Mission to Seattle

                                                                                                            April 29, 2014
   Seattle was beautiful last Thursday when I flew in during the afternoon.  We landed in sunshine and despite the city's reputation for rain, the sun was shining during my entire visit.  Many thanked me for sharing the California sunshine with them.  I did not argue or demur.
   I had invited myself to the home of the daughter of a close friend.  Linda was two when I first met her, she has just passed her fiftieth birthday.  Her identical twin Lisa, lives on the East Coast.  Both women are successful marketers and consultants. Linda treated me like visiting royalty or a fragile aunt.  Whichever, I enjoyed every moment.
   My mission to Seattle was to participate in two readings.  Last February, Kent State University Press published The Widows' Handbook, a book of poetry and prose written by widows. There were 500 submissions from across the country, 87 made it into print.  I was one of the "lucky" ones.  My tribute to my husband is called Erv's Gift, I went to Seattle to read it to two groups of interested people.  I also read some wonderful poetry written by other "lucky" ones who found their way into the anthology.
   We read to a large group of mostly women at a retirement facility in Seattle.  Some slept, most listened intently as Jacqueline Lapidus, co-editor of our book and Kristine Forbes, native Seattle person who organized our read, joined me.  We took turns and read from our book the poetry and prose written by us and by others. On Saturday we read at the East-West Bookstore, no one slept, it was also a responsive group.  Tears from the woman who lost her husband six years ago; searching questions from the young man who lost his wife 10 months ago, he faces questions from three children.
   In both places folks responded, some with questions and others with tears.  A woman said "Thank you for putting my story into words."  I had a moment during my reading, when I wondered if I could continue, a split second of grief, I took that moment and then continued.  Our audience was appreciative and grateful.  Yes we sold some books.  Sales has never been my strength.
   Linda, so proud of Seattle took me hither and yon to admire the gorgeous flowers, the water, the hills, the neighborhood, the local coffee shop where everybody knows everybody. We went for a ride in a water taxi.  Have not been on the water since my last cruise close to ten years ago! I loved every moment of my time in Seattle, Linda and her partner Susan showed me a wonderful time.  I met a judge who was scrubbing the floor in a Buddhist sanctuary, she and I talked, she treated us to dinner.  I discovered the warmth and friendliness that exists in Seattle.  Each house is different, the streets are lined with a variety of shade trees and blossoms.  I ended my time in Seattle with my nephew and his wife. They came on Sunday morning to take me to breakfast and the airport, no complaints about getting up early on Sunday.
   I took a trip on a plane and I had a wonderful time.
    

        

My Audiologist                                         4/17/14

    

     Yesterday I had a “check-up” with my audiologist.  Greg Hall is a man I have known and trusted for many years, our relationship goes back to the Erv Herman days.  Those were the days when Erv was insisting that the trouble with his ears was my soft speaking voice.  I shall always be grateful to Greg for proving that though I may speak softly that was not Erv’s problem. His ears were showing signs of wear and years.

     After Erv died and my own hearing began to fail, Greg was able to re-program Erv’s hearing aids to help me.  As happens over and over again, in death as in life, my beloved continues to support me.  When time and use (or misuse) began to make those hearing aids obsolete, we talked about new ones for me.

     Then I learned a few hard lessons: nothing is perfect specifically no hearing aid will master all of one’s hearing problems.  Testing a hearing aid is like choosing a bathing suit in the age of flab, or picking out eye-glass frames without the aid of prescription lens.  Hearing aids are not a replacement for the acute hearing of our youth. 

     I needed to pick, choose and prioritize.  I wanted to be sure that I could have comfortable and clear conversations on a one-to-one level with my friends? Was it more important to hear them in a crowd? No!  Frequently I sacrificed the speech of the waiter rattling off the specials in a crowded restaurant and depended upon someone sitting with me to repeat his words. I give up large, noisy meetings when the background sounds are distracting and unnerving.  It is difficult to adjust to the noise and concentrate on friends’ words at the same time.  At the end of the day when I am tired, I give up the meeting entirely and stay home.  Nothing works well when we are tired.

     Yes, hearing aids can be a pain, even when we can adjust them.  Without mine, I would be disconnected from my world, some days that is okay.  Most of the time I need my world and my friends so I dutifully care for the aids and use them (almost) every day!  Occasionally when I remove them, a wonderful quiet surrounds me, I sit back, relax and grin.

SLEEPLESS IN SAN MARCOS

Sleepless in San Marcos 
      Doctors tell us it is not true that the elderly need less sleep than their younger friends and family members. Need it or not, we get less sleep. I can attest to that. It is somehow harder in the later years to sleep long because our heads are spilling over with concerns, excitement, the checkbook, and the latest family catastrophe. For me it is hard to put it all aside, I cannot and I do not. I have no idea “why”.

      If I get less than seven hours sleep at night, I look like the old woman I am. After a couple of days of lost sleep, I am haggard and far less acute than normal. I pride myself on being sharp, conversational, “with it”. Lost sleep is the thief that steals from me. I do all the “right” things. I do not watch TV in the bedroom, I read for at least a half hour before turning off the light; there is fresh air in the room, my bed is comfortable. I do not agonize over the empty half of the bed; I made peace with that along time ago. I have a little warm milk with my nighttime pills. I have been taking the same meds for years. I am afraid to let them go because they do enable me to fall off to sleep rapidly. Though they do not keep me asleep.

     Right now I am proving to myself that I am sharp and with it. I have had five and a half hours sleep and I have already written a very sensible note to my niece in Israel and have started this new entry. But now I quit to have breakfast, six o’clock is reasonable, don’t you think?

     Here I am ten hours later, I am awake and have had a rather full day, so maybe I do not need as much sleep as recommended. Of course I took a good nap, right after breakfast!

 

Aging is Daunting

     Aging is indeed daunting; it is not for sissies.  Aging makes the hands tremble, aging makes us sleepless or sleepy all the time. It makes us forgetful, sometimes, to a frightening degree.  We do tend to blame “aging” for each thing that provides an obstacle to our comfort. Last week I made terrible errors; it took all the energy and lies that my friends could muster to stop my anguishing. 

     Imagine my embarrassment when the man from AT&T looked at my TV that he was supposed to fix and said, “you should not have called us, you are under contract to Time Warner!”  Omigosh, there are some very understanding people on the job, that man helped me save face, pride and confidence: “Do not apologize, it’s okay.”

     Why do I write so much about aging?  The answer is simple, that is what I do right now, what I have been doing for 92 years.  Yes we start to age at the moment of birth, as young ones we glory in the addition of each year, cannot wait to grow bigger, older, bolder, more independent.  When does that change?  I look around me and decide that there is no specific time that we stop wishing to be older, more mature.  That seems to be part of the “aging” process that is highly individualized.  I love each birthday, some of my friends will not even celebrate theirs.

     My Mother was an old lady at 67, the year she died.  I have been trying to think what was I, where was I at 67?  That is 25 years ago. A huge contrast between Mom and me.  I was living in this house, cruising around the world with my husband who played chaplain on cruise ships.  In those days the economy allowed the cruise line to “treat” the chaplain and his wife to the cruise and all its goodies.  We danced each night afloat and had a very good time.

     Once when we got tired of the incessant water on a world cruise, we dropped out wrote and read and walked the decks while everyone else was in the dining room.  Room Service and those fast walks saved our sanity.  It was the deep breath we needed.  There are times when we all need to stop and take a deep breath.  Even today as I contemplate the errors I make, the wrong numbers I call, the appointments I forget, the promises I have to write down, I tell myself: “Stop, think, take a deep breath and you will remember!”  And I do!

     The other day I thought I was on the fast track to nowhere when the TV went out, my computer misbehaved and most of my friends who help were unavailable.  After I corrected my errors in judgment and action, my biggies were on the road to recovery.  Why do I share such everyday nonsense with you?  We all go through this process one way or another.  Together we are chagrined, embarrassed and self-condemning.  I think it is important to share so that not one of us thinks he/she is alone and a bumbling idiot.

     Gail Sheehy said, “Life must be understood backward and lived forward!”  Life lived backward means that we squeeze the most out of experience to allow us to move forward, to do a good job at the art of living.  A good job means we do our very best to continue to live, contribute, try to remain healthy and enjoy.  Aging must not be seen as a stumbling block though it provides limitations, our job is to continue to live and be the very best we can be.  I want my young friends also to know that aging can be long on wisdom and fun!

Jeff, My Son

Jeff, My Son…. 

     Had he lived, Jeff would be 65 this year, on the day after Mother’s Day.  We always celebrated

together.  I smile in remembrance of the special dinners we enjoyed as a family, birthday cake and Mom’s special chicken.  As he grew dinner was moved from one favorite place to another, cooking became passe’, soon, pizza was in!    Jeff  had been a very special baby, he was a great young man, a wonderful son.

     Before we met at the adoption agency, the social worker Janet Jenkins informed us that there was a flaw: Jeff was fat! “We can handle that!” I said without thinking.  In the days of waiting to meet this fat baby, nightmares of an infant elephant with a baby face escalated to the outlandish.  This “fat” infant was indeed chubby, also healthy and happy.

He never suffered with a weight problem.

     The foster mother must have loved him dearly.  When we met, he gurgled and laughed, enjoyed being held and cuddled by his new eager parents.  Janet spoke at length of his special-ness, so special that the Executive Director of the agency wanted to adopt him, agency rules would not allow that; he was so special that his pediatrician said he was the only infant she knew who cooperated during an examination!

     The first night home we played with Jeff until 8:30, hours past his bedtime.  He dutifully slept through the night until 8:30 am. Yes, we checked all through the night to make sure he was alive and well.  Years later, but years before he came out of his dreadful closet, my mother said that Jeff was too good.  He obeyed the rules so accurately that frequently he was seen with his feet clinging to the curb, watching other kids play in the alley. Rule number one was “do not go into the street or alley”.

     He would have been better off if he had learned to break a rule occasionally.  When it came to reading, he started off well in first grade.  After about six weeks the teacher began to explain the “exceptions to the rules of English”.  Jeff turned off his reading button he could not break any rules.  It took two years of counseling to clear that up so he could read.  He had his ups and downs during early school years like most kids. After trying college, he chose business school, thrived there and came out to us, short of his 20^th birthday.  With love and tenacity, his Dad and I supported him and anguished with him…but that is another story for another time…right now Happy Birthday son! Miss you!

STILL IN JAIL

Still in Jail, March 9, 2014…

 

     I cannot imagine what it is like to sit in jail for almost a year, doing nothing.  I must qualify nothing: no occupation, no responsibility, except for oneself, for showers, shaves and good behavior!   Nothing includes three meals a day, bars on the small room where he spends 22 hours each day, two hours of “freedom” every day.  Freedom also must be qualified: two hours in which to shower, phone a friend or relative, shop at the commissary, walk around, watch TV.  How do you stay so calm, I asked, “found the holy spirit” was the answer, accompanied by a shrug.

     I did not ask for a definition, did not wonder about the use of capitals or lower case.  We Jews do not talk much about a specific “holy spirit” and yet there is a special spirit to our worship and our beliefs. My answer to his answer was, “whatever works for you, I’m satisfied.”  “Oh don’t worry, I plan to go to synagogue with you!”  If I was non-plussed,  I did not show it, we went on to talk of other things.

     I cannot imagine what it must be like to wait and wonder what will happen next, have no one to talk it over with.  The attorney has no time. His mom and I visit for a half hour each every other week.  How much real talking can you do in that kind of time, especially when someone else is always listening?  Not much!

     I too worry and anguish over what’s next; I wonder what is going on in his head?   It does not matter that I have almost run out of reassurances.  I never run out of “I love you!”  I hope it and my hopeful spirit are enough.  He was sentenced today and his spirit did not flag.  The attorney said, “He has learned so much in jail!”  Would you believe that, but it is true!

   

Age is a number...a poem

Age Is A Number….

Age is a number Not a stop sign!
   I said I will swim she was flustered, nervous. I’ll get in with you
     You don’t have to yes I do she insisted.
        I resisted I wanted to swim. I did not know if she could
           I knew that I could, I would.
              The aide watched from the side of the pool
                  You can do it she said astonished
                       Impressed but you’re 90 I thought you’d puddle
                            And falter I turned her around
                                    To look at the old men
                                          Playing tennis next to the pool…
Age is a number Not a stop sign!

 9/06/12