So many worries, so little time

I am a worrier. I am not just any old amateur worrier either. If worrying were an Olympic event, I would be a gold medalist.  My mother likes to say I come from a long line of worriers. She is a worrier and her mother was a worrier before her. When I was young, I never wanted to believe I'd grow up to be like my mother. Turns out, like so many other things I had planned for in my adult life, I was wrong.

I don't know for sure what makes a worrier. Is it genes or learned behavior or life experience? My grandmother lived through the historic hurricane of 1938. She used to tell me stories about going to the fire station in town to help identify the rows and rows of bodies lined up along the floor. When my grandfather first moved his family to their home on the beach she would sit up all night. While her husband and children slept she sat, smoking one cigarette after another, watching the ocean so she would be ready if it started to come towards the house. Eventually she did get over that, but I remember she still spent a lot of time staring at the ocean.

I’m sure this was one of the things that caused her to become a worrier. It sounds like a pretty good reason in my book. Often an unexpected life event, some type of loss or trauma, leaves us seeing the word as an unsafe place. Or it could be a betrayal or a broken heart that shatters our faith in our fellow humans and leaves us wounded and feeling vulnerable. Sometimes, excessive worrying comes from living in a home where one or more family members struggles with alcohol or substance abuse. When home life is chaotic, when emotions are unpredictable and volatile, or when we’ve experienced a traumatic event we have not yet healed from, we become hyper-vigilant. We never truly relax. We learn to read the emotions of others so that we know how to behave and when to make ourselves scarce. We look over our shoulders and peer around every corner waiting for that next thing.

Some of these worrying skills turn out to be pretty useful. Being aware of the needs and emotions of others is a handy Mom Skill. Balancing unpredictable emotional outbursts with daily life certainly comes in handy for anyone raising a toddler. In my case, when I had four kids age eight and under, balancing the physical and emotional needs of multiple small children turned out to be something I was really good at. Worriers are often caretakers as well. We sometimes take care of others at the expense of being able to take care of ourselves. We don't vocalize our own needs. Often, we are so involved with others that we don't even know what our own needs are.

There has to be a happy medium between taking care of the things we can control and wasting time worrying about the things that are out of our hands. Feeding the kids a healthy meal for dinner, making sure they get all of their shots and get their teeth cleaned every six months, all of that is in our control. Holding back the ocean is not.

What I've come to realize is that bad things are going to happen sometimes, that’s just life, but there are going to be lots of good things too!  The funny thing is that most of the bad things I worried about never actually happened and some things I didn't think to worry about did. Go figure!

I know there’s a cure out there somewhere. I’ve tried everything people say will help. I've tried prayer, yoga, long walks, meditation and red wine to name a few! Maybe I’m just not trying them in the right combinations? In the meantime, I found a poem that was written for us worriers in the latest edition of the New England Review. The last stanza is my favorite.

“Don’t worry that you’ve left
your doors unlocked, the oven or coffeepot on.
Don’t worry that running out of concrete fears—
a flat tire, bad test results, suspicious charge
to your account—will leave you open to the vague
and nameless dread you’d do anything to avoid.
Don’t try to explain, even to those you love,
the dilemmas you’ve faced by 9 a.m., the deathbeds
you’ve visited, disasters you’ve seen or averted.
Don’t worry that worry might be all you have.”

Click here to view the entire “Anti-Anxiety Poem” by Carrie Shipers. Thanks Carrie!

This piece originally appeared on the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, May 25, 2012. 

Divorce, like marriage, should involve a fancy new dress and cake!

Human beings are creatures of ritual. Rituals gave our human ancestors a sense of control over all the uncontrollable and unpredictable events; weather, illness, famine, death. Rituals couldn’t prevent the death of your child but they gave you something to do; a candle to light, incense to burn, a blessing to repeat, so that you felt like you did something, anything, while you were slowly coming to terms with the inevitable. Modern life is a little more predictable. We know when it’s going to rain or snow. We are able to prevent or cure at least some of the diseases and illnesses that our ancestors succumbed to. Yet, no amount of modern science will ever make us completely in control, able to predict or prevent all of what life brings us. So, we still cling to rituals, whether religious or secular. They still bring us comfort and a sense of security.

All of our major life events still have a ritual involved, to prepare us for them, to help us through them. Birthday parties, baptisms, bar mitzvahs, bachelor parties, baby showers, weddings and funerals are all examples of modern-day rituals. Each of these events, whether or not they involve an actual ceremony, contains a certain amount of predictable elements. If you have ever been to a baby shower you know things are done a certain way, certain games are played and certain decorations are always used, just because that’s the way it’s always done! While all of these events usually contain some type of party or celebration (even funerals have a gathering afterwards with food and drinks), there is a point to the gathering that goes beyond just the party. The point is about family and community helping you transition into the next stage of life. It is about people who have been there and done that, showing support, giving advice and holding you up. It is about those who care for you validating your experience and the pain or the joy that goes along with it. “We understand”, these people are saying, “and we are here for you.”

There is, however, one major life event that does not have any rituals or celebrations. It is the one event that we still shy away from, avoid coming into contact with people who are going through it, as if it is somehow contagious. As if it will somehow call all of our own life choices into question. This event is divorce. Now let me be clear, when I say divorce I mean those marriages where people have committed to a life together and have been with each other through all those other major life events. No Kim Kardashian’s divorce does not count. What does count however, are all those relationships of two committed loving partners who had planned a life together whether or not some government or religious entity confirmed their commitment. I’m talking about those of us who really believed that forever meant forever, not the forever you said when you “loved” some in junior high school, but as I used to say to someone “real forever.”

I’m proposing divorce have a ceremony. I say it also needs cake. A mother and daughter team in New York may be onto something when they held the first ever Divorce Expo, an event that they say will help to empower those going through this life altering experience. The two-day event brought professionals together to offer the newly divorced advice on everything from finance to dating again. While I think they are certainly onto something, and I would have certainly attended something similar when I was going through my divorce, some of it may have just been a little too much. The advice from the Mary Kay expert might have come in handy but the plastic surgeon in attendance is just over the top. I certainly didn’t need anyone making me feel any worse about myself than I already did. Telling me they could fix all my problems with a little surgery may have elicited a tirade of unpleasant language on my part. The idea, however, was to offer things for a wide variety of people and I truly hope their event was successful and will catch on in other places around the country.

What would be even better though is to have an event held by those who know and love you. My own friends and family would have known I wouldn’t want to hear from a plastic surgeon. However, a new outfit, a fancy meal and bottle of champagne really would have hit the spot. A ceremony of some sort would have also provided some type of closure. I can verify that dropping a ring from a very high bridge into a very deep river on its way to the ocean feels much better than just keeping this old reminder in the bottom of your jewelry box. Maybe the newly divorced could also get “god parents!” You know, just some close friends who promise to help take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself, someone who promises to answer the phone at 2 a.m. when you can’t sleep and are up alone trying to answer unanswerable questions.

I think there should also be gifts! Let’s face it, when you get divorced you lose not only half of all your possessions but sometimes half of your income as well. Next time one of my friends gets divorced I’m going to try to remember all this. It’s time we started helping each other through this life transition and stopped treating it like some contagious social disease. Maybe I’ll get a gift certificate to a fancy restaurant so he/she doesn’t have to wait for someone else to invite them, or maybe a membership to AAA for those mornings their car won’t start and they are home alone. Maybe I’ll pick up some new towels for his/her new place. Even better, maybe I’ll make one of those little coupon books that says things like “one free rant and rave session” or “one weekend of designated driving so you can have all the wine you need.” Either way there’s going to be cake!

This piece originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, April 1, 2012. 

Of all the men I’ve lost, I miss the dog the most!

Like many of you, I've had a lot of loss in my life. There are times, when the loss seems overwhelming. If I get caught up in the “what ifs” and the “if only-s” I can find myself spiraling down into a place that sometimes takes days to get out of.

Now my losses are not nearly as bad as some that other people have survived. I know this. I try to keep that in mind. But sometimes, when you are in the middle of a really good pity-party you just don’t want to be reminded to count your blessings. You just need to wallow for a little while. Not too long, but sometimes the best way to get over pain, once and for all, is to feel it, acknowledge it and then let it go.

As Spring comes and plants start to bud and kids and dogs appear outside, I sometimes start thinking about the things I really, really miss. When you get divorced people ask all kinds of questions that are supposed to help. Do you miss him? Do you miss your old life? Do you miss the house your kids grew up in? Do you wish you’d stayed longer, waited to sell the house, gotten custody of the dog?

The truth is the only thing I’d go back and do over is who got the dog. I thought there’d be shared custody and lots of visits. There haven’t been, not nearly enough. I made the mistake of moving to an apartment that won’t let me have pets and he made it clear that, once the check cleared and the deed was filed, I was no longer welcome in the house we raised our family in.

But a house is only a home when it's filled with the people you love.

I really miss him . . .  the dog that is. I miss coming home to his tail wagging, always happy to see me no matter what type of day we both had. I miss him sleeping on the end of the bed. I miss his warm, fuzzy little head. I miss his devotion and his unconditional love. I miss watching him throw himself against the windows in a frenzy every time another dog dared to walk down his street. I miss his optimism, believing that just maybe this will be the time he catches that squirrel even if every other attempt has failed. I miss sitting in the sun on the back porch with him on a lazy summer afternoon.

I also really miss my gardens. I miss the hope that comes with planting a Tulip or a Daffodil bulb in the fall and believing that it will survive, way deep down under the dirt and the snow, and bloom again the next Spring. I miss the perennials I planted; the Iris, Lilies, Clematis and Peony, a few more each year, with the faith that they would survive a long Maine winter and bloom again. I miss the old Lilac bush that came with the house and the Forsythia that I planted and watched grow from tiny saplings to a giant hedge that bloomed bright yellow every spring.

I miss these things that I could always count on; my spring gardens and my warm beagle. No matter what happened, no matter who else had let me down, no matter how hard life got, the garden kept blooming and the dog met me at the door when I got home.

What I have come to realize, as I pull myself up and out of this difficult time, is that my roots have nothing to do with the house I lived in or the gardens I tended.  As beautiful as they all were, the real roots I planted are still mine. They are the children I raised there, and the adults they have become. They have each drifted off like seeds on a light wind, to settle in gardens of their own, to make lives of their own, and they are healthy and safe and growing just fine.

The parts of my own life, the things that I love to nurture, aren’t gone. They are just below the surface, waiting safely until the time is right, to bloom again.

and maybe I can find a way to spend more time with the Beagle.

This piece originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, March 25, 2012. 

Parenthood: Menial labor, unfathomable love & unspeakable terror!

I have heard it said that being a parent is like walking around with a part of your heart forever on the outside of your body.

Our children just don’t get it do they? I don’t mean small children, I mean those of us who have “full grown, don’t tell me what to do I’m an adult” children. The state says they can drive, they can own their own property. They can vote or get married or have a beer.  None of this means they are actually old enough to get it.

There was a time when I didn’t get it either, way back before I had children. It was so long ago I don’t really remember what life was even like then. In fact, it was almost 28 years ago now. For every parent, there is a day when you just get it. It might be the first time you felt your unborn child move inside you. It could have been when you gave birth, or when you watched your partner give birth. It might have been the first time, as an adoptive parent, that someone handed you this young child and walked way, leaving you, just you, responsible for this small life. Maybe it was the moment you married the birth parent of your children and you realized you were saying “I do” to a whole family and the responsibilities that went with it. However you became a parent, you remember it, that moment when it all became clear.

I was only 19 years old when my son was born. His father and I thought we got it, but we didn’t, not until that moment he was born. We could hardly believe when the hospital actually let us take him home; this tiny, fragile human being. He was ours, ready or not. Every decision whether it involved feeding him, or keeping him warm, or getting him medical care, was now in our hands. Every decision we made for the rest of our lives would affect him, would shape his life and would eventually shape the lives of his sisters as well.We tried our best to make good decisions. Sometimes we fell short but everything we did, from that moment on, involved him, his life, his happiness, and his future.

It doesn’t change. No matter how old he gets. It doesn’t change. Whether he’s 7 or 27, that very same feeling of overwhelming love and responsibility never changes. I know it annoys him sometimes. I know it annoys his sisters as well. He does not understand that we are no more capable of walking away, of not caring, of not being involved in his life than we would be of deciding we no longer needed oxygen.  When you are a parent, your children are your oxygen.

Even when they are adults you still hold your breath the way you did when they took their first steps and the way you did the first time you dropped them off at kindergarten. The difference when they get older is they are no longer under your control. You can’t make their decisions for them. You can’t pick them up and hold them and make everything better. Yet, you still hold your breath with every step they take. You hold your breath when they fall in love. You hold your breath every single time they board a plane or get in a car and take a trip. You hold your breath when they leave for college or join the military. You hold your breath and you pray and pray and pray.

I lost my breath this past weekend in that moment when the phone rang at 2:45 am and I found out my son had been in a very serious car accident. I am still struggling to catch it again. This is, after all, what parenthood is all about isn’t it? The majority of it is hard work and menial labor. There are proud moments and moments of embarrassing laughter. There are moments of unfathomable love and tremendous joy.

Occasionally there are moments of unspeakable terror. There are moments when all you can do it sit there, by their bedside in the hospital. There are moments when there is absolutely nothing you can do, or say to fix it. You can’t even explain it to them. There are simply no words.

All you can do is be there and breathe with them and know that someday, when it is their turn, they will get it. In the meantime, we rely on each other, fellow parents, all of us who are forever living with a part of our hearts on the outside of our bodies. We lean on each other when words are neither necessary nor even possible.

This post originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, on January 13, 2012. 

Humbling Middle-Aged Moments!

All we really get are moments. There are happy moments, embarrassing moments, heart breaking moments and moments of incredible joy but it all comes in moments. In between is a lot of hard work. It’s remembering those moments, both the good and the bad that gets us through. When we look back on our lives it is those moments we remember; the sweet moment when someone said “I love you,” the overwhelming moment when we held our newborn child, the moment full of pride when we watched one of our children cross the stage at their graduation. We remember the exact moment when someone broke our heart, or the last moments we held the hand of a dying parent. It is all these moments that make us who we are.

It’s been a few weeks of moments, hasn’t it? Holidays tend to magnify these moments. There was a humbling moment last week.  I’d had a great day at work. Here I was, feeling all metropolitan, crossing the street in front of Paddy Murphy’s on Main, in my new fabulous outfit and sexy high heels, when I slipped on who knows what and landed smack dab in the middle of Main Street, in the rain, just when the light had just changed and none of the cars could go because I was lying in the road, looking for my shoe. Ah yes, humbling moments you just have to laugh at.

Even this was better than the moment a couple years ago, that I woke up alone in my new apartment and the fact that was I middle-aged and unexpectedly divorced hit me in the chest like a sack of flour.

There was a moment on Christmas Eve. My mom, who is 77 now, was reading “The Night before Christmas” to all of my children the same way she has done every year, for over 20 years. I looked around at all my children there with us, all grown safe and sound and home and I just cried silently the rest of the way through the story.

There was the moment at midnight mass when the choir sang “Silent Night” and I felt a peace I hadn’t felt in quite awhile.

There was a moment on Christmas morning when I was making breakfast for mother and all my children. I was remembering all those other mornings when they were growing up, and all the breakfasts, and all the times that were both wonderful and frightening and all that we’ve survived and learned from all these years.

There were the moments Christmas Night when I gathered with a dozen or so friends, new and old, for a non-traditional celebration. We laughed and we ate and we shared stories about all the moments in our lives that lead us to this place and time. I was truly grateful for all the love in my life and all the people that have become a part of it. There was a moment later when I felt rather silly because my friend Judy’s story about our non-traditional Christmas meal came out in the BDN and we all looked rather sad and lonely.  Then I realized it was okay, really, a moment we can look back on and laugh at because we were anything but lonely. In fact, we were all pretty darn good!

This is what life gives us; moments of joy mixed in with moments of challenges. If we can only remember during those hard moments that they will pass, more joy will follow if we can just hold on. Another wonderful moment is right around the corner. Maybe I should wear flats today instead of heels so when that incredible moment comes by I’ll be ready for it.

This piece was originally published on the Bangor Daily News website, December 26, 2011. 

Merry, Happy, Whatever!

I was in the grocery store one evening, about this time last year, when a gentleman in the same aisle sneezed.  Without really thinking about it, I responded with “bless you.”  The man shot back at me with a very firm and unexpected lecture on the origin of the phrase, the history of the church and his rather strong feelings surrounding both. I was taken aback. Fortunately, I rarely lose the power to actually speak and responded with “I’m very sorry, my intention was simply to be polite, not to comment on your eternal salvation.” He was then rendered speechless himself and I pushed my cart on down the aisle.

I meant no disrespect to this man or his beliefs. I even agreed with him on some of his points about religion. In fact, I may have enjoyed a good debate/discussion. However, the grocery store was not the place for this conversation, and surely, it is not a conversation that’s a good idea to have with a complete stranger. So what should someone do in this situation? I believe we need to consider the intention of the person who is speaking with us. My intention was to wish him good health. He should have simply responded with “thank you” in the same way that I would respond if someone wished me a Happy Hanukah.

I’m not Jewish. I don’t celebrate Hanukah. However, if someone does and greets me with this wish, I would simply respond with “thank you” or “you also.” Their intention was to wish me happiness. It is not a comment or an insult on my own belief system.  Now maybe the correct thing would be to first ask the person if they actually celebrate the holiday you are about to wish them well with. If they say no, then just wish them peace or good health instead.  However, sometimes it is just impractical to inquire about everyone’s personal beliefs before offering a simple, well-intentioned greeting.

I think in our efforts to be politically correct we have gone way overboard. Isn’t it really all the same season; the season of peace and joy and good will towards our fellow human beings? I celebrate Christmas because I was raised in a Catholic family, but my own beliefs have evolved well beyond the church of my youth. I also like the idea of celebrating the Winter Solstice as well; a time to celebrate the cold, dark days each getting a little longer on our way to spring and new life once again. Its connection to the ancient gods or goddesses is intriguing but not threatening in any way to my particular faith. I love hearing about other faiths and traditions and would enjoy being included in a family’s celebration that was different than my own.

The same goes for my tree. You can call it a holiday tree or a Christmas tree or Auntie Karen’s Super Funky Sparkling Tree of Fun! It’s all fine with me. What you call it or how you celebrate or don’t celebrate does not affect my enjoyment of the holidays in any way whatsoever. I truly hope that nothing I do or say is offensive to you in anyway either. My wish is for each of you to enjoy your entire holiday season, in whatever form that it takes! Should I run into any of you in the grocery store, and I slip up and say “Merry Christmas” or “God Bless You,” please forgive me. I have only the best intentions!

Now I’m off to wrap presents to put under my Super Funky Sparkling Tree of Fun!

This piece was originally published on the Bangor Daily News website, December 9, 2011. 

Parent Teens – I’ve lost some battles but ultimately I’ve won the war!

If there is anything I can share stories about in my life, it would be teenagers. I have raised them. I have worked professionally with them. I have lived with them, cooked and cleaned for them, driven them to and fro, stayed up half the night waiting for them, sat in emergency rooms with them, counseled them, laughed and cried with them, cried over them, and shared their accomplishments and joy!

My youngest child turns twenty next week. She is not nearly as excited as I am. Twenty is not a milestone birthday for her. She is still stuck between 18 and 21, in that land of “technically an adult but not quite yet.” For me, however, this is a huge milestone. My baby is no longer a teenager.  I have been parenting teenagers since my oldest turned 13, in 1997. That is roughly 14 years of teenagers. I have always said that the teen years are nature’s way of getting us ready, and willing, to have them leave home. If they left us when they were those cute, little, curly-haired, feety pajama clad, lovable children, it would surely kill us outright. So instead, nature turns them into large, loud, dramatic, hormone-driven creatures and we become much more ready to have them leave the nest when the time comes.

Nothing prepares parents for how hard those teen years can be. Sometimes you find yourself in battlefield conditions and all you can do is make sure everyone survives. Sometimes it seems like you are just moving from crisis to crisis but you get through, eventually. I hope that even when I made mistakes they always knew that I was on their side. There are still things they need to learn from you during those years, and things you still need to learn from them. There are skills you can pass on more easily like how to drive a stick shift. There are other things you can’t really teach them, like how to survive a broken heart or the death of someone they love. You just have to be there, stick beside them quietly, and let them know that yes, they will get through this. We all have.

They were years full of both joy and heartache. There were disappointments and unexpected accomplishments and times of complete hysterical laughter. There have been football games, swim meets, field hockey, track meets and boxing matches. There were driver’s ed classes, fender benders and speeding tickets. There were attempts to sneak out of the house, or to sneak other people in (eventually I installed a contact alarm on the back door, seriously!). We survived SATS, college applications and FAFSAs. There were long talks about sex and love. I’ve caught a few of them drinking. One time one of them even thought I would believe that the smell coming from his room was actually “incense” as if I had never been a teenager myself; just popped into this world in an adult sized, fun- ruining mom body! There were school projects and art exhibits and talent shows. Thankfully, there were also other parents. These were friends that I could count on, judgment free, as we negotiated those tricky years together.

I’ve lost a few battles, but yes, ultimately, I have won the war! They have served in the military, served in AmeriCorps, gone to college, or opened their own business. They have jobs, great friends, their own apartments and causes they believe in. Who knew this crazy group of teenagers, who could not even do their own dishes most of the time, were capable of such things! They have dreamed wonderful dreams that even I, as their biggest fan, couldn’t have imagined for them. Most surprising to me though has been finding out that parenting does not actually end when they are 18, that magical number we sometimes cling to when times are hard. It doesn’t end. It is just different. It turns out I am still their mother and they still need me sometimes. What has changed is that now, sometimes I need them too, just like my mother sometimes needs me. Now I am learning how to parent twenty-somethings. I am learning how to back off. (No, that has not been easy). I am learning to trust that I did the best job I could, and now it’s up to them. So far, they are doing a pretty decent job!

Happy Birthday Baby Girl!

This piece was originally published on the Bangor Daily News website, November 24, 2011. 

Honey, please pass the turkey to your dad’s new wife

Negotiating the holidays for “custom made” families can be challenging. If you’ve read my blog before you know I don’t like the term “broken” families. Nor do I choose to use “divorced” or “blended.”  My term of choice is “custom made.” This takes into account not only the family made by marriage, divorce and remarriage, but the family that we’ve made because there are simply people in our lives that we love. “Custom made” includes my extra children, the ones I didn’t give birth to but love all the same. It also includes my dearest friends, who are more like family to me than most of my blood relatives. Another term is “family of choice” which in today’s complicated world covers so many of our situations. So how do we accommodate our non-traditional families during the holiday season? How do we create memories when our families look nothing like the families in the holiday television specials?

My own parents were wonderful at this. I know it took time. The first few years after they separated were awkward, to say the least. It was the 1970s. Divorce was not common, yet somehow, my parents came up with a plan that worked for our family. By the time I was in high school, I spent holidays with my mother, my father, my step-mother, my step-mother’s x-husband, and all of the children that belonged to each. Was it easy? I’m sure it wasn’t. It certainly wasn't what they planned when they first had children. Was it worth it, absolutely!

Now I know every situation is different and every family is different. Spending holidays together will not work for everyone. So if you can’t pull it off, if you are still too hurt or too angry, then don’t try it. It is much better to have happy holidays apart than miserable times together. The holidays, for me, were always about making wonderful memories for my children. Some of those memories have been traditional and some have been unconventional but overall, the majority of them have been happy. As a family we’ve learned to deal with divorce, remarriage, death, separation and new relationships. We’ve cooked fresh game and we’ve made To-furkey, depending on the guest list. Believe me, there have been uncomfortable moments for my children and I as we negotiated holidays with their father and myself and their step-father. There have been many holidays that I invited my x-husband, and his youngest child (their baby sister) to join us for opening presents on Christmas morning. Every time I did, while sometimes awkward, it was always very much worth it. In fact, I have included my children’s half-sister in so many family events that she has grown up calling me “auntie.”

So what do you do if this is your family’s first holiday after a major life change? My advice is to hang on to some old traditions but more importantly, try to be flexible. Make new traditions. If the kids are spending time away, give them some of the family decorations so they can put them up at the other parent’s house. If you have moved to a new place, buy yourself new decorations to go with your new traditions. Did your family always cut a real tree and can't anymore because you are in a new apartment? Why don’t you start a different tradition and go out to your favorite place for waffles or ice cream sundaes, before decorating the new, “custom made” tree.

Chances are if you are sharing time with your children’s other parent, they won't be with you during the entire holiday. Whatever you do, do NOT be alone! Why not throw a party, invite over your new neighbors, go out to eat someplace non-traditional, or spend the day volunteering at a local shelter or food pantry. Maybe you could volunteer with your kids. Pick a child's name off a local angel tree and shop together for someone who is less fortunate. Concentrating on making someone else's holiday better will take their minds off anything they feel might be missing from their own. Whatever you do, go out of your way to be festive; dress up, cheer up! The rest of your life doesn’t look anything like those families on TV, why would you expect your holidays to? The season will be whatever you make it. Make it one full of wonderful memories! 

This piece was originally published on the Bangor Daily News website, November 16, 2011. 

On Aging with Grace and Chutzpah!

I have always wanted to be an old lady. (Of course, the closer I get the less appealing it is some days). No, I have not always wanted grey hair, sagging skin and fading eyesight. What I have wanted is what I have seen, so often, reflected in the older women in my life, both family and dear friends. It is peace, calmness, and a confidence in the fact that whatever life throws at them, they can handle it, because they have already, so many times. It is a faith in a power greater than themselves and a deep belief that one way or another things always, somehow, work out. It is the ability to stop worrying about the little things and to rest on the accomplishments of a life well lived. It is chutzpah! Yes, I want to be that eccentric old lady. You know, the old lady in the famous poem “Warning” written by Jenny Joseph in England in 1961.

I will never forget the first time I read that poem. I thought immediately of my grandmother, Bertha, a woman who had survived so much and still enjoyed her life to the fullest. Even in her eighties she would never think of leaving the house without her lipstick and earrings! When I was born, my mother was ill for a long time, and my grandmother took over my care. When I was seven, my parents divorced and my mother went back to work full-time (a very brave life choice in the 1970s). My grandmother, again, was there for me every day after school. When I was young and newly married, my grandmother could no longer care for herself, and I, without thought, jumped in. She lived with our family for the last three years of her life. I remember one day she told me that when I was just a little girl, I had promised her that I would take care of her when she was old, because she had always taken care of me. She said she wondered at the time if that would really happen, and it did. That’s the way it is supposed to work isn’t it? Ideally, that is what families do.

Yet today, families are spread out. Most of us no longer live in the towns we grew up in. Often children only see grandparents a few times year. Sometimes grandparents are the ones who have picked up and left, retiring to a more moderate climate. Decisions about how best to care for our parents in their older years have become so much more complicated than just moving them into the family home, as we so often did in years past. My own mother is now getting to that age. She moved to Maine when she retired, nine years ago this week, to be nearer my children and I. She and I have talked often about what we will do when she is no longer comfortable living on her own, how we will combine our tiny city apartments and look out for each other. I try to see her future, and hope to make it an easy transition for her. In her eyes, I also see my own future. She is a survivor, my mother.

What I have discovered, is that those women who are the most contented in their later years, are those who have walked the most difficult paths in their lives. The reason they know they can survive anything is often because they already have! They have been brave. They have been unconventional. They have taken what life has handed them and done the best they could with it. They have made good choices and they have made bad choices but they have always found the courage to make those choices. They have had good luck and they have had bad luck, but they have not let life make them bitter. They have learned when to say they were sorry, and when not to apologize for anything! They have lost friends and lovers. They have faced illnesses and disasters. They have held newborn babies and sat beside the deathbeds of loved ones.  They have raised children who brought them both heartache and joy, and they are still here, still going!

The women I have always envied, the confident older women, my mother and grandmother and many more, they know the secret. They know that the minute we are born we are heading towards the day we will die and that every, single day in between is precious. They know that it doesn’t matter if our car won’t start or we’ve burned the meal we were cooking, or if we’ve had a bad day at work. They know it doesn’t matter if we have what the neighbors have. It turns out it does not even really matter how our life partners fold the towels or whether the toilet paper rolls over or under. It doesn’t really matter. Life is too important, too wonderful and too short to waste time on worry, anger or regret.

This week I seem to have stumbled upon multiple stories about aging that left me once again asking the questions. How do we care for our parents? How will our children care for us? I read with horror, a local story of elder abuse. I read with sadness about the death of Andy Rooney, who continued to write and work and tell the world the truth until just four weeks before his death at 92. With a heavy heart, I read a story about author Dudley Clendinen, whose book “A Place Called Canterbury” told a beautiful story of a man taking care of his elderly mother in her last days. Clendinen, himself, is now the one dying, of Lou Gehrig’s disease, far sooner than anyone would wish. During this ordeal he is doing weekly broadcasts on living and dying. His choice on how he will end his life, before the disease takes its toll and his dignity, shows how complicated the decisions about our final days can be.

This is what middle age brings. It brings a view of the past in one direction and the future in the next direction. It is like spending time on top of Cadillac Mountain where you can see both the sunrise to the east and the sunset to the west and they are both beautiful and breathtaking. I sit, satisfied in a job well done after almost three decades of raising children. Yet, there is no time to rest on these accomplishments. No, life always has new challenges ahead. What will the next few years bring my mother and me? I think we’ll try our best to really remember that every day is a gift, whatever each day holds. Whatever choices we have to make for the future, I think my mother and I will be wearing more purple, sipping more wine and looking for a local place to buy her some satin sandals and long, lovely gloves!

WARNING

by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people’s gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

To read more about Dudley Clendinen go to: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/10/opinion/sunday/10als.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1

To find out about local resources for aging in Central Maine go to: http://www.eaaa.org/

This piece was originally published on the Bangor Daily News website, November 5, 2011. 

In a Perfect World . . .

"I’m fairly certain that given a cape and a nice tiara I could save the world.”

Author Unknown

If only I were in charge. A dear friend and I have discussed this often, our need to try to fix everything. Is it a character flaw or just a loving desire to want what is best for everyone? If only the other humans would cooperate! If only politicians would listen! How arrogant of me, at times, to believe that I could even begin to know what is best for someone else. Yet, it is my calling, this need to fix, to take care of, and to help. It is also my burden. To save sanity I must remember that it is not my job to fix everything. It is not my place to walk another’s path or to learn their lessons. This is especially hard with adult children. After all, I gave birth to them. How arrogant of them to not take advantage of my never ending stream of motherly wisdom!

In a perfect world they would gather around me regularly enraptured by my stories and bits of advice. They would do all the cooking and cleaning for these family gatherings. They would bring with them only friends and partners that I have approved of and blessed. There would be no squabbling among them, except for the occasional disagreement over which one of them adored me more!

Of course, in this perfect world I would still be a size 5. I would be living in a house meticulously cleaned by my staff of unionized, liberated domestics who only chose to work this job to supplement their more-than-adequate incomes as artists. When they finished the work they enjoyed so much, we would share coffee and wonderfully, intelligent political discussions were we would always agree. The gardens would be meticulously kept by me, and neither weeds nor bugs would ever be more than a passing annoyance. In this perfect world a husband would always keep his promises and hearts would never be broken.

Yet the older I get the more I realize that life will never be fair or perfect or predictable. It does not keep me from dreaming. No, my life did not turn out the way I hoped. I don’t live in the Brady Bunch house with six perfectly behaved children. I am not living happily ever after with my husband (or any of my husbands for that matter). Then again, maybe a perfect “Stepford” life would have been boring. Maybe the path I’ve taken instead was the one I was meant to take after all, filled with lessons, love and enlightenment. Let’s go with that!

        

In the meantime, if granted a cape and a tiara I would make the following changes:

In a perfect world, the woman in the car in front of me at the four way stop sign would have some freaking clue about what to do next, seriously!

In a perfect world, politicians would think of the people who elected them and not of their next election.

In a perfect world, soldiers would only need to put on uniforms to march in parades on the Fourth of July.

In a perfect world, college would be free and crime would never pay.

In a perfect world, our beloved dogs would live with us until we were both old and grey and we’d have the option of “putting down” husbands after ten or twelve years instead.

In a perfect world, football players would have to get “real” jobs in the off season in order to afford their lifestyles and teachers could actually make ends meet year round and not need second jobs.

In a perfect world, babies would only be born to loving parents and loving parents would always be given babies!

In a perfect world, Scotty could actually beam us up when needed.

In a perfect world, I would never have to nag a 20 year old child to do her dishes.

In a perfect world, people who love each other could always get married, anytime, anywhere no matter who they were or who they loved.  

In a perfect world, the printer would never freeze up ten minutes before the paper, proposal or project is due, viruses would only transmit colds and PC and Mac users could live together in harmony.

In a perfect world, Charlie Sheen would shut up and Maya Angelou would speak out more!

In a perfect world, children would not be taking drugs in the streets while elderly people skip needed medications they can’t afford.

In a perfect world, we would never have to utter the words “but he was so young” at another funeral, ever, ever again.

In a perfect world, Santa would be real, leaves would be the beautiful colors of orange and red all year long, and rainbows would always, always follow rain storms!

In a perfect world, clicking our heels together would really bring us home whenever we needed to go there.

Of course, maybe my perfect world wouldn’t be your perfect world and maybe that’s okay. Maybe the founders of our country were on to something when they set up a system in which we have to constantly have the conversations about the best ways to take care of everyone. Maybe they knew that we would never all agree but the point was to keep having the conversations until everyone was heard. Maybe I can trust my adult children to remember all the lessons I taught them, and to learn new lessons of their own.

Maybe my life didn’t turn out the way I planned but maybe that is what made me who I am today. I am happy with that and it’s been a wonderful adventure and maybe that means it is just perfect the way it is!

This piece was originally published on the Bangor Daily News website, April 7, 2012.