A sprinkling of thoughts on aging:
from late actor Ossie Davis: "Age is that point of elevation from which it is easier to see who you are."
from Harold Kushner, author of the book, Conquering Fear: Living Boldly in an Uncertain World (2009): "When we are young, we act (as if) our time is unlimited...It has been said that 18-year old young men make the best soldiers and the worst drivers because they cannot imagine they won't live forever."
And finally, a thought to end these last few moments of 2009, and to herald the arrival of a new decade:
"Life is precious, and not guaranteed."
In 2010, I resolve to waste less of this precious gift of time.
Be well. (and happy new year!)
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Park It Over Here, Hun
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=120766921
This season of giving thanks always make me feel especially nostalgic, and reaching out to far-away friends and family. One of these family friends is in her 90s, living a charming and fiercely independent life in a country bungalow with a screened front and side porch. Her yard is in a perpetual state of color and bloom. The swept drive and scrubbed walk lets visitors know immediately they are visiting someone who loves their home, and you best wipe your feet first!
She's got a drawl as sweet and genuine as molasses, and calls everyone "Doll" or "Hun." She makes dinner every Wednesday night for her large extended family; she knows the importance of keeping her family together, and she's mighty proud of it. I love how kind and warm she is to everyone, and how deeply she leans on her faith. I've heard her say more than once, "I don't know how anyone gets by without God."
Today, though, she seemed a bit tired, perhaps from the holiday. But later, we learned it was due to her not driving anymore. Her family had made the tough decision that it was no longer safe for her to be on the roads; what a blow to her free-wheeling schedule, when she could just pick up and go as she pleased!
As I listened to this story on NPR yesterday, I couldn't help but wish that the automakers had realized earlier what an important market segment older drivers are. Not being able to drive, due to physical limitations, is a terrible blow to self-sufficiency.
Drive safely, and be well.
This season of giving thanks always make me feel especially nostalgic, and reaching out to far-away friends and family. One of these family friends is in her 90s, living a charming and fiercely independent life in a country bungalow with a screened front and side porch. Her yard is in a perpetual state of color and bloom. The swept drive and scrubbed walk lets visitors know immediately they are visiting someone who loves their home, and you best wipe your feet first!
She's got a drawl as sweet and genuine as molasses, and calls everyone "Doll" or "Hun." She makes dinner every Wednesday night for her large extended family; she knows the importance of keeping her family together, and she's mighty proud of it. I love how kind and warm she is to everyone, and how deeply she leans on her faith. I've heard her say more than once, "I don't know how anyone gets by without God."
Today, though, she seemed a bit tired, perhaps from the holiday. But later, we learned it was due to her not driving anymore. Her family had made the tough decision that it was no longer safe for her to be on the roads; what a blow to her free-wheeling schedule, when she could just pick up and go as she pleased!
As I listened to this story on NPR yesterday, I couldn't help but wish that the automakers had realized earlier what an important market segment older drivers are. Not being able to drive, due to physical limitations, is a terrible blow to self-sufficiency.
Drive safely, and be well.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Sacred Homecoming
Today, after 25 years of absenteeism, I returned to my childhood church home, to the familiar pew on the right-hand side, middle row. Over the previous 25 years, I have been fortunate enough to worship with wonderful people in Presbyterian, Lutheran, Hindu, Catholic, Episcopalian, Methodist, Baptist, Evangelical, Nazarene, Unitarian, Quaker, and probably a few more congregations I've forgotten. My spiritual journey has been a crazy quilt of personalities, liturgy, and seeking. Maybe it's true, that eventually everything comes back again, full-circle. Maybe you do "have to go out on your own to find your way back home." (That's a song lyric, I just know it!)
It's comforting, for so many reasons. Just like the silent faculty at my alma mater, the stained glass windows and stately sanctuary here welcomed me back with their quiet inspiration. The people's faces scattered through the hall were the same, with many new ones sprinkled in, and more than a few faithfuls now watching us from Heaven. Just across the way sat my old babysitter, while a few seats up sat the circa 1970s children's choir director, and behind her sat a girl I knew from Sunday School.
The well-worn Wesley hymns comforted, just as they always did, and I was pleased that I didn't need to refer to notes to recite the responsive reading. The Doxology, Gloria Patri, and the 23rd Psalm are written on my heart. Simple as that.
And while the new pastor didn't wear shoes during the sermon today, and the old tile floors have been replaced with carpeting, the place is just the same. Just like it always was.
And there's just something so richly comforting about that.
Be well.
It's comforting, for so many reasons. Just like the silent faculty at my alma mater, the stained glass windows and stately sanctuary here welcomed me back with their quiet inspiration. The people's faces scattered through the hall were the same, with many new ones sprinkled in, and more than a few faithfuls now watching us from Heaven. Just across the way sat my old babysitter, while a few seats up sat the circa 1970s children's choir director, and behind her sat a girl I knew from Sunday School.
The well-worn Wesley hymns comforted, just as they always did, and I was pleased that I didn't need to refer to notes to recite the responsive reading. The Doxology, Gloria Patri, and the 23rd Psalm are written on my heart. Simple as that.
And while the new pastor didn't wear shoes during the sermon today, and the old tile floors have been replaced with carpeting, the place is just the same. Just like it always was.
And there's just something so richly comforting about that.
Be well.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Dead End
The orange sign at the end of the street speaks truthfully.
I spotted it first, then glimpsed up and right to the white, mod-squad, egg-shaped front chairs, only to lock my vision on the older-than-old woman sitting on the front porch of a small shack that is rotting and sad. She watched me as I watched her; I instantly felt guilty, with dots of tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
The tar paper roof was too much.
Or, rather, too unforgivably little. It's 2009, we're in the richest country in the world, and yet this woman, older-than-old, sits in her gravy-blue shack, with tar paper sheets covering the roof.
I feel sick.
And ashamed.
And I want so desperately to get out of this safe, reliable car, walk up to her gravy-blue shack, climb her three termite-chewed faded steps, and talk to the older-than-old woman.
But I don't.
Because I'm scared.
Not of her, but of her neighborhood that is menacing, even in the daylight.
So the older-than-old woman sits alone in her mod-squad white egg chair on the front porch, her hands folded in her lap, and I drive on.
I spotted it first, then glimpsed up and right to the white, mod-squad, egg-shaped front chairs, only to lock my vision on the older-than-old woman sitting on the front porch of a small shack that is rotting and sad. She watched me as I watched her; I instantly felt guilty, with dots of tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
The tar paper roof was too much.
Or, rather, too unforgivably little. It's 2009, we're in the richest country in the world, and yet this woman, older-than-old, sits in her gravy-blue shack, with tar paper sheets covering the roof.
I feel sick.
And ashamed.
And I want so desperately to get out of this safe, reliable car, walk up to her gravy-blue shack, climb her three termite-chewed faded steps, and talk to the older-than-old woman.
But I don't.
Because I'm scared.
Not of her, but of her neighborhood that is menacing, even in the daylight.
So the older-than-old woman sits alone in her mod-squad white egg chair on the front porch, her hands folded in her lap, and I drive on.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Chimes of the Past
Today, we unearthed some boxes that had been shipped to us from my Grandparent's home in PA; the magic-markered date on the dusty cardboard is 1987. All manner of memories are contained inside... definitely the closest I've come to opening a time capsule! Old pictures, heirloom china, and other special items wrapped in tissue and old newspaper, were important enough to pack, sentimental enough to share with the next generation.
The item that made me shiver was perhaps the oddest thing of all: the side porch windchimes. Heavy 30" metallic tubes, with a diamond-cut center piece, all tied together with fishing line. Not ornate or decorative, but oh, what beautiful music they make as they dance in the wind!
These chimes ring in my head as I recall sitting on my Grandparents' porch at tea time, which was served promptly every day at 4:30. My Grandpa would sit in his corner chaise, while Grandma bustled about, offering beverages and pretzels to anyone who stopped by to visit. I loved how the household's activities came to a halt during this time, so we could all gather together, to share our day, and watch the neighborhood activities flow by on the street below us. The chimes provided a comforting backdrop of melody to our time together, just as they do all these years later.
I think about how those chimes must have given a soothing serenade to my Grandparents over their 50+ years in that old Victorian house. How they must welcomed visitors to their door over the years, how they must have sung my Grandmother to sleep after Grandpa passed away.
Now, 20 years later, these simple metal chimes now hang on my Mom's side porch, welcoming each new day, with achingly enchanted music. What a gift! And what a special way to remember sweet childhood times shared with my grandparents, so many summers ago.
Be well.
The item that made me shiver was perhaps the oddest thing of all: the side porch windchimes. Heavy 30" metallic tubes, with a diamond-cut center piece, all tied together with fishing line. Not ornate or decorative, but oh, what beautiful music they make as they dance in the wind!
These chimes ring in my head as I recall sitting on my Grandparents' porch at tea time, which was served promptly every day at 4:30. My Grandpa would sit in his corner chaise, while Grandma bustled about, offering beverages and pretzels to anyone who stopped by to visit. I loved how the household's activities came to a halt during this time, so we could all gather together, to share our day, and watch the neighborhood activities flow by on the street below us. The chimes provided a comforting backdrop of melody to our time together, just as they do all these years later.
I think about how those chimes must have given a soothing serenade to my Grandparents over their 50+ years in that old Victorian house. How they must welcomed visitors to their door over the years, how they must have sung my Grandmother to sleep after Grandpa passed away.
Now, 20 years later, these simple metal chimes now hang on my Mom's side porch, welcoming each new day, with achingly enchanted music. What a gift! And what a special way to remember sweet childhood times shared with my grandparents, so many summers ago.
Be well.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Sometimes Dreams Take a Long Time to Come True
Let us, then, be up and doing
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
This summer (maybe even my whole life?) has been filled with an abundance of laboring.. and waiting. The waiting has been numbing, and at times, deeply distressing. But it's precisely during these times of waiting, that I can set my heart at steady, and be open to things I may have missed (or refused to see) along the way.
With a deep breath, an open heart, and a lightness revealed from knowing that the things I want most in life require the highest amounts of patience and endurance, I keep working, and continue on.
Be well.
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
This summer (maybe even my whole life?) has been filled with an abundance of laboring.. and waiting. The waiting has been numbing, and at times, deeply distressing. But it's precisely during these times of waiting, that I can set my heart at steady, and be open to things I may have missed (or refused to see) along the way.
With a deep breath, an open heart, and a lightness revealed from knowing that the things I want most in life require the highest amounts of patience and endurance, I keep working, and continue on.
Be well.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Makes You Pause
"The thing I dislike most about the aging process is that it slowly takes away your defenses." -- overheard in recent film
What defenses do you use to cope in life: your youth, looks, money, family, intellect?
Ponder, plan, and be well.
What defenses do you use to cope in life: your youth, looks, money, family, intellect?
Ponder, plan, and be well.
Monday, April 27, 2009
When Mama's Happy, Everbody's Happy
These past three weeks have been strange and unfamiliar, as I trip over my discomfort from watching my Mother recover from surgery. She's the strongest, most sensible among us, and I have felt grossly inadequate trying to care for her recently.
Not that she needed much: lifting a jug of milk here, a laundry basket there, but still. My heart aches when she goes to rest; she runs on duracell most days, and napping is not on her schedule.
John Mayer is no great philosopher, but I've thought often of his song lyrics that talk about watching his parents grow old, and how he himself is "only good at being young."
It's an honor to be able to help out in even small ways. And, more than ever, it cements my contentment in making the decision to move back home.
This is where I'm needed, and where I want to be.
Be well.
Not that she needed much: lifting a jug of milk here, a laundry basket there, but still. My heart aches when she goes to rest; she runs on duracell most days, and napping is not on her schedule.
John Mayer is no great philosopher, but I've thought often of his song lyrics that talk about watching his parents grow old, and how he himself is "only good at being young."
It's an honor to be able to help out in even small ways. And, more than ever, it cements my contentment in making the decision to move back home.
This is where I'm needed, and where I want to be.
Be well.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Stalking a Saint
I've recently watched a beautifully-produced documentary on the life of Mother Theresa, and am now searching out every morsel of wisdom she left behind on this Earth. I've brought home stacks of books on her life, just trying to soak up and learn from her compassion for the poor, the sick, the aged, the lonely.
I try so hard, every day, to be tender-hearted, to practice selfless listening, to offer a smile and comfort to those who need it. Some days, though, IT IS JUST SO HARD to be nice continuously.
And on the days when my own heart is heavy, when my bones are tired, when my stomach growls, when my head hurts, people still need help. They, understandably, want to lay their problems down, and expect me to pay in full the $800 light bill, the bus ticket to New York, the seconds and thirds and fourths of iced tea. The needs (and demands?) do not stop: not for holidays, not for weekends, not for anything. It is relentless, and it is every day. Only the faces of the people change. The needs do not.
That is why I am so hopeful that the more I read of Mother Theresa, that I might learn more about the divine encouragement that motivated her to give her entire life to others.
As today is Good Friday and we head into the fulfilled promise of Easter Sunday, I know in my heart what Mother Theresa would say of her many kindnesses shared with others. She did it for Jesus.
I'm no saint, but I do know we can learn from her example. As I saw on a card recently, sometimes real courage is just saying, "I will try again tomorrow."
And that is what I will do.
Be well.
I try so hard, every day, to be tender-hearted, to practice selfless listening, to offer a smile and comfort to those who need it. Some days, though, IT IS JUST SO HARD to be nice continuously.
And on the days when my own heart is heavy, when my bones are tired, when my stomach growls, when my head hurts, people still need help. They, understandably, want to lay their problems down, and expect me to pay in full the $800 light bill, the bus ticket to New York, the seconds and thirds and fourths of iced tea. The needs (and demands?) do not stop: not for holidays, not for weekends, not for anything. It is relentless, and it is every day. Only the faces of the people change. The needs do not.
That is why I am so hopeful that the more I read of Mother Theresa, that I might learn more about the divine encouragement that motivated her to give her entire life to others.
As today is Good Friday and we head into the fulfilled promise of Easter Sunday, I know in my heart what Mother Theresa would say of her many kindnesses shared with others. She did it for Jesus.
I'm no saint, but I do know we can learn from her example. As I saw on a card recently, sometimes real courage is just saying, "I will try again tomorrow."
And that is what I will do.
Be well.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Irish Prayer (author unknown)
Dear Lord,
Give me a few friends
who will love me for what I am,
and keep ever burning
before my vagrant steps
the kindly thought of hope...
And though I come not
within sight
of the castle of my dreams,
teach me to be thankful for life,
and for time's olden memories
that are good and sweet.
And may the evening's twilight
find me gentle still.
Amen. And happy first day of spring!
Be well.
Give me a few friends
who will love me for what I am,
and keep ever burning
before my vagrant steps
the kindly thought of hope...
And though I come not
within sight
of the castle of my dreams,
teach me to be thankful for life,
and for time's olden memories
that are good and sweet.
And may the evening's twilight
find me gentle still.
Amen. And happy first day of spring!
Be well.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Love The Show, Hate the Place
Last weekend, we contemplated taking my Dad to the ER. (Sidenote: do all medical inconveniences only happen Friday night through Sunday?). After consulting his on-call doctor, the crisis was averted, and we avoided the dreaded trip to the emergency room. As wonderful as modern medicine is, long waits, punctuated by germs and forms, seem endless at the ER.
That's why my ears perked up when I heard this story on NPR last week:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=100823874
An emergency room specifically geared to seniors: What a genius idea! Simple changes make a big difference for seniors who need special care: non-slip floors to minimize falling, low-glare lighting to reduce eye strain, sound-proof walls between exam areas to reduce confusion and noise. Perhaps the most impressive of the changes in this new ER for seniors was the commitment of the staff, all of whom have completed geriatric coursework.
Here's the link from the Maryland newspaper:
http://www.gazette.net/stories/02042009/poolnew190946_32475.shtml
Seems to me we've got infants and children pretty well-cared for in the U.S. healthcare system. Now, let's give seniors the same attention and care, but adjust it to best meet their needs.
Be well.
That's why my ears perked up when I heard this story on NPR last week:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=100823874
An emergency room specifically geared to seniors: What a genius idea! Simple changes make a big difference for seniors who need special care: non-slip floors to minimize falling, low-glare lighting to reduce eye strain, sound-proof walls between exam areas to reduce confusion and noise. Perhaps the most impressive of the changes in this new ER for seniors was the commitment of the staff, all of whom have completed geriatric coursework.
Here's the link from the Maryland newspaper:
http://www.gazette.net/stories/02042009/poolnew190946_32475.shtml
Seems to me we've got infants and children pretty well-cared for in the U.S. healthcare system. Now, let's give seniors the same attention and care, but adjust it to best meet their needs.
Be well.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Red Clay and Blue Sky
Last weekend, it seemed spring had finally arrived, just as the groundhog had predicted. A warm, "blue-sky above-y" kind of day, just perfect for an afternoon ride outdoors.
My Dad and I took the golf cart out, and spent a good portion of the day exploring some farmland. It's been in the family for more than four generations, and is so different from the other flat land around here, with their productive and dusty plots of crops planted in long, endless rows.
This place is different. It's got fresh coldwater springs hidden away, and deep, jaggedy clay terraces, which remind me of a mini Grand Canyon. The road we travel on curves and twists, and bumps along, like a modern-day safari. You forget about cell phones, and email, and newspapers. All you have is the sky above you and the ground below you, and some woods along the boundaries.
It's peaceful here, and my Dad and I are content in our own thoughts. I wonder what he must be thinking about being here again, after so many years away. I wonder if this spot was just how he remembered it. I think of Scarlett O'Hara, and her father reminding her: "This land, it gets in your blood, Katie Scarlett. Land's the only thing that matters."
My Dad and I took the golf cart out, and spent a good portion of the day exploring some farmland. It's been in the family for more than four generations, and is so different from the other flat land around here, with their productive and dusty plots of crops planted in long, endless rows.
This place is different. It's got fresh coldwater springs hidden away, and deep, jaggedy clay terraces, which remind me of a mini Grand Canyon. The road we travel on curves and twists, and bumps along, like a modern-day safari. You forget about cell phones, and email, and newspapers. All you have is the sky above you and the ground below you, and some woods along the boundaries.
It's peaceful here, and my Dad and I are content in our own thoughts. I wonder what he must be thinking about being here again, after so many years away. I wonder if this spot was just how he remembered it. I think of Scarlett O'Hara, and her father reminding her: "This land, it gets in your blood, Katie Scarlett. Land's the only thing that matters."
The Heart's Not in the Freezer
I think I will be cross-stitching this blog title on a pillow soon. Hands down, it just may be the best advice I've ever received.
Earlier this week, I had the privilege of being in the audience of one of the nation's premiere volunteer leaders. A hilarious and smart older woman who has devoted her career to service, she knows well the pleasures and pitfalls of life in the non-profit world.
While we always seem to find time to beat ourselves up over what didn't get done, or what still needs to be done, we must remember: "The heart's not in the freezer." A funny way of saying "Slow it down! Whatever you've got on your to-do list isn't life or death."
I wonder if the aging process is part of God's design to force us over-committed, overprogrammed humans to breathe deep, slow down, and be more in tune to the world around us. By reacting more slowly, we just might be better prepared to meet challenges or opportunities when they head our way.
Be well.
Earlier this week, I had the privilege of being in the audience of one of the nation's premiere volunteer leaders. A hilarious and smart older woman who has devoted her career to service, she knows well the pleasures and pitfalls of life in the non-profit world.
While we always seem to find time to beat ourselves up over what didn't get done, or what still needs to be done, we must remember: "The heart's not in the freezer." A funny way of saying "Slow it down! Whatever you've got on your to-do list isn't life or death."
I wonder if the aging process is part of God's design to force us over-committed, overprogrammed humans to breathe deep, slow down, and be more in tune to the world around us. By reacting more slowly, we just might be better prepared to meet challenges or opportunities when they head our way.
Be well.
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