It's A Wonderful Life...

Yesterday was one of my favorite days of the year. The day my children and I go to the mall to see Santa. We’ve done it every year and the funny thing is that I, being rather frugal (okay cheap) never bought the ‘photo’ with Santa until Charles turned 18. For some reason I thought that year would be the last time that he’d go along with it all. Turns out, I was wrong. Our tradition is going strong and this year at ages 22, 20 and 15 they all sat on Santa’s lap, told him what they wanted for Christmas and got their picture taken.

And my soul is happy.

As a homeschooling family years ago, we’d choose a date that we thought would net the smallest crowds for setting out to shop for daddy, see Santa and go out for lunch. As the kids grew older and situations changed we’d always reserve one day for our annual outing. Now we adjust around work schedules, college finals and high school but we nevertheless always find a day to spend together. And we always go out for lunch, shop for Steve and see Santa.

A couple of years ago we went to Target to shop for Steve. He is a little nerdy at times. But hey, who doesn’t love a nerd? He likes little gadgets and quirky flashlights and things. Our favorite one to mock him over is the little ‘over the ear’ flashlight that looks like it wants to be a Bluetooth headset when it grows up. Anyway, somehow we ended up in the isle with all sorts of just the types of gadgets the kids mercilessly tease Steve for liking. There was much hooting and laughing as they found the geekiest items possible, each choosing one they thought they could get the most mileage out of. Regaling Steve with the stories of the party we had in the isle at Target was almost as much fun as the actual party in the isle at Target!

So, yesterday we made our annual trip. We had to wait for Parker to finish his last final exam and Anna had to skip a couple of periods of school but we made it to the mall and stopped to see how long we’d have to wait to see Santa. We were told Santa was on a break. If the dude can fly around the whole world in one night does he really need a potty break? Regardless, he was on a break and would be back at 2:15. But, I was told we could get an express pass which would allow us to get in line at 2:00. That seemed odd to me. Couldn’t I stand in line whenever I wanted? Whatever. I got the pass and we headed off to the food court for lunch. Boys to Panda Express. Girls to Paradise Café. We ate our lunch, told stories, laughed and had a wonderful time. When we finished we headed out to see our guy, Santa!

When we got to Santa’s village the line was short and we were greeted by a cute young man in Lederhosen. Charles had been complaining earlier that he didn’t like his current job and I suggested that he apply for a job as one of Santa’s helpers and he too could wear Lederhosen. He didn’t find me helpful. But as we were standing in line one of the helpers came up and told me that I needed to go to the elf desk and get an express pass. I said I already had one. He asked for what time. I handed it to him and said 2:00. He looked at it and said we were late. So, I told him we were having lunch at 2:00 and then I added, “You’re a cocky little elf, aren’t you?”

Being somewhat used to unpredictable and inappropriate things coming out of my mouth, my children began to laugh. Elf man didn’t seem all that amused but he did smile and pretended to find me funny. He walked away and the kids began to make up scenarios in which we never get to the front of the line to see Santa because the Lederhosen police always find a way to let others go in front of us as punishment for my bad behavior.

In reality, the wait to see Santa was relatively short. When we reached the front I asked the cocky little elf if he realized I was only joking. He assured me he knew I was joking and that what I said was far and away much less offensive than what some parents had said to him who were not joking! That made me feel sorry for him so I asked him if I could have my picture taken with him. We posed for the photo and I invited his Lederhosen look-alike to pose with us. He then asked if the photo would show up on Facebook. I said yes and asked if he wanted to sign a waiver. He said no and he was pretty sure he was already all over Facebook. In Lederhosen. That made me feel sorry for him all over again. I was hoping his photo was with small children and not a lot of cougars who have a thing for young men in Bavarian dress.

It seemed a humbling job.

Anyway, the kids went in to sit on Santa’s lap and Santa was a jokester and told Charles a political joke. We had some fun banter with Old St. Nick and then went on our merry way. We did a little shopping before ending our day of fun.

I love that my children make that day together a priority. I love that they cheerfully oblige me by sitting on Santa’s lap. I love that when one of Charles’s friends asked him what he was doing that day he told him he was going to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap. I love his friend’s response even more! “Dude, really?” I love the photo that results from our outing and I love the memories made each year. I love the laughter. I love the relationships. I love my children. That one day per year is the best gift I can ever hope to have.

I hope the cocky Lederhosen clad elf man/boy’s mother is as blessed as I.

God Bless Us Everyone...Even You Ugly Van Man

I had an interesting experience today. Not one I have ever had before and I can honestly say it is not one I’d like to have again! If I believed in karma, I’d have to assume I’ve been doing some bad stuff! As it was, I think I was just a normal human with a lot on my mind who made an error and encountered someone who seemed to be having a bad day.

Or maybe a bad life.

I spent an inordinate amount of time on the telephone this morning getting quite a run around regarding my mother’s Medicare and Supplemental insurance. I’ll spare the boring details but it was a somewhat maddening experience and I felt a little like I was in a cycle from which I couldn’t escape. My mother’s well being was hanging in the balance and given her cognitive abilities these days I simply couldn’t ask her to take care of her own business. So…I cycled.

I finally got the phone number of someone whom I was assured could help me. I called the woman and left a message asking her to call me at her earliest convenience. I then proceeded to go to my mother’s apartment to pick her up for an appointment. What I found, when I got to her apartment, however, was a very disoriented and ill little old woman. Once again she had failed to take her medications the previous day. She often forgets to take the evening dose which renders her feeling ill the next day but she had not taken a single pill yesterday and she was really unwell today. I began the process of attempting to get her to take her pills, making her toast to get food in her stomach, cancelling her appointment and getting someone from building maintenance to clean the carpet upon which she had vomited.

My attempts were not very successful and it seemed her heart was racing and she was having trouble catching her breath. I contacted the nurse where she lives to see if she would come to my mom’s apartment to assess the seriousness of the situation. Eventually the nurse, Juanita, was more successful than I in getting medication and some food in my mother. I went to the store to get some things she could easily swallow. Once I dropped those things off and felt confident my mom would be okay I left to go pick Anna up at school.

I noticed my fuel light was on telling me it was time to put gas in my car. I was going to make a left turn into the gas station and my phone began to ring. Ordinarily I would ignore my phone while driving but, because I was waiting for the woman to call me back regarding Medicare and I didn’t want to miss it, I checked my phone. I was very distracted as I almost pulled in front of an oncoming car. I stopped and waited for other cars to pass and a young man in an ugly old van behind me honked impatiently. Undaunted by his impatience I waited until I thought it was safe but then the light turned so I waited longer. This did not endear me to Ugly Van Man. Nor did it endear me to the woman on the corner waiting to cross the street with a small child and another in a stroller. Because it was a beautiful, sunny, warm day I had my window down and she began to yell at me for blocking the crosswalk. I was sorry that I blocked it but Ugly Van Man was right on my rear bumper making it impossible for me to back up.

The light turned green and I proceeded to make the left turn and go into the gas station. The man in the van (it had curtains, this should have been a tip off) followed me and when I pulled up to the gas pump he pulled up beside me and yelled out his window, “You are a stupid, fucking, bitch, aren’t you?”

I am guessing this was a rhetorical question as he didn't wait for my answer.

He drove away and I got out and put fuel in my car. As I left the station I noticed the same, rather distinctive, van parked in the parking lot. I drove to a parking spot a couple of isles over and searched frantically for a piece of paper. I couldn’t find anything that didn’t have my name or address on it and I thought it would be a bad idea to write this man with a rather ugly temper a note on paper revealing my identity. I’m brave but not that brave. And contrary to what he thought, I am not stupid!

Eventually I found a blank envelope and I jotted a quick note to the impatient man with the ugly van. I said that I realized I had made an error in judgment at the light and had inconvenienced him. I added that I hope when he made a mistake that others would be less harsh in criticizing him. I concluded by suggesting that we could all work toward making the world a better place by being kinder and less judgmental. And certainly less vile...but I didn't add that part.

Just as I finished the note and was about to exit my car to go put it on his windshield, I looked up and noticed that the van was moving! Darn it! I followed him for a good bit, hoping for the opportunity to address him or give him my hastily crafted note but he kept turning in directions that took me in the exact opposite direction that I needed to go. And it was getting late.

I abandoned my mission to try and kindly admonish Ugly Van Man and went on my way. But, because I couldn’t address him, I opted to address anyone who might read this blog.

I don’t claim that my driving skills today were stellar. I don’t claim that what I did should not have evoked some frustration on the part of others. But really, following me to be insulting? Not only does that go beyond lacking class…it certainly doesn’t do anything to make this world a better place. So he had to wait an extra 120 seconds to make the left turn. In the grand scheme of things, does that really matter?

The incidents of my day didn’t constitute a crisis, merely a distraction. I don’t advocate driving while distracted but there are times when it is difficult to avoid. How did yelling obscenities at me help Ugly Van Man? Did it really make him feel better to behave in such a vitriolic manner? No, I didn’t take his hateful words to heart. I didn’t internalize his nasty message. But I did think it was terribly sad that he was so selfish that he couldn’t just let my error pass. I’m willing to bet he has made a mistake before too.

Kindness really isn’t so hard. Overlooking the faults of others just isn’t that difficult. If I am going to criticize you for your mistakes then I need to acknowledge that I make them too. We can all try to be just a little kinder. Can’t we?

Grace and peace to you, Ugly Van Man.

Just Another Manic Monday...

Sometimes I have the sensation that I’m experiencing one of those weird, out of body moments. Not that I have died; just that sanity seems to be eluding me, no matter how hard I try to at least meet it half-way. Such was the case when my friend Shelly and I made a trip to visit our mothers at their retirement community.

Feeling off schedule and a bit restless about my dissertation proposal, I had set some achievable goals for myself in the hopes of breaking a long stretch of little progress. It was one of those ever-optimistic Mondays when all new things are begun; diets, exercise programs, writing plans. But, before I’d been able to settle into work, Shelly called. She had been providing day care for a number of children but on this particular Monday she had only two children to care for and thought it would be fun to take the children, and lunch, to visit our mothers.

I had a momentary hesitation but decided that the proposal could wait one more day. Afterall, which was more important, bringing joy to the elderly or feeling like a hamster in a wheel, cranking away at a paper that never seems to have a conclusion? Turns out…the paper might have been the better choice.

Shelly had some food already prepared so I volunteered to make dessert and we set a time that she would pick me up and we’d be off. I whipped up a batch of brownies and told my dissertation we’d start anew on Tuesday.

This was the same Monday that I received the infamous, “What day is it?” phone call from my mother. Perhaps the phone call should have been a sign, one of those ‘turn back now’ moments so apparent to the reader of a novel but hidden from the naïve protagonist headed straight into a trap.

Thinking it would appease her a bit, I told her of the plans to bring lunch and come for a visit. That most certainly did not fix the fact that it wasn’t Tuesday but sure, she thought a visit would be nice.

Shelly and I arrived with lunch and toddlers and our mothers were at the front door waiting for us. The mothers have lived in the same retirement community for a couple of months and have spoken almost daily. They have dinner together and go on outings together and by appearance, anyway, one would think they are best friends. It seems more likely that they are just perpetually new friends. Upon meeting at the entrance to the building they greeted one another and then Shelly’s mom, Nancy, informed my mother that she was meeting Shelly for lunch, that her friend Sue was coming over and that they would be meeting Sue’s mom as well. My mother informed Nancy that she was, in fact, Sue’s mother. A later recounting of the story…several times…brought gales of laughter from Nancy. Nancy is the poster child for ‘dementia can be fun!’

We had planned to have lunch in the large, sunny atrium but it was decorated for an upcoming event so we chose to move our little party to a small community room. We settled in and had gotten everyone served when a resident walked in, took one look at the two little boys with us and exclaimed, “Oh, you brought the triplets!” Shelly and I exchanged perplexed glances and counted children. Nope, she had only brought two. Before she could respond, however, the woman wandered off. A few minutes later another resident came in and asked Shelly where the third one was. Eventually we were able to put together the pieces of the puzzle. The atrium was decorated for a memorial service and the woman who had died was frequently visited by a woman who must have looked a lot like Shelly and had triplets. Our impromptu party on the day of the memorial service was causing confusion over who was who. Not that confusion of that sort was particularly unusual there anyway.

Upon hearing that a memorial service was on the day’s agenda, Nancy began to make plans for everyone to attend. My mother said she didn’t know the dead woman. That didn’t seem to matter to Nancy and she insisted that Shelly and I and the ‘triplets’ attend. No matter how much any of us said we would not be attending the memorial service, Nancy was adamant that we would all be attending.

The conversation over lunch essentially covered three rotating topics. One, our mandatory attendance at the memorial service. Two, a recent newspaper article about a boy who had been hit by a school bus and lost his legs, complete with Nancy recounting the grisly details of his legs being crushed. And three, the story of Nancy’s inability to remember my mother when they met at the front door earlier.

My mother seemed to be having a miserable time. But, it was Monday, damnit. What could I expect.

Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over we circled around the three topics. Nancy insisted that my mother would attend the memorial service. My mother insisted she would not. Nancy insisted that my mother would attend the memorial service. My mother insisted she would not.

In attempt to escape the conversational loop I got out the calendar of events and started asking Nancy which events she’d like to attend. We signed her up for shopping trips and scenic rides and I carefully wrote out each event on a slip of paper in an effort to help her remember. This provided a bit of reprieve from the boy's crushed legs and the upcoming memorial service.

Once we had completed that exercise, my mother quietly muttered, “I guess I’d better go this afternoon.” Her statement caught Nancy’s attention and she exclaimed, “What is happening this afternoon?” An hour and a half of bickering about attending the memorial service and when my mother finally conceded to attending, Nancy couldn’t remember what was taking place.

I didn't think my mother really meant what she said about the service so I walked her back to her apartment so she could rest. As soon as we were out of earshot of the others she wheeled around, glared at me, and snarled, “Don’t you ever bring those little kids over here again.”

I was taken aback by her viscous chastisement although I’m not sure why. Verbal attacks are a way of life with her. Regardless, I wasn’t sure where her disapproval of the children had come from. They were very well behaved amid the revolving conversation, memory loss and general mayhem she and Nancy had caused.

At her apartment, I gave her a hug and said goodbye. Given her general surliness I was sure she’d take a nap as soon as I left. My next stop was Nancy’s apartment where Shelly had gone to say goodbye to her mother. I arrived amid a frantic search for an appropriate sympathy card to take to the memorial service. Unable to find one, Nancy settled on a cheerful birthday card. She’d just cross out the Happy Birthday salutation.

Oh. My. Gosh.

We made our way to the lobby and as we passed by the atrium I noticed a smattering of people gathering for the memorial service. As much as I should not have been surprised by her caustic remark about the children, I should also not have been surprised by my mother having taken a front row seat at the memorial service she had insisted she would not attend.

The words to Manic Monday suddenly came to mind….

I'm Only Human...Really!

This really happened to me. Sometimes having my mother nearby is a source of bemusement. Such is the case with this story.

My mother called and left a message on my phone asking me what day it was. It was Monday but she was just sure when she awoke it was Tuesday. I had committed to taking her to a nail appointment on Tuesday and she got up and dressed for the ‘outing’ to get her nails done. Her neighbor stopped by, as she does every morning, and in the course of their conversation informed my mother that it was Monday, not Tuesday.

Hence the call to me for verification.

I returned my mother’s call and told her that it was, in fact, Monday.

“It is?” she questioned.

I affirmed that it was Monday. She went on to question my answer and became irate with me and said she had gotten up and was all ready for me to pick her up for her nail appointment.

There was little to respond with so I simply said, “okay.” This seemed to agitate her even more and she insisted that she was ready for the nail appointment. Now!

I reminded her that just because she wanted it to be Tuesday didn’t mean that it was really Tuesday! She became increasingly angry with me and ended the conversation with, “Well, I’m in my nice clothes now and I’m NOT changing.”

So there.

That ought to teach me to tell her it is Monday when she wants it to be Tuesday!

I’m certain a number of different emotions played into her response to me. Pride, disappointment and embarrassment come to mind first. I tried to laugh it off for her sake. I figured if we made a joke out of it she could more easily let it go. She wasn’t all that responsive to the humor but at least it put an end to her tirade.

I know she can’t help it when she gets confused but there is something comical about her anger at me. Sure, I like to think of myself as a Goddess now and then. But control of the earth’s rotation is just slightly out of my realm.

But if it snows when she doesn’t want it to…I’m in BIG trouble!

Martini the Monk Cat

I recently met Al, a resident at the retirement village where my mother lives. Al is pleasant, if a little vague. I’m never quite certain he’s attending to the conversation at hand. He does seem focused when he tells me I’m pretty but at other times I’m not sure he is completely engaged. His vagueness isn’t so bad, really. The biggest problem with Al is that regardless of the clarity of his conversation, once he starts talking there doesn’t seem to be an off button. Recently, Al told me the story of his cat, Martini. He was entirely present in this conversation. I admit, I was equally as enthralled.

Al has a companion cat whom he loves. I haven’t actually seen Martini myself. Not that Al hasn’t invited me to his apartment to see Martini. He has. But, I have been warned by staff members that Al invites everyone to his room to see Martini and it doesn’t take long before he is also showing off his vibrating bed and inviting whomever is present; other residents, staff, visitors, to try out the bed with him. Somebody really ought to be monitoring the Viagra use in that place! Anyway, I have declined invitations to meet Martini personally but that hasn’t kept Al from telling me all about Martini’s interesting, if just a little suspect, life.

According to Al, Martini is a Himalayan. He is also the smartest cat alive. Apparently Martini has a keen sensibility regarding human nature and, upon meeting someone, will sit across the room and size up the individual. Before he engages in any interaction, Martini observes to see just what he is dealing with. If he likes you, he’ll allow you to pet him. If he doesn’t, he keeps his distance. Now, as a cat person, I’ve got to say, that just doesn’t sound all that unusual. Nor overly intelligent.

But, Martini also knows how to communicate what he needs and wants through some sort of telepathic mind meld or something. Al says that Martini never makes a sound. Never meows. Never chirps. Never trills. I live in a house with three cats and the idea of a silent cat is rather foreign to me. At least one of them is always chirping, hissing, growling, meowing or purring. They are a noisy bunch! But not Martini. He merely looks deeply into your eyes and communicates. Now, that type of limbic communication is fascinating in its own right but what I found even more interesting is why Martini never vocalizes.

Martini was raised in a monestary.

Well sure. Martini was raised by monks. I mean, who would he talk to?

After my mother and I heard Al’s story of Martini the Monk cat she thought about it for a moment and then asked me why I thought the monks had given Martini up to live with Al.

Personally, I thought the answer was pretty obvious. Martini must have been excommunicated because he broke his vow of silence. Overheard chirping at a bird, Martini was banished from the monastery and sent to be the companion of a slightly loopy, hormonally charged man with a walker and a vibrating bed.

Woe to the monk cat who dares to go astray…

The Little PhD Student Who Could

I hiked my first 14er last week. I’ve been wanting to hike one for some time now but, like most things, moving from desire to action took a while. With a little help from my friend who has hiked a couple of 14,000 foot peaks I was able to do it!

We started hiking while it was raining. I admit the idea of hiking for several hours in the rain did not appeal to me but there I was and if the rain had plans to stick around all day who was I to argue? I figured we’d just make the best of it. As it turned out, it only rained for a few minutes of our hike and then some sun and cloud cover made for the perfect hiking day.

The hike started out easy enough. The trail was on relatively level ground with a few ups and downs but nothing difficult. My friend Tambra and I hiked along and visited and periodically took in the beautiful scenery. Our teenaged companions trucked ahead of us and Ginger the Hiking Dog redoubled her steps by checking in on both groups.

Eventually the terrain started to change and the trail sloped upward rather dramatically. The slight elevation gain we had experienced earlier in the hike began turning into a much more strenuous incline. It was at this point that I broke off from my hiking companions and turned my thoughts inward. Something inside of me clicked. I began channeling my inner mountain goat.

Each step of the climb became more focused. Each resting spot more savored. I became very intentional that my rests allow for adequate re-vivification but not extend too long so that my motivation waned. With each step I became more focused and more inward. And with each step I got closer and closer to the most challenging part of the climb to the summit.

In order to reach the top of Mt. Bierstadt, the hiker must scale a boulder field for about a quarter of a mile. As I grew closer to the boulder field I realized how much the process of completing a PhD mirrored the experience of climbing the mountain. Perhaps it was the thin mountain air that lent itself to my slightly hokey analogy but hokey or not, the motivational effect was profound.

When I first began a doctoral program I was eager, optimistic and full of anticipation. I’d never completed a PhD before, obviously, and knew little of what to expect. I finished coursework with the relative ease I’d always experienced in school and had no idea of what was coming next. As I entered the second phase of the process, writing my dissertation proposal, I found myself much more isolated and the climb to the next step much more arduous. I remain in this step of the process. I find the isolation disconcerting at times and my periods of rest are far too long and disruptive. I know, as I push myself along this path, that the boulder field of my doctoral progress awaits me.

While hiking I began to visualize the ways in which the climb to the top of a 14,000 foot peak could help me finish my goal and graduate. Already through the level ground and about half-way up the middle climb, I saw the middle section of the hike as analogous with the middle section of my doctoral process. On the hike, I reached a patch of snow that marked the beginning of the boulder field. I stopped walking, took a rest, and celebrated both completing that section of the hike and my future successful defense of my dissertation proposal. The patch of snow represented that defense and I basked in the coolness while anticipating the grueling climb over huge boulders that awaited me.

When I felt ready, I stopped at the bottom of the boulder field and looked up. All I could see were the massive rocks in front of me. I couldn’t see the summit nor how far I had to climb to reach it. But, I knew the top…the end of the climb…awaited me. I climbed over a rock. I climbed over another rock. For the remainder of the hike I was no longer walking but literally clambering my way over obstacles until I finally reached the summit. In my visualization I saw the boulder field as the final leg of my dissertation process.

I reached the top of the summit and took in the beauty surrounding me. For as far as I could see there were mountain ranges, one after another growing dimmer in the distance. I understand why lyricists have written about the glory of God being evident from this view. And then, after taking in the splendor of being, literally, on top of the world, I envisioned my future graduation and final completion of my PhD.

I believe in the power of visualization as a motivator. That day on the mountain I knew I could finish what I started both in climbing a 14,000 foot peak and in completing my doctoral dissertation. When I started the hike I simply wanted to accomplish hiking to the top of a 14er but when I completed the hike I felt a renewed sense of my ability to do whatever I set my mind to! Thank you Mt. Bierstadt!

Status Update

Status has always been a big deal to my mother. I guess it must be a lifelong concern because even at 81 she is playing her status cards at every opportunity.

Last weekend the ‘Village’ had a style show. I didn’t plan to attend with my mom but she was looking forward to going. One of my favorite residents, Phil, laughingly told me he was going to attend, but he would be on the second story overlooking the atrium, prepared to spit or catcall, depending on what seemed most inappropriate. He also told the coordinator of the style show to have plenty of duct tape handy. I love Phil.

Anyway, my mom was prepared to attend the style show but at the last minute she was asked to be a model. The store sponsoring the show was Coldwater Creek and my mother was asked to model something from their ‘junior’ department. Okay, so I’ve been in a Coldwater Creek store before and I’m sure they have perfectly nice clothing but I always think I’m simply not old enough to wear those fashions. I’m having trouble envisioning a junior department. Regardless, my mom was asked to participate. Initially she declined the invitation because she can’t walk very well without support of her walker or something to stabilize her balance. She was told, however, that a suitable escort would be found so that she could leave her walker behind. In no time she was donning a pair of red Capri pants and strutting through the atrium with a handsome stud on her arm. She suddenly achieved celebrity status!

Someone from the ‘Village’ staff took photos of her and gave my mom copies. She showed the photos to pretty much everyone in the place. All were impressed. I think she was the only model who merited a hunky guy as an escort, which improved her position considerably.

In addition to being a fashion model, she has started volunteering in the marketing office at the ‘Village.’ She invited a friend to volunteer with her a few days ago but apparently found the other woman’s inability to follow directions frustrating and finally concluding that the other resident simply hadn’t ever worked a day in her life. The first time my mom volunteered she was given a free meal ticket. After working the second time she asked for her free meal ticket and was told that the marketing budget didn’t allow for a meal ticket every time she worked. She was miffed about that and said she didn’t plan to volunteer anymore.

Perhaps we need to review the meaning of the word volunteer. Regardless, I’m sure the status she gets from ‘working’ there will have her back in volunteer mode soon. Not without complaining and griping about the lack of compensation, I am sure, but she’ll be working nonetheless.

Being in a relationship also seems to enhance one’s status in her living environment. I thought a romance was in the works a couple of weeks ago. She seemed to have her sights set on a particular man. She found a way to sit by him, boss him around, receive gifts from him and in general make sure he knew all about her. I thought for sure love was in the air. I expected a visit from Captain Stubing and Julie at any moment. But, it seemed to have ended as quickly as it started. I asked about him the other day and her response was, “Oh, he gets on my nerves.” “Why,” I asked. “He slobbers when he talks,” came her impatient response.

Clearly a deal breaker….status or no status.

She's Having Trouble Getting Acquainted?

The adventure continues…

Things are actually going along much better than I thought they would! Mommie Dearest has now been officially in her apartment for two weeks and, all-in-all, I think it is going great! She, of course, has a different opinion.

She needs a couch so I took her shopping for one. That is a trick. She can’t remember one couch from the other in the time it takes to go from one side of the store to the other. I finally resorted to taking a photo of each couch and writing down the cost and dimensions. It could take months for her to make a decision. In the meantime, without a couch it just doesn't feel like home to her.

There have been a couple of ‘down’ days. One when she forgot to take her medication. Her doctor didn’t seem to think it should affect her but I’m not sure he is right. That will require observation. Another day she was just tired and weepy. She said she didn’t understand why she had two husbands and neither of them stayed alive long enough to take care of her in her old age. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she probably sucked the life right out of them! When her second husband died I told her she could not torture any more men. Lately I’ve been thinking one more could be sacrificed. But, she seems to think all of the men where she is living are too old. My attempts at matchmaking have largely fallen flat. It helps the matchmaking process if those being matched are able to remember one another from one meeting to the next.

Several times she has told me she is having trouble getting acquainted with people. Evidence points to the contrary. When she lived in Michigan she had three friends. She and her three friends forgot they weren’t in junior high, apparently, and would go to the dining room, commandeer ‘their’ table and intimidate others from trying to befriend them or sit with them. They sat at the ‘cool table,’ I guess. Anyway, now that she lives in Colorado she can’t seem to find a ‘cool table’ over which to reign. Recently she has taken to sitting with a group of men who welcome her company and say it is much more fun when she sits with them. Perhaps she can do some of her own matchmaking! Regardless, she tells me…

...she is having trouble getting acquainted.

A few days ago, while having lunch with Mommie Dearest, a woman named Marge told me that my mother seems to be doing great, participating in lots of things and meeting lots of people. This was all happening while my mother was having another conversation with a different woman about how her children had taken her car away and she couldn’t drive anymore and discussing and with yet another woman her hairstyle and the possibility of my mother adopting a similar style. Regardless, she tells me…

…she is having trouble getting acquainted.

Yesterday my siblings and I got an email from Mommie Dearest saying that she was doing volunteer work with the marketing rep at ‘The Village’ stuffing envelopes and affixing address labels in exchange for meal tickets. Today she will be having lunch with prospective residents and telling them all about her experience with moving into Cherry Creek Retirement Village. I’m sure she’ll tell them…

…she is having trouble getting acquainted.

Savoring Summer

June 1 has come and gone. Thus marks the beginning of summer.

I am aware that the ‘official’ start to summer won’t happen for 20 more days but for me summer is now fully up and running. It happens to be my favorite season.

Its favorite status might be a throwback to the years when I was home schooling my children and summer marked a carefree time when the only requirements for the day were getting up in the morning and playing late into the night.

But being my favorite season could go all the way back to my childhood. I loved summer because it meant no school. Even in college, although I worked in the summer, there was a definite marking of time when school was out and summer was in.

Regardless, summer, as with every season, is nature's way of reminding us that time marches on.

In my early adult years I relocated from Michigan to Southern California and that was the first time I noticed that seasonal changes held within them significant reminders to stop and savor life. I was young and not as apt to reflect on how quickly time slips by but the lack of significant difference between an LA summer and an LA winter bothered me. It was then that I realized that the change of seasons is a regular reminder that time never stops. We grow older. Life changes and we can never slow it down. Without intentionally regarding each day as special, one melds right into the other and years pass before we even realize it.

In the years when my children were little the passage of time seemed at warp speed. Granted, the seasons changed; their birthdays and special accomplishments marked the years. I observed them with care but with so much happening there was little time to fully reflect on how fast it was all passing. At least summer afforded us a bit more down time to just relax and enjoy one another.

Throughout the years when I was working I rarely got to fully enjoy the seemingly purposeless days of summer. One season blended into the next without much fanfare.
Last summer I quit my job in early July. I vowed to fully embrace and savor each summer day. But, by the time my siblings and I had cleaned out my mom’s house and I had rested up from too many months of being overwhelmed…summer was coming to a close and I hadn’t embraced or savored.

And here I am again…another summer has arrived and another vow has been made! Maybe this year it is different. Maybe all this recent reflection on aging and the constant reminders of how brief life truly is will actually cause me to pause and savor this most favorite season.

I still have the daily routines to follow and a dissertation to write. But, it is all about to change. I can feel it. Just three short years from now my last baby will be finished with high school. By that time both my boys will have left home for good. The time for me to stop and savor these moments is now. I’ll never get these moments again.

So in honor of June 1, 2010…a day I’ll never live again…I planted sage in my herb garden and put of pot of basil and a tomato plant on my deck to be lovingly tended each day. By having to water and care for these plants I hope I’m reminded to slow down and lovingly tend to the people in my life as well.

Robert Frost said it best: “There’s absolutely no reason for being rushed along with the rush. Everybody should be free to go very slow.”

PollyAnna Was Right!

She’s here now.

The move to Colorado actually went much better than I anticipated. We got my mom packed without incident. And she was calm through the whole flight from Michigan to Colorado. She stayed at our house for a few days and yesterday she moved into the guest apartment at her new retirement village.

So far so good.

Aside from obsessing about not having a wristwatch she seems pretty happy. Apparently we packed all of her watches and she can’t seem to function without knowing what time it is. Her things will arrive in a few days and once I get her permanent apartment unpacked she’ll be able to monitor the time. Of course she will then find something else to obsess about but at least she’ll know what time it is!

I’ve been with her at ‘the village’ every day this week and I find it to be a delightful experience! I’ve had a few elderly men and hit on me. Of course they say something like “You sure are pretty,” and then a few minutes later tell me they suffer from macular degeneration but hey, a compliment is a compliment!

Perhaps the most wonderful part of this experience for me is seeing first-hand the power of attitude. Much like my experience in observing older people at the recreation center, I find that the spirit of the people my mom lives around contagiously positive!

When I walk through the doors of the building I can feel the positive energy that permeates the environment. Most of the residents use a walker. Some have portable oxygen tanks. I’m fairly certain several can’t see or hear very well. But I see smiles everywhere! Literally everywhere. I have yet to speak to a resident that isn’t positive, joyful and playful. It is truly amazing. I would have thought that being elderly and compromised would foster negativity but in this place that just simply isn’t the case!

Every day I speak with Ray. He sits at the front door like a sentry; walker at the ready. It doesn’t matter what time I arrive, I can always count on Ray to be sitting by the front door to greet me. I’ve fallen madly in love with Joe who has such a happy countenance I can’t help but feel joyful in his presence. When Joe moved to ‘the Village’ he was, literally, dying of a broken heart. His wife’s death plunged him into a deep and deadly depression. His desperate family moved him to this retirement community where he now thrives and absolutely beams as he wanders the halls.

One after another I encounter joyful senior citizens…people whose lives have been reduced to 600 square foot apartments, multiple medications and implements to aid their mobility…people whose days are fewer and fewer.

But they smile.

And they laugh.

As I observe this happy community I see something else happening. Something truly remarkable. I see this attitude rubbing off on my mother! My mother who was raised by prickly parents of her own. My mother whose guilt overwhelmed her when my father took his own life. My mother who later married a man who projected a nice outer image but spoke evil, angry words over her on a daily basis. My mother who has always thought her worth came from the beauty and outward appearance she now believes has faded.

In just a few short days, my mother is starting to respond to the positive energy of her surroundings.

The change isn’t huge. Yet. One would have to know my mother to even notice that it is happening. But I believe in the long run I will see changes in my mother I never thought were possible. And all because of the positive energy and attitude that is heaped on her every day.

And it has me thinking about the importance of heaping positive energy onto every person I see every day.

The residents my mother resides with could easily be mean and negative. But, in spite of their age and disabilities they choose joy. They chose to be thankful for every day they are given. It is easy to choose to be negative. It is much more courageous to choose to be positive.

I want to follow the examples of Ray and Joe and all the others I’ve been blessed to encounter in the past few days.

I choose joy.

Really....I'm Fine!

In the words of R.E.M, it’s the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine). At least it is about to become the end of the world as I know it. And I do feel fine. In two days I’ll board an airplane bound for Michigan. Time to make Mommie Dearest’s move to Colorado a reality.

I am thankful that I’ve had the past month to prepare for this life change. A lot of friends have come forward to offer their support, love and helpful advice. Many have moved elderly family members near them already and have supplied words of wisdom for me as I embark on this adventure. Their input has been invaluable. Several people have suggested books that have helped them deal with challenging people. I’ve devoured the pages and found much to learn from them. Many have spoken truthful words into my life by saying that regardless of my mother’s needs, I must complete my dissertation. Those words have been infused into my spirit and I know without a doubt that I’ll finish my dissertation and earn my PhD.

I think I’m ready. Or, at least as ready as I’ll ever be!

Part of my plan is to spend a few nights at my mom’s new apartment with her as she acclimates. And another part of my plan is to attend some activities with her to help her feel comfortable in her new surroundings and as she makes friends. I figure a little bingo and walker line dancing will be good for me. I may have to borrow a walker though. Given my dancing skills…that really seems only appropriate!

My sister and I discussed some of these strategies on the phone the other day and we chuckled at our memories of childhood moves. We moved frequently and for little reason. My father wasn’t in the military. Nor was upward mobility really part of the program. My parents typically got a whim to move and, wham…it was time to move. I don’t recall ever being asked how I felt about it. I don’t recall anyone taking the time to help me acclimate. We just packed up, moved, unpacked and were expected to resume life without skipping a beat. Any suffering was done in silence. We didn’t want to get on my mother’s nerves!

As we talked about the difference in how we perceived moving when we were young with how I plan to deal with my mother it occurred to me that to treat her the way I remember being treated would be unfair. Unfair to her, certainly. She is elderly and needs help and compassion. But it would be unfair to me as well. The years I have lived away from my family have allowed me to know myself and know my true nature. And while it would be ridiculous to say that I’m not, at times, selfish or mean spirited, by and large I try to live my life in a way that cares for and honors both myself and others. I’m far from perfect at it but I know that serving my mother in this way will help hone my skills. It will be a tricky balancing act to keep her manipulation at bay while lovingly attending to her needs. It will take nerves of steel to guard against her ability to control almost any situation by creating chaos and confusion. It will take tremendous resolve to not let her critical spirit hurt or annoy me. I won’t always do it right. Not even close.

But, I’m entering into a phase of life I feel I’ve been called into. This is something I’m being asked to do and I believe I have a responsibility to both her and to myself to do it with grace. I won’t know what that looks like until I’m in the midst of it. And I may not always recognize my mistakes until long after the fact. I am most thankful, though, that I won’t be doing it alone. My husband and children seem ready to take this on with me. My friends have offered to step in and walk this path with me. And really…how difficult can dealing with one little old lady be?

I guess I’m about to find out…..

Oxygen and Pepsi...for the Good Life!

We are now at T-minus three weeks until I fly to Michigan and return with my mom to help her establish a new life in Colorado. I know it is going to be challenging for her, physically and emotionally. And I know I’m in for a lot of anger, tears and unkindness. I don’t relish that part. But I am hopeful that I can give her the space she needs to talk about her feelings and I hope I can help guide her to a place of forgiveness. I hope she will eventually understand that the things my brother, sister and I have done in the past year have been out of love and concern for her. And I am working on strategies to diffuse her vitriolic outbursts with kindness and humor. The other day Steve said he thought if anyone could give my mom the room she needs to feel what she feels it would be me. I truly hope he is right.

In the meantime, I seem to be surrounded by older people. Maybe I always have been and I just didn’t notice until I realized that much more of my life is going to be lived in the presence of older adults. Regardless, I am paying closer attention and recognizing the value of a life well lived as I see it played out in those around me.

The decision to move my mother to Colorado prompted an evaluation of my day-to-day life and the need for a more routinized approach to getting exercise. Otherwise known as stress management! I joined our local rec center and have been working out several times a week. Because I choose to work out in the late morning, I’ve noticed that the majority of people working out with me are older. Much older. Downright elderly.

And delightful.

While I’m swimming laps there is a water aerobics class taking place in the same pool. I see sagging skin and grey heads bobbing in the water. I see the group of mostly women and realize that I’m on my way to exactly the place they are. I seek out the faces that seem most joyful and focus on how I want that to be me! Sometimes when I’m running on the track I pass a man who is walking the same track…with a cane. I silently cheer him on each time I pass.

But my absolute favorite workout contemporary was the man I saw today. As I ran the track there was a man who looked to be in his mid-80s, toting his portable oxygen machine. He was on a weight machine and drinking a Pepsi and deeply engrossed in a conversation via his Bluetooth headset! He made me smile inside and out!

I have no idea what circumstances caused him to have to use oxygen. And I’m pretty sure Pepsi isn’t the recommended beverage for workout rehydration and I wonder about his ability to focus on good form while chatting on his headset. But he was there! And he was doing something! And, clearly he was enjoying himself!

So…as I prepare for my big life change and that of my mother’s, I am blessed by my daily encounters with joyful older people doing what they can to restore or maintain their health. I can’t predict what the future will look like once my mom is here but I do know that there is no coincidence in my daily encounters and the reminders that old age needn’t look like sadness and anger. Maybe I can bring something of this mindset to my mom. I don’t know. I know I’ll try. But regardless, these older adults are showing me a face of aging that makes me look forward to my future years. They provide me with a role model and something to which I can strive.

Who knows…maybe what I see in them can somehow translate to my mom. Never give up hope....

Ready or Not...Here She Comes!

The winds of change do seem to be blowing in my life. There seem to be a lot of shifts and gusts. So, I guess my normally calm existence is due to get a bit more exciting.

Mommie Dearest is headed west.

Okay, first off, Mommie Dearest is a term of endearment. Sort of. My mother wasn’t ever physically abusive. I just think it is funny to call her that. Secondly, when I moved over a thousand miles away from Mommie Dearest twenty-five years ago I had no idea that I’d discover in myself a person whom I really liked and who had been shoved beneath the surface by Mommie Dearest’s controlling ways. Once I moved away I never wanted to go back. And there was a good bit of safety in knowing I never, ever had to live near her again. Or so I thought.

Mommie Dearest is elderly now. Arthritis has crippled her body and she challenged by much of life. She lives in a retirement community in Michigan but a recent family decision has her moving to Colorado in just a few short weeks.

God help me. Literally.

I was a big advocate of the move. I still am. I am also terrified. But, this move allows her to move out of the chilly, damp climate of Michigan to the warmer and dryer air in Colorado. It also allows her to be near family who are willing to see her regularly, help her out frequently and be engaged in her life.

The problem with the plan is that Mommie Dearest is often mean spirited, regularly negative, and always a control freak. In years past when I knew she was coming for a visit I would sink into an uncharacteristic depression days before her arrival. Since the decision to have her move here I have had significant mood swings. Maybe it is because she is planning to move here. Maybe it is because I can’t seem to get my head wrapped around my dissertation or maybe it is because my body seems to be making some plans to start into menopause. I’m not sure which. Maybe all three.
Catch me one minute and I am looking forward to doing what I know is right and best for her. Catch me another minute and I’ll wax philosophical about life change and how I long to embrace it. Another moment might lend itself to different perspectives on aging. And then there are those moments when I want to curl into a fetal position and cry.

Regardless, she’s coming! In three weeks I’ll head back to Michigan and when I return to Colorado it will be with Mommie Dearest in tow. Let the adventure begin!