Wearing Purple

It's been a very cold spring here in Maine, but today I am finally retiring my winter shirts and bringing out the polos and tees. As I went through the pile, I saw my Walk to End Alzheimer's t-shirt from 2015. It says "The End of Alzheimer's Starts With Me" and it is strikingly purple. The very purpleness of it made me think of a poem entitled "Warning" by Jenny Joseph. I'll include a link to Jenny reading her poem at the end here, but I'm sure you've heard the first line - "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple." It's a poem about aging but also about choices and values. Notwithstanding it's overuse by greeting card companies, it's a darned good poem.

Of course, the connection between the poem and that purple shirt of mine takes me in many directions. I think of all the victims of Alzheimer's who cannot choose to wear purple or even know whether or not they are.  They are too often robbed of the opportunity to purposefully make new choices, to break away from the routines and "have-to's" and transition gracefully into old age.  Now I don't mean what may come first to your mind with that scary phrase "old age".  I'm thinking of that wonderful, joyful, and possibly wiser time of life where you calm down, slow down,  reflect and pass on what you've learned.

I can't help but think about my mother and the conversations we never had because of her illness.  I will always treasure the fact that she knew me, was happy to see me, smiled, and held my hand. But what stories might she have told me if she had had the opportunity? What memories might she have shared? What lessons might she have taught me at a time when I was finally ready to listen? We will never know.

We are getting ready for the 2016 Walk to End Alzheimer's - Lakes and Mountains Area on Saturday, September 17th. We are again walking for my mother, Trudy, and for all the other who are suffering with or have been lost to this insidious disease. Our Trudy's Team page can be found at  http://act.alz.org/goto/trudy

There's lots to be done yet - a thank you to all who supported us last year and have donated already,  a Trudy's Team Facebook page, a call for donations and team members, more blog posts. But for today I'm going to reread a poem and hope that with a cure all of us will have the chance to experience "old age" on our own terms.

Click here to see Jenny Joseph read her poem -  Warning

Easy To Be Hard

"How can people be so heartless? " I woke up this morning with that song lyric stuck in my head. Funny since I haven't thought of the rock musical "Hair" for decades. Yes, it's funny but rather apt in light of the current political scene. If you can gauge anything from a Facebook newsfeed, it seems a lot of folks are perplexed and dismayed by what is going on with the current presidential campaign. Such nastiness and so little civility makes you wonder "[h]ow can people be so cruel".

What I wonder is where are all the Baby Boomers. What has happened to us, the peace, love, dove generation? Shouldn't we be calling the shots? Aren't there more of us demographically? Well, not anymore actually. According to the Pew Research Center, the Millenials were projected to surpass us sometime in 2015. I think they did since an recent article in CNN Money claimed the most common age in America last year was 22. As a group we Boomers are losing our grip and perhaps our perspective. 

C'mon, there are still well more than 60 million of us and we know kindness. We know love. We know how to make our voices heard. So let's say something. Let's try to do something. 

Find your inner Woodstock. Dig out your Army Surplus clothing. Put on your Birkenstocks and wear some flowers in you hair.  Well, in all seriousness, at least speak up! 

With thanks to Galt MacDermot, James Rado, and Gerome Ragni, I will leave you with some  additional lyrics -

How can people be so heartless
How can people be so cruel
Easy to be hard
Easy to be cold

How can people have no feelings
How can they ignore their friends
Easy to be proud
Easy to say no

Especially people who care about strangers
Who care about evil and social injustice
Do you only care about the bleeding crowd
How about a needing friend ...

First World Retirement Problems

Silly title, huh? It just struck me that retirement itself is a first world phenomenon. It's a gift. However, life without the daily 9 to 5 grind does present some challenges.  I'm not complaining and I'm not referring to those things that present as problems for all of us whether we're working or not. This is not about how to get the house "Thanksgiving clean" or how best to organize the food pantry so your crackers don't fall out while your looking for the tuna fish. There's just something different about not working in the conventional way that's hard to explain, but may be worth exploring.

Society defines us and judges us by our work. One of the first questions we ask when we meet someone new is "What do you do?" Or course, by that we simply mean "Where do you work?". But, hey, if you think about that question more broadly, it's really a tough one to answer. I mean, what do any of us do? What are the actions that make up our lives? Should you have to answer that? Could you? How would you?

In the first months of my retirement I've been trying to do just that. I find myself outlining my accomplishments in the silliest of ways. I list my completed tasks at the end of the day and make sure Mo knows I rearranged the bathroom closet and washed the bedroom curtains.  Ta da! I dusted. I bought a new vacuum cleaner. I descaled the Keurig. (Actually, I haven't done that yet, but you get my point).

Have I told you I'm organizing my photos? I'm building a website on Weebly. I made my first YouTube video. I bought a domain name. Okay, okay. Enough already. I need to stop. My first first world retirement problem is  understanding that I don't have to explain myself. It's 9:00 a.m. Friday morning. I just wrote a blog post. What else am I going to do today? Mums the word. 

Retirement Is A Good Thing

In 17 days I will retire. I'm excited. I'm pumped. I've been giddily sharing the news but I'm surprised by the number of negative reactions I've been getting. People seem surprised, puzzled and concerned. I'm hearing: "Really?"; "Are you sure?"; "Do you have a plan?'; and "What are you going to do?".  Well, all you skeptics out there, let me tell you what I have in mind.

•  I will blog more. Sadly, my last post was back in June after a short visit to New Orleans. It was entitled "Three Cab Rides Part 1: The Man from Dubai." Parts 2 and 3 are yet to be written. Sigh.  Part 2 would tell the tale of Cowboy Joe. While we were riding with him, he almost pulled a gun on a guy in a black Mercedes with tinted windows for trying to turn the wrong way on a one way street. Good stuff. Part 3 was to feature Ninth Ward Harold. On the way to the airport he told us about the government blowing up the levees during both hurricanes Betsy and Katrina. Conspiracy theory or fact? He was very convincing. 

• I will walk my dogs more. The three terrible terriers really need the exercise and so do I. We have started a pre-retirement routine where I walk each one separately along a prearranged route. Each pup gets some one on one time and I meet my Fitbit step goal. So far, so good.

•  I will make more photographs or as one of my YouTube mentors would suggest "get out there and take some damned photos."  My CAS, Camera Acquisition Syndrome, needs an outlet. For years the sad refrain has been so many cameras, so little time. 

• I will have a cleaner and better organized house. My mother always told me I should have taken Home Economics. As I assume the role of Home Administrator, I face a steep learning curve.

•  I will mow lawns and shovel snow, two most satisfying activities that yield measurable results and provide time for reflection. 

• I will think of more things to do and I will blog more. Perhaps we should title this post  "Retirement is a Good Thing Part 1. 

You May Not Be As Helpful As You Think

This is my first week on FMLA leave and some of you may be wondering how it's going. Well, I already have some advice for anyone who may be thinking about or already caring for an elderly friend or relative in his or her home. Check your ego at the door and remember that you are a guest. With a  heart full of love and a head full of great ideas, you certainly have the very best of intentions.  But, hey, you may not be a helpful as you think.

Unless someone is legally incompetent (oh, yeah the lawyer weighs in), you have no business rearranging the furniture, revamping the schedule or otherwise taking charge. There are many different approaches to running a household. Be respectful and understand that your way is not the only way and may not be right for others. Ask what you can do to help. Listen. Stay humble. It's not about you. 

Here's the bottom line. Think about how you would feel if someone came into your home and told you what you should and should not do.

That's it for now. I'll keep you posted.

I Used to Like Working

No, this isn't a rant about everything that is and has ever been wrong with my current position. I have an okay job that has its pluses and minuses. And, yes, I know that I'm fortunate to have a job when so many others who want to work can't find one. Still lately too often I find myself frustrated and unhappy on the job and I've been wondering why. Perhaps it's simply my age.
The younger me loved working because every day there was something new. Learning. Making a difference. Facing challenges. Solving problems. Meeting new people. Oh, yeah, I know I can still do all of those things where I am now but I'm a bit tired of it. Been there and done that. I really want to retire.
What would that be like? Sitting on beach sipping tasty beverages? Attending church suppers and playing bingo? Golfing? Shuffleboard? Nah! I still want to learn, to face new challenges and do all those things that energized me in the past. I just want to do it on my own terms and in my own way. My goals. My vision. My timeframe. Ah, imagine the possibilities. But wait. Not now. I really must get back to work.

Mom Should Wear Her Sweater

Last week was cold. Here in Southern Maine we experienced our lowest recorded temperatures in six years. When I met my parents at a local diner for lunch last Thursday it was windy and bone chillingly cold. Dad had his sweater on but under her coat my Mom was wearing only a short-sleeved shirt.  As I took her arm to help out of the car and into the restaurant, I asked where her gloves were. She told me they were in her coat pocket but she didn’t need them. She said she was fine.
Fine is, of course, a relative term. It was chillier then usual inside as we sat in the booth. The rest of us removed our coats and hung them up on hooks. Mom slipped her arms out of hers but pulled it loosely around her shoulders.

“Are you cold, Mom?”

 “No, I’m fine.”

And, you know, she was.  She was fine. We had a nice lunch and no harm whatsoever resulted from the lapse.  It just made me incredibly sad to realize that she is no longer aware enough to take note of and plan for the weather.   I spoke to my father about how Mom should wear her sweater when it’s so cold. Of course, he knows and he tries. He does remind her to dress more appropriately, to wear her sweater, to wear a warmer coat, but she just won’t. She says she’s fine.

 My mother’s memory began to fail several years ago now. Damn, but even as I type those words I feel like a liar. A user of euphemisms. An avoider of harsh truths.  What has been happening to my mother goes far beyond a little forgetfulness.  It’s insidious. It’s relentless. And it’s getting worse. Yet, through it all she’s been fine. She’s fairly happy and she constantly reminds us all how lucky we are.

It’s funny but the more my Mom slips away from me, the more I remember the things she always told me, those little life lessons she taught me. One thing she held strongly to and tried to instill in me was what I like to call suburban stoicism. No matter what life throws at you, keep your head held high and don’t complain. It was her own  version of “Never let them see you sweat” and it was imperative. It was the right thing to do. I guess, it still is.
 So, please understand I’m not complaining. We’re all fine here. I just wish it would warm up or that Mom would wear her sweater.

The Day Surgery Waiting Room

You definitely need a helmet or, at the very least, good ear plugs when you wait around at a hospital. As I sit here for the second time this month while my father has cataract surgery, the television is blasting an episode of Judge Joe Brown. Since I've never seen the program, I may not be qualified to evaluate, but I suspect this may be one of the most annoying shows in TV history. Bear in mind that is a very bold statement from someone who used to watch The Price is Right as a child.

This day surgery waiting room is quite unpleasant, but perhaps no worse than the eye surgeon's office where we spent several hours during the many preoperative visits. There we squeezed into a very large jammed packed area where patients wait to see one of two doctors in an elaborate winding path through multiple stopping points. The goal is to actually make it to the room where a real doctor sees you - for 3 to 4 minutes.  Yes, folks, it's runs like a factory and is just as impersonal.

Now we all know I'm cranky and impatient, but anyone would find this irritating. I also found it sad reflection on a health care system controlled by the insurance industry. The process has to run like a well-oiled machine or it can't run at all. On a positive note, my dad can see great now. Thanks for listening. Oh, and please spare me any more Judge Joe Brown.