Not how I thought it'd be

When I was in my 20s, 30s, and 40s, I figured that when I got old, I would have it all figured out, that I would always know what to do, and that people would ask me for advice. I thought my children would put me on a pedestal and honor me for what a great job I did. I thought I would have girlfriends my age and we would go on annual girls' trips, write each other letters, and meet every so often to drink wine. I figured I would know how to dress classy, and look all put together. I would know exactly what to say no matter what the situation, I would always be in control of my emotions, my children and grandchildren would adore me, and my husband would still think I was sexy. I would spend my days visiting friends, taking cookies to nursing homes, sewing clothes, making quilts, and gardening, and at night I would relax and read, knit, and watch old movies. I swore I would never be one of those old people who had to plan things around doctor's appointments, that I would have more interesting things to talk about than my aches and pains and the weather. I definitely would not gain weight, well, not more than five pounds, and I would fit into my wedding dress 40 years later. I would achieve my dream of riding on the Orient Express, and attending at least three operas at the Met in NYC. I would drink wine, eat cheeses and gourmet chocolates, and would never, ever have acid reflux or pass gas in public. I would be tastefully dressed at all times, and would even look gorgeous in a kaftan or house dress. 

Well, life at 70 is a lot different than what I pictured it would be. 

I do not always know what to do. Hell, half the time I do not even know where I am (thank goodness for GPS, right?). Sage advice giver I am not; I could be, but no one seems to want to take me up on all this hard earned wisdom I've gleaned over the past seven decades, especially not my children. They are convinced (like I was when I was a young mom) they have it all figured out and will not repeat the same mistakes I made. My girlfriends are few and far between due to 30 plus years working in and for the military--hard to make lasting friends when you are part of the 11% of female military members, and in the top two enlisted ranks. Hard to make friends with someone you evaluate who is also 20 years your junior. So, wine and cheese trips to Turks and Caicos are out, as is that dream of knowing how to dress classy--wearing a khaki uniform and jungle boots for 20 plus years tends to dull your fashion sense. The rest?  I cry at the drop of a hat, hate nursing homes, have very little patience for sewing lately, my wedding dress is long gone, the Orient Express train service closed in 2009, NYC has been postponed the last five years, and dairy, chocolate, and red wine give me acid reflux. 

Where did the time go? All of the sudden, it seems, I am 70...I don't feel like I am 70, or at least I do not feel like I thought I would feel at 70. Lately I feel like I have so much more to do, so much to share, so much to see, but the sands keep trickling (sometimes gushing) through that damn lifetime hourglass. Not complaining. Not at all. I love my life. I love all the bruises and scars and rewards and accomplishments and failures. But damn it, time, slow down already! Seems like just a few years ago when I was donning my uniform to go to work, dropping off my girls at the bus stop in Ruthville, ND, celebrating my 5th and 10th and 20th annivesaries with the love of my life. I have so many things I want to know, books to read, kids to help, scripture to understand, friends to share time with, but the minutes, no, the days and weeks, are rushing by me too fast, so fast I feel like I cannot catch my breath, like my heart is beating so fast, and I tell it to slow down, slowwwwww way down, don't waste any of those heartbeats, because God only gives us so many to start with. I cannot sleep sometimes because I have so much to say and see and write. There are people who I have hurt that I have to hug. People who have hurt me that I need to forgive. I want to share so much with my kids, my granddaughters. Most of all, I want to focus on reflecting Christ in all I do, to do what God put me on this earth to accomplish.

On the bright side, my husband and my granddaughters adore me.

Christmas Spirit?

Trying to find my Christmas spirit right now...it is a bit slow in loading...I hate what our country has become, how we have allowed multimillion dollar media corporations, including so called social media, to manipulate our emotions and thoughts, creating a tribal mentality pitting human beings against each other. Never in my life have I witnessed such anger, vitriol, and hatred, absolute hatred, against other human beings, as I have witnessed over the past 12 years. Elections have become so controversial and polarized as to create huge rifts between not only Congress, but coworkers, friends, and even family take sides in some weird tribal mentality. People judge each other based on their vote—there is no longer a middle ground.

I am sick and tired of having to watch what I say, or what I agree with, for if I do not jump in the fray that is being vilified on CNN or FOX, then I must be blind or stupid or void of all common sense and compassion. When did who I vote for become the sole defining quality of a person? Why is there a ‘left’ or a ‘right?’ When did our social graces, common courtesies, etiquette, and the golden rule disappear from the landscape? When did four letter words become so commonplace in a supposedly civilized, cultured society, so much so that anyone can tell someone they have never met, except behind a keyboard, to go F*** off? How did the United States of America become so banal and vulgar? 

I am seventy years old, on the downhill slope of my time on earth, and I love this planet, God’s creation, but especially I love people, all kinds, everywhere. I do not think God only blesses America, or that we are somehow above hurting each other, but dammit haven’t we learned anything in the past 250 years? Do we really hate each other so much that we are willing to kill someone for their beliefs? We should be better than this, I tell myself, but in reality, we are not. Labels like Nazi, idiot, socialist, homophobe, misogynist, a racist, bigoted, entitled, snowflake, fraudulent, Fascist, narcissist, and others equally demoralizing flow freely from people’s keyboards and lips these days. There is no intelligent banter anymore, or lively debate where folks on opposite sides can still laugh, hug, and be friends afterwards. Americans are now pigeon-holed into some pre-determined mold as soon as they open their mouths. 

I have been fighting for three years to maintain a 25-year long friendship with someone who I thought was open minded, someone who could look beyond my age, my race, my faith, or my political leaning and still see me as someone worth loving. That ended tonight. And I am broken hearted over the loss, not just the loss of this friend, but my inability to reason with her.  

The devil is laughing his ass off right now…because he thinks he has won by pitting people against each other so they lose focus on what is important—love each other and love God. And just because I know the devil has already lost does not make all of this any easier. 

Please be kind to each other, to anyone actually, not just during this Christmas season, but every season. Merry Christmas to each and every one of you.

The silent boom

Baby boomers, born between 1946 and 1964, have lived through a lot. I know. I'm a boomer.  But lately I feel as if I am slowly, inexorably becoming invisible, my past experience, mistakes, awards, successes, and achievements ignored or even mocked. Labeled insignificant, judgmental, old fashioned, out of touch. Does not matter that I experienced social upheavals, watched as Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, the self-conflagration of monks in Hanoi, the assassination of JFK and his brother and their funeral cavalcades, the explosions of Mt St Helens, and lived through the Korean, Vietnam, and Cold Wars, and watched the Berlin Wall fall. I was in my 30s when the computer lumbered into businesses, so huge that one mainframe filled an entire city block. I've used a telephone connected to the wall, then cordless phones (actually calling people on them); my generation dreamed up, then built and produced Microsoft Windows, the iPhone, laptops, and the internet.  

I remember the Dewey decimal system and card catalogs, and laboriously researched papers and theses at the library, meticulously typing out double-spaced term papers on a manual or possibly IBM selectric typewriter, using whiteout and chalk to cover errors. I remember chalkboards before chalkboard paint was a trend.  Carbon paper. Encyclopedias. Home cooking. Full-service gas stations. Cloth diapers. Church bingo. Mister Softee. Cooling off by running through sprinklers. Fourth of July parades.  Butcher shops.  Hallmark cards.  Writing letters. Coin collections. Catcher in the Rye. Doris Day and Rock Hudson. The Fonz. Sunday dinners. Photo albums. Kodak cameras. Records—33, 45, and 78 rpm. The protests of the 60s, flower power, and Woodstock.  The opening of Walt Disney World and the riots in Harlem and Watts. Easter bonnets and dressing up for church, speaking in hushed tones, genuflecting. And getting the “look” from mom when I were too wiggly in the pews. 

My generation heralded the eradication of smallpox, survived chicken pox, measles, mumps, whooping cough, rubella, and tonsillitis without a vaccine. Dated, married, held my own newborn children and the hands of my parents on their deathbeds. Bought homes, paid them off, and owned several cars. Watched as the interstate highways connected travelers and families. We went to college, held several jobs, and had the first all-volunteer military. We were the first to sign up for direct deposit and IRAs. Corrected scores of kids’ homework and attended their basketball, football, and band competitions. Nursed them through flu, strep throat, surgeries, and worse. Many have lost a child, a spouse, a sibling. 

We’ve finally made it. We have accepted, adapted and adopted this brave new world. All we want now is to share our hard-earned wisdom and knowledge and experience. To be deemed useful. Needed. Respected. Honored.  We desperately ache to make a difference. To leave some small trace of ourselves as we fulfill the plans God has for us.  We don’t want to go silently into that good night. 

Yet those who are younger think they are smarter, faster,  more important. They see our wrinkles and grey hair not as badges of life, but as handicaps.  We begin to fade, the edges get blurry and colors melt into each other.  Finally we disappear. Until nothing is left but an epitaph and two dates separated by a hyphen. 

And the world is the poorer for it. 

Uprooted

My husband and are finally at that point in life where we can enjoy the fruits of our labor; we have fewer surprises, and things are slower, easier, more relaxed,  and less frenzied. We have the luxury of not having to work; we can finally sleep in and not stress about schedules, housekeeping, or finances. We can stay home, go on a last-minute trip, or plan extravagant holidays--our affairs are in order and our children are grown with kids of their own. We'd buried and settled the estates of all four of our parents, found a wonderful church home, and are financially secure.  Nestled in the beautiful mountains and forests of Western North Carolina is our lovely log home where we plan to spend our remaining years. My husband loves to plan RV trips and is an avid pickleball player; my passions are tutoring elementary school children, writing, and sewing. Our golden years were truly going to be just that--golden. 

Or so we thought.

To be closer to one of our daughters, we bought a little house on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Now we have two houses, one which we love and one we are beginning to love--slowly. Two church homes with two different pastoral styles (Assembly of God vs reformed Presbyterian). Two cities with radically different demographics, weather, and population size.  Two addresses and all the headaches that come with making sure mail and packages get to the right one.  Two electric, gas, internet, property tax, and homeowner insurance bills. Two of everything--confusing on the good days, overwhelming on the bad ones.  Two timezones, for goodness sake! The struggle is real, folks!

Let's face it...I am well over the age of 65, and my body and brain remind me of that every single day.  I do not like change or driving in unfamiliar, new places--thank goodness for GPS and Bluetooth hearing aids. Not only are the heat and humidity hard to get accustomed to, the accents...oh my stars and red garters, those accents! As a person get older it becomes harder and harder to understand accents different than her own, and hearing aids do nothing to help that, so why of all places on God's green earth did we choose houses in Appalachia and southern Mississippi? Why aren't we spending all our time and money on cruises and trips to Europe instead of going back and forth between two homes, especially when we have to get out of the car every two and a half hours to stretch and go to the bathroom? 

Family, that's why. The chance to leave an imprint of ourselves with those we love and cherish, the opportunity to exhibit Christ's love in all we do, and to plant those seeds that others will water. To read books to granddaughters, attend school fall festivals, take kids shopping, hug our adult kids (when they will let us), play paper dolls, build Lego creations, give advice and support, and, most of all, to be God's hands and feet wherever He may lead us.

Tonight a little girl ran into my room and hugged me when she heard me crying about missing my Augustine tutoring up in Rosman, NC, saying, "Grandma you need a hug." That little girl revels in sitting next to me in my oversized chair listening to me read one of Katherine Applegate's books, and she adores joking around with her grandpa, swapping riddles, and helping him make cupcakes. And as I sit in my homey and comfortable Mississippi living room decorated with love by our daughter, I am at peace. 

“One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.” – Psalms 145:4

DNA does not mean you are connected

 

Whether brothers or sisters, in our lifetime no one person will ever have more of the same DNA makeup as we do than a sibling. Whether we share both parents or only one, that genetic bond is unbreakable. Sadly, though, the same cannot be said of the relational bond; from birth and throughout childhood, sibling relationships have to be nurtured by parents. When a family has more than one child, each child must have equal love and equal time and feel equally as important as their siblings without being treated the same--each one must be loved and accepted for the individual each one is But when the kids leave home and strike out on their own, it is up to each of them to keep that relationship alive and growing, through open communication, visits, and acceptance of each others' differences, discounting those separated at birth or otherwise growing up in a different geographic location, 

That doesn't always happen. In my world, it rarely happened. 

The dying art of friendship

If I asked you, "How many friends do you have?" what would you say? How would you quantify that question? Your Christmas card list (assuming you still send Christmas cards)? High school friends? Drinking buddies? Folks you work with? Or would you totally miss the boat, open your FaceBook app, look at your profile photo, and recite that number under your name? It all boils down to how you define that word, 'friend.' And how do you know, without a doubt, someone is your friend? Throughout my life I’ve made several friends, grown out of some, and even married one. Acquaintances and work relationships often blossomed into friendships--high school, military career, volunteer life, church, etc. I am not at a loss for friends. My problem is I often confuse 'friendly acquaintance' with friend, and then I attach qualities and requisites of a friend to people who, through no fault of their own, never meant to be my friend...they were simply being someone and kind, keeping me company. 

So what is a friend? Acquaintance? Social media follower? Confidant? Companion? Bestie? What are the qualities of that person that makes them your friend? Is it how often you see each other? The things you have in common? The American Heritage Dictionary says a friend is "a person whom one knows and trusts, is allied with in a struggle or cause, and one seeks out the society of someone out of esteem and respect;" and the esteemed Merriam Webster dictionary echoes that by saying a friend is "someone attached to another by affection and esteem"(while at the same time saying it's a person included in the list of social media connections.) 

But seriously, do you really need to use a dictionary or Google to define what you consider to be a friend? Ask the smallest child to name one of their friends, and you will get an answer in seconds, so it seems children know a friend when they see one. My first friend…I was five years old, we’d just moved into my nana’s house and I was sad. I was lonely. As I sat on the concrete steps of the front porch I watched as a little girl about the same age as me walked up the sidewalk to the porch, stopped, looked at me and said, “Hi, my name is Tina.  Wanna be friends?”  She was my friend no matter how my day was going. Four years later we clung to each other, sobbing, each one trying to console the other…I was moving…again.  Over six decades later I still remember her name, her smile, her family, and reminisce about all the fun things we did, games we played, Barbies we dressed, and the giggles we shared. I was her friend, she was my friend; there was no doubt about it whatsoever. 

Kids make friends pretty easily, probably because there's no baggage attached, no preconceived notions, no gossip. It's when we get older that making and keeping friends gets more difficult, complicated; for some reason human beings become jaded, suspicious, guarded, and self-centered instead of open, curious, and compassionate. Watch a group of kids in a school lunchroom, a playground, or at an event their parents dragged them to...the children naturally seek out other children, take interest in what the other is doing, and want to join in. Recently I took my 9-year old granddaughter to a community river fest in a small town near our home; the fest included river fun, information tents sponsored by various nature groups, food trucks, and tons of families. Within 10 minutes, Sophie asked if she could go play with the kids by the river; I agreed as long as she stayed where I could keep eyes on her. Four hours later, when everything was shutting down and it was time for folks to leave, kids all over were hugging and hollering their goodbyes, looking as if they were losing their best friends, friends made that afternoon. 

Whether we as a society have forgotten how to make friends, how to treat them, or how to keep them, I do know FaceBook is not the answer.

The narrow focus of self-pity

I struggle sometimes...okay, I struggle a lot...with feeling sorry for myself, when one of my kids doesn't call me for a while, or a friend doesn't reach out, or I feel like no one is listening. And I absolutely hate that about myself. At this point in my life I feel I should not have the self pity monkey hanging out on my back, whispering "oh you poor little thing" in my ear, weighing me down, pushing my head down and keeping me looking at the ground instead of where I am going, instead of looking up to the hills...you know, the hills from whence my help comes from. 

Sometimes, though, a little self-pity does go a long way in helping me see how ridiculous I can be and how narrow my focus is when the lens is zoomed in on my little sad self.

For the record, though, the pain and loneliness are real...I hate being confined to a chair, a bed, or behind a walker. And using a toilet riser is just weird. And I miss my nightly baths.  

For the folks who have taken time out of their busy schedules to see me, call me, check on me, make food...thank you. You renewed my hope in humanity.