.  Cool and aloof.
And I picture myself walking through a crowd in a slinky black dress that clings to my body in just that perfect way, the hem floating across the floor.  My fuck-me shoes are glimpsed now and again as I saunter past; being cool and aloof.  People turning to watch me pass, wondering who I am and what I am thinking.  Mysterious.  Dangerous.  Powerful.

Okay....now change the question to: what animal best represents who you are?  And the fantasy evaporates........*fading to black*

See, I have never been cool.  Just not “cool” material.  I could put on that slinky dress and would never know it was caught up in the back in my pantyhose.  If I didn’t turn my ankle in those high heels, I would get a nose bleed from the height.  And how can I slink around when I kinda bounce rather than saunter?  And it’s difficult to get “just the right affect” in facial expressions to remain aloof when I give everyone eye contact while smiling all the time.  And I’d have to talk.  Oh yeah.....I’d have to talk.  A former lover and one of my closest friends calls me “Brook” cause he says I can run to babbling.

And sophisticated?  HA!

No.....to answer the second question....I am not a leopard.  I am curious and inquisitive and a bit uncoordinated (okay okay...maybe a little more than a “bit.”  Neighbors rush outside and offer to clean my gutters when they see me getting the ladder out....I have a tendency to bump into a closed door and then I actually open it.....I own my own pair of crutches....).  I want to explore everything in life - I don’t want to miss out on something important (nor obviously anything unimportant either....maybe I should examine differentiation and creating priorities....nah).  I have to check out things and sniff them, taste them, and spit them out if they are nasty.  I root through the day.

And happy?  Oh yeah.

So....a leopard is not the correct animal which represents me....that would be a full blown puppy.  A mutt.  Big feet and overzealous.  Romping and cavorting.

I dated a guy for a year who allowed me to “feel” sophisticated and cool.  We drove around in a Lincoln Town Car (Whooohoooo!), but I am a VW bug kinda gal.   He opened my doors (“It is the southern way, ma’am.”) and treated me like a “lady”  (Believe me, I ain’t no lady.  *beamin with womanly pride*).   I felt slinky and tried to act cool.  But instead of feeling powerful, I started losing power....falling into those old male/female roles that I had worked so hard to change.  I stopped being assertive and found myself in a more passive role.  I was no longer in control of my own life.....I had reverted back to allowing someone else to be in control.  Ewwwwwwww

Well it is good to try new things :)  But I am definitely a puppy *wagging my tail with my tongue flopping about while I grin and enjoy myself*

come romp with me
as we race to meet the wind

And the beat goes on.....peace :)  *woof*