A Changed Life

Aging.  Knowing that it's happening to all of us is not very consoling.  I see the effects of the years of living on myself, especially when someone takes a picture of me.  I definitely don't like it and I wonder how I arrived at middle age so quickly.

 

I know that sounds so cliché but it's true.  I see those grey hairs working their way out of my scalp and for now those bad boys get dyed.  I also see lines starting to form on my face in places where I don't want them but I don't hate them so much that I would get botox injections or go under the knife.  Too scary.

 

As my mother says, "Every year is just a little more maintenance, and then a little more and then suddenly it takes you an hour to do what it used to take you ten minutes to do."  Okay Mom.  I am working to accept it for I know it's inevitable. 

 

That said, I do try to take care of myself and work hard to stay in shape and minimize the effects of the sun and other bad health decisions on my body; particularly my skin.  My personal theory about getting older is that it's all about your physical and mental energy: walking with a purpose, thinking good thoughts and approaching each day with a certain amount of zest!

 

I'm thinking of this subject today because a friend emailed me a recent interview NPR did with British author Penelope Lively (love her last name!) about her new book, Dancing Fish and Ammonites, a book that 81-year-old Lively says is about her "view from old age," a place I don't think about much because it once seemed to be a place so far, far away.

British author Penelope Lively

In particular in the interview, Lively talks about how it felt like to adjust to the unfortunate death of her husband, Jack, at 69-years old from cancer and her keen observations on how women and men adapt differently to going on with life after the death of a spouse.

Lively also notes that she is part of a new demographic in the Western world: for the first time, there's a large segment of the population over 80 and she notes that the effects of the additional time and attention it takes to care for such a large population of older people on the rest of society are yet to be seen.

Here, for all to read, and also listen to if you wish, is the link to Lively's NPR interview and pages from her insightful book:

http://www.npr.org/2014/03/17/290855933/author-penelope-lively-shares-the-view-from-old-age

Not To Worry

Why is it that I think that worrying about something will affect the circumstances of the thing I'm  worrying about?

 

It's as though the more I worry about it, the more I think I can push the situation to go the way I want.

My siblings and I talk a lot about worrying and why we worry.  Like A LOT.  As in a couple of times a week.

It's a good thing I come from a family of six children so we can rotate our calls to each other and no one ends up being burnt out from the constant chatter of one person over and over.  What do we worry about?  Besides our children, most of whom are now young adults and tell us not to worry about them, we worry about our wonderful parents who are in their eighties.  We all live within a hour or two of where my parents live and only out of love do we wonder if they need more of our help.

To say that my parents are independent and free spirited is an understatement but that is also what makes them so charming and so resistant to our offers of help.  I'm sure your family is much the same as ours where aging and illness are issues that are now at the top of the worry list.  It's a bit of a  juggling act trying to know when to offer assistance and when to leave it alone and let it work itself out.

Lots of people say that worry is a waste and I suppose that's true but it doesn't feel that way when you are actively worrying about people you care about.

Worry Beads

Usually worry starts with my thoughts and then as I start thinking about a situation, I unfortunately let myself get ahead to something that hasn't happened yet and maybe it won't ever happen but I still think to myself "What if that happens?"  Do you do this too?  Or am I in a class by myself?

When my thought process starts going round and round, stuck on a thought, I find I have to apply the mental brakes on myself and distract myself with some other activity.  If I don't stop thinking about the "what if's", then the worrying will affect my mood; as in getting a very intense headache.

At that moment I realize the negative effects of worrying: all that thinking, all that concern, all that energy focused on a certain situation, doesn't change whether it will happen.  Not one little bit.  In the meantime, I've made myself a an awful wreck.  Not. good. at. all.

Just as the repetition of handling the beads on a string of worry beads can be calming and healing so does saying positive affirmations to yourself.  Affirmations can help guide you to inner peace.  Sometimes I say; "Worry is a waste." "Worry is a waste." and other times I repeat "Resist worry. Resist Fear."  or "I am safe."

Most of the time my affirmations go a long way to making me feel better about whatever is going on and when they don't I know I can always grab my trusty phone and know that an understanding sibling is just a call away!

Getting In Gear

The calendar still says February but the warm temperatures this weekend offered me hope that Spring is close to arriving in my area of the world.

I think my neighbors felt the same way because all weekend I saw them emerging from their homes of hibernation, waving hellos and walking around their yards picking up recently fallen branches and small sticks and checking out winter's damages.  It was also nice to see the baby brigade out and about with strollers and young toddlers in tow.  While doing my errands, everyone seemed to be energized by the warm and shining sun.  Coats disappeared and even some shorts and flip flops appeared on a few righteous teenagers.  

 

Stretching and breathing in fresh air was the order of the day and it just felt great all around.  Even though I felt the tug of the next episode of "House of Cards" mentally calling me to the computer, I ignored it's mesmerizing pull and instead went for a long walk for at least a mile or two.  It's definitely a good walk when I lose track of time and distance and it's also definitely amazing how a walk can reset your outlook and change your mood.

 

 

We've gotten a lot of snow this season so it's been harder to go outside and exercise but I try to remind myself that I always feel better when I get myself in gear and do some sort of exercise whether it's walking, bicycling, dancing or running.  I tell myself myself that exercising offsets the bad effects of sitting in front of the computer for hours a time but unfortunately that doesn't seem to be true according to some recent news stories. 

 

It's a fact of life that I spend a lot of time in front of the computer.  Hours and hours.  When I am at my full-time job five days a week, I try to periodically get up and walk around the office to squeeze in some exercise time and then I try to do the same when I am at home writing Cry Laugh Heal which is not work at all but truly a passion for me.

It's a constant battle and as I get older I can see that activity truly is the key to having and maintaining good health.  I like to sometimes follow these three simple suggestions from The American Diabetes Association on how to increase physical activity in your daily routine: 

 

--Take the stairs, not the elevator.
--Park further away from your destination, so you have to walk more.
--At home, make several trips upstairs to building extra cardio into such things as putting away laundry or other household chores.

Good luck with your personal fitness and here is the link to the National Public Radio story that made me think differently about sitting around and vegging out:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2014/02/19/279460759/sit-more-and-youre-more-likely-to-be-disabled-after-age-60?utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=20140223&utm_source=mostemailed

Here's A Truth

Here's a truth:  when I write about the importance of being positive and finding positive inspiration in our lives, the idea of finding and doing that sometimes is as much for me as it is for you.

 

Please don't ever get the idea that I always have it together and that I am always able to just forge ahead with my life without any hesitations or second guessing or feeling inadequate.  I have those feelings just as anyone would.

I don't know about you, but those feelings tend to sneak up on me when I least suspect it and I fight hard to push them away so that they don't become the dominant feelings that I act on. 

 

I have lots of things going on in my life that I would love to write about because I think these situations are similar to things going on in your life.  But I can't.  I can't write about them because the people involved would be annoyed with me and would misunderstand why I wrote about it.

And so I keep this personal stuff to myself and try to work it out the best way I know.  Just as everyone is carrying around emotional conflicts, I am too.  Cry, Laugh, Heal is a place to share and come together and find healing and perhaps even strength.  But don't ever think that my life is one big problem free zone.

 

It's unfortunate I can't write about these other situations because I think in writing about something you are taking a step towards solving it.

 

You are calling it whatever it is.  You have a name for it.  Whether it's dysfunction, bullying, aging, sickness, mental health issues, or physical handicaps, I feel there is freedom in calling things what they are and speaking the truth.  For I may feel that only I am having these feelings, but I know that can't be true.  I know from what I read, what I hear and from my personal life that others feel it too.   

 

And that's why I am writing today about where I find myself.

 

There are days, and recently there are a lot of them, when I struggle to stay positive.  I struggle to remain faithful to the idea that things will eventually work out, that everything will be all right.

And when I am in that struggle I try to just let things be.

I remind myself that the answer will come in its own time.  I call back the resources from my support group, my family and my friends.  I close my eyes and softly say Reinhold Niebuhr's famous serenity prayer: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

Afterwards, I do feel hopeful.  There is something about this prayer that give me strength.  I feel less alone and ready to continue on my path wherever it takes me.

Perhaps we can travel on life's path together, working through those tough or stressful times using friendship, compassion and always humor!

 

Movement As Medicine

When I spend too much time in front of the computer or television I don't feel right.

I don't feel as if my body and mind are working together as they were designed to do, and when this happens I know it's a signal for me to get up off my inactive butt and do something physical.

As in get the heart pumping and break a sweat.

 

It doesn't matter what you do, just get up and move.  Exercise anywhere and everywhere.

 

 

Exercise is a gift you give yourself because it can reduce anxiety, clear toxins from your system and just clear your mind and give you a fresh outlook on your day.  Even when I don't want to exercise, I convince myself to do some kind of activity because I always feel like a new person when I do.  Always!  It's amazing!

 

Our bodies are designed for movement.  Dance. Walk. Garden. Stretch. Play a sport.  Run.  It all works!

 

Here is a recent inspiring story from The Washington Post about the mental and physical benefits of exercise classes that a group of people diagnosed with Parkinson's take on a regular basis.  As the author, Lenny Bernstein, writes, "Here, exercise is therapy, perhaps no match for Parkinson's disease over the two decades that it generally inflicts misery on its 1 million victims, but certainly a dose of nonprescriptive relief in the short term."

 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/wellness/dance-for-parkinsons-disease-movement-as-medicine/2013/07/02/77b57ffe-df63-11e2-b2d4-ea6d8f477a01_story.html

Unwanted Care

How do you try to take care of someone when they don't want you to?

I'm sure you must know a person you care about and perhaps even love who doesn't want you to help them even though it is obvious that help is very much needed. You understand the frustration right? It's the frustation of no matter how hard you try to offer various kinds of support, you never are able to do the right thing, the thing that will make them happy.

This is what I know I can do: I call on the telephone, I listen, I try to empathize.  I visit as much as I can because nothing beats seeing someone in person.  I offer to run errands.  I bring food so the person won't have to cook and I clean while I'm in their house.

I think listening is the most important thing I can do because everyone knows that the more a person expresses his/her feelings, the better they feel.  There's no point in trying to get them to open up if they're not ready or willing to talk.

Most of all, I try to maintain a calm demeanor.

This is what I don't do: I don't offer suggestions.  I don't offer anything that could be viewed as a solution.  I don't ask too many questions.  I don't intrude into the other person's personal business.  I don't react to negative comments.

It's a constant balancing act but I care about this person so I keep striving to maintain the balance.

And so I keep on trying. . .

And trying. . . and trying.

A Solid Sistahood

When I am with my good solid girlfriends -- women whom I have known for years and years and years -- I know I am blessed.

When we get together we may be going on about our children, our hair color, a new diet or some story we heard about on the news, but the under current of all of that warm wonderful and familiar chatter is the inner knowledge that we are sistas who have each other's backs and always will!

Through beautiful and great times, times of trauma and then those other ugly times when you need to just pull up your big girl pants and get on with your life as you heal and rebuild, my girlfriends have been there for me and I have been there for them.  Life is richer with my amazing friends for they are the glue that holds me together and in turn, I hope I do the same for them.

Whether you have girlfriends from childhood or adulthood or if you are extremely lucky you have a mix of friends from diffferent ages of your life, please read Ann Hood's compelling story recently published in PARADE magazine that takes us to her mother's house on a Friday night where a group of women known as "The Girls"  have gathered to play cards.

Photo: Tim Klein/Gallery Stock

Loyal, loud, tough-talking—these were friends impossible to replace.

The Girls
By Ann Hood

 

Every Friday night, they gathered at one of their houses in a cloud of cigarette smoke and Aqua Net. They came in twos or threes, dressed in velour sweat suits, skirts with matching sweaters, elastic-waist jeans, and shirts that said BEST MOM or DECK THE HALLS. In their hands: coffee cans filled with pennies that clanked as they walked. Some wore wigs, big bubbles of fake hair. Or wiglets or falls, bobby-pinned in place like the mantillas they wore to church on Sunday. There were 12 in all. The Dirty Dozen, they called themselves. But more often, they were just The Girls.

Most had grown up together in Natick, R.I., a small village in a small state. Their houses all sat within a mile of each other. Yet they arrived in station wagons, the ones they drove to and from school, the beach, and the park, overloaded with kids.

Their husbands were foremen in factories. Others worked on the army base or ran the produce department or the deli counter at the local store. One of The Girls—no one could remember how she came to join them—was married to a doctor. She wore a blond fall, cat-eye glasses, drank Chablis. She didn't fit in, really. The Girls married young and stayed married. This one had an affair and left town. Then they were 11 around the kitchen tables covered with plastic cloths.

My mother was part of this group. For as long as I can remember, Friday nights were sacred, hers. The hurried dinner—maybe tuna casserole, eggs in purgatory, fish and chips from the takeout place. Then her disappearance to get ready. She left my father in charge for the evening, which meant popcorn and Dr Pepper and staying up late. But never late enough for me to hear her come home.

Best was when it was my mother's turn to host. She began cooking on Wednesday. Marinating. Peeling. Simmering. Friday we were banished to the TV room so she could set up metal trays with small bowls of chips and dip, platters of cold cuts or fried chicken or meat loaf. Always a salad. Always cake or pie.

On my mother's nights, it was impossible to fall asleep. The excitement of The Girls, so many of them! All squeezed around our small table, laughing and smoking and playing poker. I would creep down the stairs and sit on the harvest gold carpet, listening. They shared worries: about husbands and children and money, always money because there was never enough. They told each other "I hate you" and "I love you" with equal passion and frequency. They were not like mothers on television. No, they were rough around the edges, high school dropouts, secretaries, and assembly-line workers. They spoke with a hard accent that dropped r's and added s's. Kmahts, they said, instead of Kmart. "Your deals" instead of "your deal."

Years of Friday nights passed. Three of The Girls moved away. Then cancer struck. Colon. Lung, twice. The Girls dwindled from 11 to eight to five. Alzheimer's dropped them to four. They broke hips and had cataract surgeries, knee replacements, and lumpectomies. Still, they met every Friday night.

After their families were grown, they took trips. To Atlantic City. To Foxwoods casino in Connecticut. Overnights and weekends and afternoons. They met for coffee and counted their pennies and planned more trips to more casinos.

Then one day, one of them was driving home from my mother's when she was hit broadside by a teenager in his brand-new car. She died instantly. That Friday was the first Friday that The Girls didn't play. The next week, another one was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer; she lived only four months.

Unsure how to help my mother heal, I signed us up for bridge classes with my 19-year-old son. I imagined finding a fourth player, setting a new routine. I imagined I could convince her that things weren't as bad as they seemed, even though I knew they were.

The day before the last class, the teacher announced that we were all bridge players now. "You can go home and teach your friends," he said triumphantly.

"My friends are all dead," my mother said softly.

I glanced over at her. She had turned her head so that no one could see her crying. How foolish I was to think that a new foursome, could replace The Girls. I realized in that moment that there are some things for which there are no substitutes. There are some things that we must mourn and cherish and say goodbye to.

Every so often now, on a Friday night, I drive to my mother's. I bring her treats that make her smile: a bouquet of zinnias, an apple pie warm from the oven, a bunch of flat-leaf parsley. I drink coffee with her and talk about things that don't matter. She'll look around the empty table and say, in a voice filled with wonder, "Just yesterday, we were all here playing cards." I take her hand, bent with arthritis, rough from hard work, and I hold on tight. Or as tight as I can before I let go.

Ann Hood's new novel, The Obituary Writer (W. W. Norton & Company), will be published this week.

A Positive Saturday Morning

Happy to wake up to a beautiful Saturday morning. . . time to try and undo the knots and tension from the work week. . . Easing into the day by taking deep breaths, stretching and slowly going about my tasks.

Today I'm in search of a good solid positive vibe.  Last weekend it was all about inner beauty and the way we see our fabulous selves.  Let's also go for broke in the health department. 

One of the ways I take charge of my wellness is by wearing A LOT of sunscreen to protect my skin from the aging rays of the sun and also by drinking LOTS of water!

I'd love to hear how you accentuate your inner beauty and your precious wellness!

Be Careful Out There

 

 

 

 

On Saturday, I went to visit my parents who are in their eighties and my brother who has Down's Syndrome. 

 

It was a beautiful day, full of sunshine and hints of the coming of Spring.  We had a delicious lunch at a local Irish pub and some good solid conversation and then it was time for me to "toddle on home," as my great friend Ellen would say. 

 

I stopped at the gas station near my parent's house because I like to take advantage of the cheaper gas prices in Rockville, Maryland.  There were no other cars in the gas station so I had the pick of any pump.  After I stopped and got out of the car, I walked up to the concrete island where the gas pumps are located, thinking I would cut through to the cashier.

 

As I stepped up to the concrete island, I looked down to check my coat pocket where I had earlier put a twenty dollar bill.  One foot was on the island and I guess I thought my other foot had cleared the island but it hadn't.  I know you know what happened next.

 

In an instant -- it's so cliche, but so true -- I lost control and went flying across the concrete.  The next thing I knew I could feel my face scraping the rough surface of the pavement. BAM!  I laid there for a few minutes and hoped I hadn't broken anything.  At the same time, I had this vision of what I looked like from another person's perspective as in "What in the hell is that woman doing laying on the concrete by the gas pump?"

 

For all of you adults out there -- men and women -- I hope you remain upright every day of your life.  Falling is humiliating and scary.  When it is happening you really don't know how or where you are going to land.  At first, I was afraid to move, but then I slowly got up.  As I did I felt my face was bleeding but I couldn't tell where and I also realized I had ripped a hole in the right knee of my pants and my knee was scraped too.

 

As I slowly walked into the gas station, I felt the full impact of what had happened and started to cry.  You should have seen the look on the two guys inside the gas station store.  One was sitting down on a chair and immediately jumped up and came to help me and the other one went to get a first aid kit.  There was no mirror so I had to look into the stainless steel that surrounds the edge of the refrigerator doors where drinks are sold.  It was then that I realized I had cut my nose and my chin and also scraped my glasses on the lense and on the bridge.

 

The younger guy kept asking me if I was okay because I couldn't stop crying.  I think I was crying more out of frustration than actual pain although my face was throbbing.  I couldn't believe I had done this to myself.  What a klutz!  You would think that at this point in my life that I would be able to put one foot in front of the other.

 

Eventually I got cleaned up and the younger guy offered to pump my gas.  One of my sisters said he should have offered to give me free gas but I don't think that ever happens.

 

As I drove home, I went over the events again in my mind and realized what a wake-up call it was.  At least my fall had happened in a public place.  Even though no one had been with me, strangers had reached out to help me.  But suppose others hadn't been around. 

 

I felt that fear that comes when there is the possibility that you might not be able to take care of yourself.  I do need to be more aware of myself and my surroundings and concentrate on whatever the moment at hand is.

When you are in a hurry and you are thinking about too many things at the same time, this is when life reminds you that you need to stop and be more careful about what you are doing.

 

I was lucky!!! I didn't break anything and I was able to get up on my own and go about my business.

 

And I learned the hard way that when I am by myself, I can't be so casual about moving around.

 

Okay, universe I heard your message and I have taken it to heart: Be careful out there!

 

Revisiting Maurice Sendak

 

 

 

 

Maurice Sendak is known as an internationally renowned prize-winning children's book author and illustrator but he also has a message for adults too.

 

When children read his most famous book, "Where The Wild Things Are," they run around and play as if they are monsters, just like the ones in Sendak's book.  Spontaneously and instantly, children enter Sendak's world with love and abandon.

 

Adults may want to join the children in their play but their "adultness" sometimes holds them back.  "Oh, that's a child's book" or "I can't play like that" or "I shouldn't play like that" are some of the many things adults think after reading Sendak's book.

 

But Sendak's message to adults is one that children get right away: Say "I can" not "I can't."

 

One of my son's great friends sent this YouTube video to me so that I could share it with my readers.

 

It is a touching interview that NPR's Terry Gross did with Maurice Sendak near the end of his rich life.  Sadly, Sendak died last May at the age of 83 from complications of a stroke. (http://crylaughheal.blogspot.com/2012/05/maurice-sendaks-night-kitchen.html

 

In this wonderful NPR interview, Sendak talks about "the creative man" but more importantly he poignantly addresses aging and what life feels like for him at this stage.

 

To me, Sendak's message is short and sweet: Live your life!, Live your life!, Live your life!

 

Please click on the above to have a listen and watch the accompanying "wild" illustrations of artist Christoph Niemann.

Maya Angelou

Talk about rebuilding your life and living courageously.  Maya Angelou is truly an inspiring woman.  Enjoy this Washington Post interview with her:

Marvin Joseph/WASHINGTON POST

Celebrated poet Maya Angelou speaks about a life well and creatively lived

By Laura Hambleton, Published: October 24

The Washington Post

Poet, writer, civil rights activist, professor, filmmaker, dramatist, singer, Grammy Award winner: Maya Angelou, 83, has also been called the nation’s premier memoirist. She was in Washington last week speaking about her long, rich life. Having come to prominence in 1970 with the publication of her acclaimed first memoir, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” Angelou still teaches, still writes, still travels, though she is physically more limited these days. In February she was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her lifetime contributions.

Appearing at a conference organized by LeadingAge, an advocacy and education group, Angelou recounted stories of her childhood, broke into soft song, told jokes and read from her poems, including “The Health-Food Diner,” an ode to her previous life as what the poem calls a “carnivore smoking”:

No sprouted wheat and soya shoots

And Brussels in a cake,

Carrot straw and spinach raw,

(Today, I need a steak).

Her audience loved it, applauding and laughing.

Angelou, who speaks English, French, Spanish, Italian, Arabic and the West African language of Fanti, spent a few minutes before her appearance talking with The Washington Post about aging.

— Laura Hambleton


When did you start feeling your age?
(She laughs.) This morning, getting in and out of that bus. Generally, I feel good.


What is the best part about aging?
Wisdom. Enough wisdom to thank your creator, if you believe there is one, or your luck, if you don’t.


What has been the hardest?
Finding I had muscles I didn’t know I had, and joints that I didn’t know could be so recalcitrant. The physical discomfort is probably the worst.


Has aging changed your creative process?
Not at all. I am just finishing a new book. It will be my 32nd book. [My mind] is good. It’s a good mind, and I keep it active. I play word games and do crossword puzzles, acrostics and word jumbles. And I speak a few languages. I take every advantage to use one of the languages. That keeps the brain active.


What do you hold most dear?
Love. I don’t mean indulgent love. I mean that condition of the human spirit that is so profound that it can allow us to look at people and not eat each other up, to accord each other some rights and to go further than that, to try to love them, whatever that mystery is. To love people who don’t look like us, who have different complexions and different hair, and to love them. To feel empathy for pets and wildlife. It’s amazing.


And what of friends?
That is love. I don’t mean sexuality. I mean sensuality.


What is your greatest accomplishment?
My greatest blessing is giving birth to my son. [Guy Johnson, born in 1945, is a writer.]


Any regrets?
I wish I had known more, but I didn’t. I only knew as much as I did at that time. The most wonderful thing, as soon as possible, is to forgive yourself. People do only what they know what to do, not what you think they should do. Not because they were experienced or were exposed to this and went to this school and have this degree. We think they know, but not necessarily. Intellectually they might memorize certain statements. But they don’t know, in fact. When I have made mistakes, I forgive myself. I forgive anyone who comes in my earshot. I try to make sure I don’t make that one [mistake] again.