Thoughts On My Birthday

Had I known my 60th birthday would be so grand, I'd have had it sooner. I have been deluged with attention, affection and affirmation. And you thought AAA was an auto club! Nothing was spared nor overlooked.......presents presented, surprises sprung, traditions honored, new ones initiated ....... I've been anticipating this milestone with mixed feelings, as we all do on those "special" birthdays. But my family and friends have made it seem great fun to become old.

I'd never been one of those neurotic people who fret over the passage of time. I'd been more intrigued than disturbed.  In earlier days, every season of life seemed richer and more fulfilling, forming me into the mature, gracious woman I thought I would eventually become.

Then came the ridiculous 50's, the decade from.......well, not exactly Hell, but close.....maybe Alabama. Sorrow upon sorrow, then regrouping, forging and trying to reimagine; an uphill climb I would have thought I was prepared for but, like so many Everest hopefuls, I found the elements severe and spent much of the decade shivering and just wishing for a warm fire.

Not only losing my husband, but losing my favorite hormones and all the little perks they provided, like smooth skin and sanity. My greatest comfort comes from hearing my peers shamefully confide that they, too,  left the stove on when they went to Publix or found their car keys in the fridge.  Every post- menopausal woman knows what I'm talking about. And you men aren't much better. Just the other day my brother told me.........nah, I'd better not say.

On the Saturday before my birthday, Leah took me to Cirque Du Soleil in Orlando. You probably know that it was amazing. The aerial Red Ribbon Man was my favorite, with muscles so pronounced I'm sure he could stay aloft just by flapping them.  I know he was looking for me in the audience as he sailed angelically heavenward, reaching out to me with a pointed index finger like that guy Michelangelo painted inside the Sistine Chapel.  I'm anticipating one of those flying dreams sometime soon and in it, I'm going to levitate off my seat at the circus and float into the arms of Red Ribbon Man. I'll look down at myself and see that I'm in my underwear (because this kind of dream demands it) yet covered in dozens of red ribbons binding me for life with my soaring prince.  Bring on the Ambien!

I believe there's a longing in each of us to be attached to someone else ("no man is an island" and all that). Sometimes I feel the romantic side of that longing (like when I see the RRM in all his "lust"erous glory), and I feel left out of the mainstream of coupled-up love. It's easy to give in to self-pity and wish for what I don't have. There are times when lonely feels....just too lonely.

Then comes Trapeze Man to save the day! Flying through the air with the greatest of ease, he triple somersaulted with some twisty bravado followed by "where are the hands that are supposed to catch me" and then ................he fell. You could hear the collective gasp of horror and disbelief.  It seemed like slow motion...down, down into nothingness....and then....the net. Big net. Everyone exhaled.

Christians believe there is no oblivion, there is no hard thump at the end of life, only a soft bounce or two and then.....on to the next thing. For Ross, it's a new level of existence hidden in mystery from us earth dwellers. He has been gently lifted from the net and carried quietly to a place of ultimate compassion and healing.  For me and Trapeze Man, it's another awkward climb out of the net and back up the ladder, another chance to practice the craft of living that so often foils us and leaves us looping in the air, disoriented and out of breath. 

Trapeze Man made another go of it and this time found his mark and swung triumphantly back to base. And I also am making my go, swinging into a new decade, sometimes a little frantic (like last night when water started pouring from my ceiling from the AC unit), sometimes pissed off that there are apparently no arms strong enough to grab me (or you) out of this season of quasi-dementia and wrinkling.

But knowing I am not alone.  We are all trapezing together, young and old, soaring gallantly through the years, some wearing flashy red ribbons, some....just underwear. But all together.

Away Down The River

"Away down the river, a hundred miles or more
Crossing over Jordan, to the other shore.
I'll be standing, waiting, with all who've gone before,
I'm just away down the river a hundred miles or more."

We played that song by Alison Krauss at Greg's memorial over six years ago. Sometimes it seems like he's far more than a hundred miles away...... but sometimes I feel he's so close I can hear him whisper a smile to me.

I went to another memorial this weekend. My friend, Ross, who grew up just a few miles down the road from me in Georgia, was an Imagineer at Disney World. His colleagues said he touched the lives of millions of strangers by making dinosaurs laugh and presidents dance.  But he also touched the lives of his friends and family by being uproariously funny, thoughtful, and kind.  He once spent all day getting a virus off my computer and I painted the Vermeer Milkmaid with Lobster Claw Hand in appreciation. It's been hanging in his house ever since. I have a copy on my wall if you ever want to see it. I think about Ross now when I look at it......and when I drink my coffee from the enormous Pixar mug he brought me from Disneyland.

I started not to go to the service since it was in Orlando. We have no mutual friends (we met online) so I wouldn't be missed. Only Ross and I would know I wasn't there.  But I knew we would both be disappointed if I didn't show, so off I went. I was anxious about getting there at the right time and finding the right building and all. Why do I worry so much about the logistics? But I do.

After I got in my car, I had to go back in the house twice because I forgot things (a CD and something else I can't remember). I started to go back a third time for my rings but decided I would probably be okay unaccessorized, just this once. Then of course I went by Starbucks so I could have a latte lunch on I-4 where, predictably, there was a major crash and back-up. Almost to the church and I made a pit stop because of.....well, you know, the latte. (btw, NEVER go to a McDonalds in Orlando unless you have a carload of wild and crazy kids and are looking to spend the day. I needed my GPS to find my way out of that place).

When I finally heard the "destination is on the right", I pulled in the first driveway (huge campus) and saw cars. In perfect animatronic synch,  my car and another car drove up side-by-side in the parking lot. The other driver and I slammed our doors at the exact same time and started walking in the same direction. We naturally spoke and I found out he was Ross's cousin from home. His mother taught business at Roswell High School when I was there. Instant affinity. Later, in the reception line, he was first and introduced me to the rest of Ross's family. I thought of all those annoying delays that put me right there in his path at the right time. Think Ross was behind that?

I am extremely angry with Ross. He could have had a stroke or taken a fall from Cinderella's castle. But some anguish deep inside drove him to make a dreadful decision......one he couldn't reverse.  I am looking for words that don't sound like cliches but I'm blanking out. I'm thinking...."at least he's at peace now", "he's in a better place", "no more pain", yada, yada, yada.  They say survivors often feel betrayed. I think that's what I'm feeling. We are a close-knit little band, we middle age Christian singles.  We have sworn an oath to be there for each other and hold on to each other and not let each other fall. Ross let go of the rope. God, I hope I didn't let it slip out of my hand.

A few weeks ago I started training as a bereavement volunteer for Hospice. I've been learning what NOT to say to those who are hurting and heartbroken. What should I NOT say to myself? What should we all not be saying to ourselves when life acts up.

"Away down the river, a hundred miles or more......." My odometer read 99.4 miles from my house to the church.......from my personal sorrow to the healing synergism that grows from shared sympathies.....from my lack of understanding to the place where that just doesn't matter.

"Away down the river ......." I'm standing on the bank gazing in wonder.

The Olympics

My friends haven't seen much of me the last two weeks. It's the Olympics! Since I was a little child I have been mesmerized by all the jumping, gliding, flying, tripping and floating of the winter events.  I swear I could hum the Russian national anthem by the time I was ten. I thought it was the most majestic melody I'd ever heard.  Go figure.

I still love it all, especially the figure skating. If you read my blog while I was in Alaska, you'll recall that I found a frozen lake under a mountain (actually, everything in Alaska is under or on top of a mountain), and skated my little heart out, pretending to be Peggy Fleming (http://betterthanlaughter.blogspot.com/2011/02/skating.html). What was fantasy to me, is real for these competitors this week. And I was able to watch it live in the mornings when there were few interruptions, and I could be among the first to see it all unfold in real time. Thanks for understanding, all of you friends who watched some of it with me and all of you who didn't try to drag me away. Believe me, it was spiritual!

So I had this strange anxiety dream last night (Don't start yawning until you hear it). I was teaching school again, just coming in on a Monday morning. I guess it had been a busy weekend because I had absolutely no idea what the lessons were for the week. In real life, this could only happen if you had just awakened from amnesia ("Oh, am I the teacher?") or discovered you had the winning lottery ticket and were only there to say goodbye. A day without lesson plans lasts ten years, and you are not well at the end of it (Don't ask me how I know).

But in my dream it didn't seem like a big deal. I was getting the children settled when in walks my former principal, the one I had when I taught in St. Pete years ago. She smiled and, with clipboard in hand, took a seat and said she was there to observe for half an hour or so. If you are a teacher, you get it!  Observation equals evaluation. There are only one or two a year (or there used to be) and you'd better be on for this. Your career could ride on it.

I distinctly recall the feelings I was having in my dream. The "OH NO!!!, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????" kind of aggravated panic, but also a "Hey, I can handle this!" kind of  in-your-face optimism. I quickly perused the reading guide to see what story I was supposed to be teaching. With an air of confidence and calmness I picked up my book and took my seat with all the children around me in a circle. The principal was still smiling expectantly, her pen in hand.

For just that moment, I think, in my subconscious mind anyway, I was on the Olympic stage. It had all come down to this one performance. All the college classes, the staff development, the meetings, trainings, experience.......all rested on this reading lesson that I had not a clue about. I knew I was about to experience "the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat" in my own realm. The world stopped turning for that few seconds as I took the ice........er, I mean.... opened the book.

This has got to be why I love watching the Olympics. It isn't about them so much as it's about me......the triumphs, the disappointments, the strength, stamina, and determination to git 'er done, no matter what the challenge. I need some Olympic Spirit!  Don't we all!? I am grateful for the chance to tap into that colossal chunk of inspiration,  then personalize it and use it to take my place among my fellow humans.

Want to know how the dream ended? This is hilarious! Just at that moment of truth, when everything was on the line, the door swung open and a teacher's aid announced, "Ice cream for everyone!" Without hesitation,  she proceeded to pass it out to the explosive cheers of the jubilant (if diminutive) crowd.  The principal left the room.

I have only one question......does this mean I won or lost???????????

Another Move

Beautiful Couple

Back and forth, back and forth.......that seems to be what I'm doing these days. The day after Christmas, my children and I drove to GA to celebrate the season with my family (and to get our presents :  ).  We stayed two days then came home to FL. Then a week later I drove back for a two week stay.

This time I was on a mission.....my brother and I were getting my mother and Morris (her boyfriend of 20 years that you've read about in earlier posts) moved into Assisted Living......the same ALF that my brother's mother-in-law just moved into. 

Morris is actually doing great. He's on a maintenance chemo schedule of every three weeks. He has been driving, preparing his own meals, paying his bills, creaming his poker buddies, etc. as if he were not 92 years old with stage four colon cancer. He has amazed family and doctors alike.

Remember when he met the guy in the checkout line at Publix (or was it Kroger?) who told him all would be well? We had a feeling that guy was an angel or something, and his prophesy certainly came true.

There is a marker number (ascertained from blood tests) that indicates the level of the disease. This particular marker should be 4 or 5 in a healthy adult.  When Morris was diagnosed, his marker number was 186. YIKES!!!!!!! Morris decided to stop shaving (This is not nice to hear from a man of 92) until his number fell below 10. It's now around 12 and holding.

Morris is looking pretty darn scruffy. But when I hugged him goodbye a few days ago, I noticed how surprisingly soft and fuzzy his whiskers felt, so personal and warm.  I hope he forgets to shave, no matter what. There's a new eccentric air about him that makes me feel cool being seen with him...a cross between Socrates and Santa Claus.....a hint of ancient wisdom cloaked in jolliness (cool-sounding word..."jolliness")

In spite of his progress, Morris is tired and was struggling to care for my mother along with himself. We all knew it was time for her to make the move from an adult apartment complex to AL. Morris graciously agreed to move along with her, making it easier on all of us to keep them together.

This is the third or fourth move I've described in this blog. They all have commonalities.......sorting, packing, losing, finding, losing again, giving away, wishing, regretting, remembering, and above all.....hoping. Hoping all the aforementioned things will be worth it. For my mother and Morris, hoping there is still a future waiting even though you're really old, and you're becoming feeble and dependent and you swore you'd never go to a "home". Hoping that life can still deal you a few good hands, even though the aces have long since disappeared from the deck. Believing it's not always the cards you hold, but your love of the game that makes it worth playing. A win or a loss......it's all about how your heart perceives it.

It's good to be back in St. Pete, though it was really cold last week.  I've missed the yellow bungalow and the friends and routines that are defining my own destiny.  More and more I'm realizing it isn't about where I am or what I do, but who I'm becoming, that will bring me into alignment with God's plan for me. The fruit of the Spirit, presented in Paul's letter to the Galatians .......love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control......are not dependent on anything except my willingness to be molded. . 

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I hope, like my mother and Morris, I can stay the course with grace and optimism in these next few unpredictable years.  I know that life has a way of jumping out from behind a bush and scaring the bejeebers out of you.  I hope that doesn't happen to me again, but ya never know. Sometimes it happens in an instant, and sometimes it just happens with the passage of time.

Coats

When I was 9, I had to leave the "new school" and spend my fourth grade year at the "old school". That's what we called them in Roswell. The old school (across town) had grades one through seven, but the new school only housed grades one through three. During my fourth grade year, however, they built on to it so I could return for the rest of my elementary years (through seventh grade). So I just had that one year at the old school.

Attending the old school was considered very cool. After all, that's where the big kids were. My brother went there and all his friends and the older girl across the street who had boyfriends and wore make-up. To me it was like a year at the Academy Awards...sneaking peeks at celebrities in hallways, watching them perform in chapel programs (yes, we had them every Wednesday), overhearing their chatter in the restrooms.

The year I was there, it was trendy for the girls to wear varsity jackets,  the kinds with leather sleeves that are supposed to display the letters you earned in athletics. Of course, being children, no one had earned a jacket or a letter. They bought them at Tolberts (not to be confused with Talbots which didn't exist back then). Adoration would not be too strong a word to describe how I felt watching the 12 year old safety patrols directing hall traffic in their green and white Roswell Hornet Hollywood splendor.

So when I had wiped the drool from my chin and popped my eyes back into my head, I begged my mother for a varsity jacket for my birthday the following August, the month before I went back to the new school. I distinctly remember the look of horror on her face (my mother had a tremendous sense of style) and hearing her ask my brother if it was true, that this was really fashionable for girls my age. He concurred (for which I will forever be indebted to him) and on August 18, 1964 (and all the days after) I could be seen savoring the leathery smell and clickety snaps of the most beloved piece of outerwear I have ever owned.

I could go on recounting stories of showing off my jacket throughout the year (and the torture of not being able to wear it right away in August).  I'm sure I was obnoxious to some, but envied by most. It was glorious!  Now I was the one on the red carpet, having my photo snapped, anticipating my Oscar for Most Gorgeously Dressed Girl At The New School.  I just loved that feeling.

In Florida we don't wear coats much. I bought a bulky, all weather type thing several years ago for the occasional days I would need it. I wore it every single day in Alaska (because it was cold every single day!) I was known in the native village as She Who Walks In A Winter Coat Even In The Summer. I'm not kidding! I wore that coat out and got teased for wearing it.

So I've been keeping my eyes peeled for a new coat. I know I'll be wearing it a long time so I have a check list in my mind: Not too heavy, can be worn with jeans or a dress, neutral color, affordable but not cheap, classic style but definitely not plain.

I was in Roswell yet again this past week. Morris' CAT and PET scans showed no signs of active tumors. He is going on a maintenance chemo schedule.  My brother's father-in-law, who was in so much distress, passed away and his wife is living peacefully and contentedly in a very nice ALF near the family. My mother is thinking seriously about moving there also, to relieve her anxiety and simplify her life and the lives of her caregivers.

The family is daring to exhale for the moment, a little reprieve from the chaos that plagued them all summer. We played cards, my mother shopped for new glasses, Morris went for groceries. Normalcy.

And, at a little vintage style boutique that just opened downtown, I found the perfect coat.  It's perfectly me and I'm so happy of myself for finding it.  It made me think of the varsity jacket and the exuberance of my youth. But it didn't exactly recapture the feeling. Sometimes I wish I could go all the way back to those innocent days but alas, childhood is over and, as William Wordsworth so wisely observed, "nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower" (or in my case, clothes euphoria)..."but we will grieve not". For now, normalcy is enough (and something to keep me warm).

Back Again

I wish I could say I've been going through one of those hectic periods, when life scoops you up and tucks you under its arm, kicking and screaming, heading for a goal line. That would be my excuse for not writing. But the truth is.....I just haven't had much to say. A little down, but nothing serious.

The last two weeks, I was in Roswell (GA) once again. Morris has recovered from his surgery completely. He has started very aggressive chemo treatment and I was there being my favorite thing to be: part of the family. It rates low on the cool scale for ministries and is anything but glamorous, but it's exactly where God wants me to be. And like any good ministry, it tests my patience, makes me sometimes snarly, causes unexplained outbursts of laughter and tears (well actually, I could explain them) and guarantees a good night's sleep.

In the extended family there are six elderly members (three couples) who are in crises varying from Alzheimer's to cancer to broken hips to just too feeble to be alone.  My mother and Morris are the most independent and are the only ones living in town, and so I had it relatively easy. I had time for practicing music, reading and reflecting on all this. My brother and sister-in-law are still on the move between our parents and her parents and full time jobs. It's a mess for them.

Before I left St. Pete,  I took out a bag of letters that I had found about ten years ago in the attic when my mother moved out of my childhood home. They were the letters I had received my first year of college from my parents, grandparents, my brother, high school friends and three (count 'em....one-two-three) boyfriends. I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor and had myself, as a country singer once wailed, "a night to remember" (get it?)

It took me back to another world, another me and yet the same. I wondered what the me who received those letters would have thought of the me reading them on the floor......one me full of anticipation of a college degree and a great career, and the other me savoring the fruit of retirement.......one me anxious to meet the beau who would win my heart, the other me once divorced and now widowed.....one me dreaming of someday moving to the seashore.....the other me recollecting beach walks and snorkeling days with my children ....one me smiling as I read my parents' letters full of pride and encouragement......the other me still missing my dad and wondering how things could change so much so quickly.

This passage of time thing is profound to me. I have gone through periods in my life when I was stuck and couldn't move past this or that. Then I have had times when adventure pounded on the door like Tolkien's rollicking dwarfs, and I couldn't wait to leave a trail of dusty memories and head out for Rivendell.

Right now, I'm somewhere in between.  Spending time in Roswell gives me perspective on my life's timeline.  I have coffee with friends I knew in first grade, revisit stories that help define my place in the family (Yep, I'm definitely the smart one!) and try to forge a highway that will take me back and forth, not just from state to state, but from then to now.

Other World?

I'm sitting here at Morris's bedside in his hospital room. It's been six days since his colon surgery and they say he is recovering well. The white board over his head specifies his diet, records his latest blood pressure and names his staff de jour. (Two days ago Morris groggily asked his nurse if they have much staph in this hospital to which she enthusiastically replied, "Oh yes, we have lots of staff....several buildings just full of staff., more staff than any hospital in this area."  I'm sure she didn't understand the look of horror on Morris's face, unaware of his almost paranoid fear of staph infections).

Since my last post, I have heard from several of you regarding coincidences (or is the plural coincidenci?) And really, when you start paying attention, they're everywhere. It seemed to a couple of you a freaky coincidence that I wrote about coincidences on just that day, because you had experienced one also. I just love that, when I realize that what was on my mind was what was on your mind.

How 'bout this? When I got to Roswell,  I sat down to talk with Morris for the first time since his diagnosis. I wasn't sure what to say (Duh......who knows what to say at times like that?) He is a very independent, self-sufficient kind of old guy and didn't even want anyone to know about his cancer, much less fuss over it. So I just waited to hear what he'd say and it was this (slightly paraphrased):

"Kim, I was in Kroger this morning buying groceries and I was fumbling with my discount card at the checkout counter. I thought the man behind me might be getting irritated so I turned to him and apologized for the wait. He said it was no problem at all, that he had all the time in the world. We compared ages" (What is it with old men comparing ages?) "and he couldn't believe I was almost 92.  He was 72. He said he felt very blessed to be thriving at his age because he had been through colon cancer and had survived. I told him I had just been diagnosed and was about to go in for surgery. He looked me straight in the eye and said I was going to be fine. He said it was a piece of cake. He said I would be absolutely fine. Later, he found me in the parking lot and walked over to again remind me that I would be fine."

Morris concluded his story with........"Coincidences like that don't just happen!"

I told Morris it must have been a man-angel and he nodded, smiling like he believed me. Of course,  my heart was pounding because I had just written about the subject of coincidences and Morris had NOT read my blog.

I know it's all around us, the everyday comings and goings of another realm of existence, what the science fiction writers call a parallel universe and Christians strongly believe in but aren't sure what to name it.  Did you ever read about string theory? ......... the scientific evidence for that other world  we encounter........ confirmation that what we see isn't all there is........that there is "immeasurably more than we can think or imagine" and it's not in some far away galaxy called heaven. It's right here.....right now! God's spirit and His emissaries, busily intervening in ways that make us look up and over our shoulders and wonder who's there.

Last night I talked to Vivian on the phone for an hour and caught up on news. She asked if I was reading anything worth reading and I shared my latest Kindle acquisitions. Then she recommended Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. I had heard of it. She went into detail about the section on the Beatles having played all through many nights, honing their talents and preparing for their big moment of discovery. Sounded interesting.

Over coffee this morning my brother told me, out of the blue, that I should read a book by Malcolm Gladwell called Outliers. Before I could gasp, he started describing the section about the Beatles having played all through many nights, honing their talents and preparing for their big moment of discovery. I wondered if he had told me that yesterday, had forgotten and was telling me again (it wouldn't be the first time),  and maybe I had dreamed it was from Vivian. But no, I clearly remembered it coming through the phone from Vivian, just 12 hours earlier.

As they would say in Roswell, "Wudea mayka that?" (I'm definitely reading Outliers).