Clearly, I do not know everything

No matter what my x-husband(s) may tell you, I do not think I know everything. In fact, I am darn sure I don’t! The older I get and the more knowledge I acquire, the more I realize how little I actually do know! Every week of my middle-aged life is an adventure of some sort! Actually, every day of my life has been an adventure but sometimes it takes reaching a more “advanced” age to recognize those gifts!

Every day is a chance to learn new things about myself or someone else. Some days I embrace that and some days my attitude coincides more with my favorite bumper sticker on the back of my car that says “Oh no, not another learning experience!”

Things I've learned, or relearned recently, big and small, good and bad:

• Obviously, they are making print smaller and smaller on things, but if I give in and use the little old lady reading glasses I can actually see stuff without holding it two feet in front of me or trying to find “better light.”
• Sometimes new friends come in very unexpected ways, even when you weren’t looking for one!
• I’m still, some days, hanging on to the idea that I’m in control despite an entire lifetime worth of evidence that has proven otherwise.
• Old dogs can learn new tricks, it just takes us a little longer.
• The best way to solve a miscommunication is to communicate.
• When apologizing, just say “I’m sorry” and not “I’m sorry but you did this, this or that.” I’m sorry, period, always gets better results.
• Some people are just assholes and no amount of reasoning with them is ever going to change that so I need to stop expecting anything else from them.
• Never pass up a chance to tell someone what they mean to you, or meant to you, or an opportunity to give a kind word to someone in pain, because sometimes it will be your last chance to do it, ever . . .
•  My youngest daughter is completely capable of handling stressful situations, like someone running into her car and calling the police and filling out an accident report, without any help from me!
• You cannot help someone who does not want help, or is not ready for your help. Just let them know you are there. Then stop beating yourself up over it and wait for them to come to you!
• Eventually, you have to give in to who you are, and stop hanging on to who you used to be. Recently, this meant just giving in and buying pants in the next size up in order to actually be comfortable!
• Learn to see the beauty in things that didn’t go according to plan. I planted a flower box, with perfectly spaced pansies. The color scheme was specific. There were bright yellow pansies and wine colored pansies with yellow centers. Yesterday a big purple pansy bloomed in the middle of them. It doesn’t match, it messed up my plan. It’s actually the prettiest one in the box!
• Life doesn’t make sense. There is no logical explanation for that. Stop looking for one.
• All work and no play makes Karen a complete bitch and a few hours of fun with friends can make up for a long, tiresome work week!
• Karaoke is actually, ridiculously fun!
• I AM capable of far more things than I usually give myself credit for!
• Remember that thing our parents told us about not judging a book by its cover, that was an important one! Usually, the most amazing people come in the most unexpected packages!

This piece originally appeared on the Bangor Daily News website, Postcards from a Work in Progress, June 24, 2012.  

What’s missing in my empty nest life?

Awkwardly this afternoon, my neighbor’s eyes met mine on her way out of the elevator, and then darted down as she softly said “hello.” Her little girl, unaware of the uncomfortable history the two of us grown-ups share, came to a full stop directly in front of me and presented her biggest, brightest smile, one little tooth slightly askew, clearly either on its way in or on its way out. Brightened by the genuine enthusiastic smile of the little girl, I made eye contact again with her mother and sincerely asked “how are you?” and she strengthened by my attempt at being friendly, responded in kind. Her face transformed for moment into a smile as well. It was clear that at one point, before life had made her more guarded, that she had the same full of life smile as the little girl she led out the front door of our shared apartment building.

Isn’t it odd how sometimes the briefest encounter with someone will stay with you the rest of the day? It was strange, to suddenly realize how rare it is for me these days to see the sweet sincere smile of a little girl. It made me happy and sad all at the same time. For so many years, my world was chock full of small children. Years stretched on endlessly into the future as I went from diapers to kindergarten to summer camp to senior prom over and over with each child in turn. When you are in those years they are so all-consuming it is hard to picture a time when your life will be any different.

As happy as I am most days with my new-found freedom, I never realized that it would be the little things about being a mom that I would miss the most. A picture my nephew posts online of his son in full-blown baby belly laughter brings up old memories of my own son, laughing heartily at the same age, memories that pull unexpectedly at my heart! A little blond girl, all dressed up right down to her shiny black shoes, holds her Daddy’s hand on their way out of a Sunday morning service and my mind flashes back to my own little girls and their days of fancy dresses, hair ribbons and holding hands to cross the street. These are treasured memories. Today, however, for me the word “children” conjures up images of twenty-somethings, grown up children with lives of their own. These lives often contain challenges and heart aches I can no longer fix like I used to with a good tickle or a bowl of ice cream with chocolate sprinkles!

One of my favorite quotes is “No matter what happens, always keep your childhood innocence. It's the most important thing.” (Federico Fellini). It is not, unfortunately, that childhood is without heartache. Yet children, not yet crushed by life’s disappointments and still unburdened by adult expectations, are able to hang onto the hope and enthusiasm that we so often lose as we grow up. Children forgive easier, forget easier, move on from disappointment so much more easily than those of us who are supposedly older and wiser. Children don’t hide who they really are. If they say they love you, you can believe it! Children do not feel awkward when they run into someone who used to like the same stupid boy they did. They just laugh about it and run off to play together on the swings! Children live in the moment. They don’t worry about things they can do nothing about. Ten minutes ago there might have been a bike mishap and a badly skinned knee, but now all washed up and bandaged, there is ice cream with sprinkles and life is good again.

I understand now, why older people always brighten when small children come into a room. They have so much in common both the very old and the very young, unburdened by rushing through each minute of life to some elusive dream of “success.” They each know how to experience joy in little things, with no strings attached. Both, free of the need to adhere to social expectations that often bind the rest of us, know that taking just a moment to stop and smile at a neighbor might brighten both of their days in a way that neither expected. I need to pay more attention when I spend time with friends and family who still have small children. There are clearly lessons I still need to learn from them.

When you are a kid, yesterday and tomorrow are far away, but right now, something good is going on and you just know if you aren't careful you'll miss it. I know what I need more of in my grown up empty nest life. I need to walk to the park and spend some time on the swings with nothing else to think about except how high I can go before I jump off. I need to smile more at my neighbors; genuine, unguarded smiles. I need to find more reasons for a good full-blown belly laugh! And when all else fails, there’s always ice cream, with sprinkles!

This piece was first published on the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, April 29, 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. 

I no longer recognize myself in photos!

At work last week, our in-house photographer came around to take a new picture of me for our website. I warned him ahead of time that I am a notorious blinker and then I went on to prove this. He was very patient and kept firing away. When he finally came up with the finished product he leaned his digital camera screen in my direction so I could take a look at the picture he had decided was “the good one.” I glanced at the screen and was once again shocked to see a middle-aged woman looking back at me.

You may have had this experience at a certain point in your life. You start looking at pictures of yourself, or you see yourself in the mirror as you are passing, and are completely shocked to see someone you don’t recognize, an “old” person. Oh, I know 46 isn’t old, but it’s older than I feel on the inside most days.  I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn't expecting to still feel young on the inside but to have my body start doing things that I never consented to. I never expected for people to look at me and see someone who looks more like my mother.

And here’s some other things I never expected from middle-age:

1.  My chin. I always took my chin for granted. I never planned on it going anywhere. Suddenly, when I look at pictures of myself taken from the side, I realize my chin is slowly migrating towards my chest.

2.  Children who don’t call me every day. Why wouldn’t they? I assumed they would still need my motherly wisdom daily, apparently not!

3.  To have a “boyfriend” . . . seriously!

4.  To be the oldest person in a college class. (It has both its blessings and its drawbacks).

5.  To have co-workers younger than my children.

6.  To have friends with grandchildren!

7.  To have my back refuse to cooperate with things the rest of my body thinks it would be great fun to do!

8.  Disposable income - I really thought I'd have some by now! (The X got all the disposable income in the divorce).

9.  Not getting carded anymore when buying wine. You think it’s annoying until they stop doing it. I watched the screen on the cashier’s computer last week as she rang out my wine. It asked “is customer over forty” and the little witch hit “yes!”

While there are so many things happening to us in middle age that we don't have control over, I will admit there are also lots of great things going on that we can control. I do enjoy the luxury of not having to answer to anyone else. I enjoy having adult children who can take care of themselves (most of the time anyway). I like the idea that my future is now my own!

One thing I have managed to still get away with in my “old” age is the weight on my driver’s license. It still says what I weighed when I was 16 years old. Oh it’s not that far off . . . or maybe it is by 20 or 30 lbs, I'm not confirming nor denying. My daughters keep telling me I need to correct it. Let me just warn you. Don't be the person at the DMV who looks at my license and looks at me and tells me I need to correct that weight. Don’t even try it! I’m hanging onto to that one as long as I can! I mean, isn't it bad enough you gave me this license with some old lady's picture on it!

This piece originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, March 18, 2012. 

Choosing to live creatively in the middle of Maine

I know, I’m probably preaching to the choir here but I’m often asked by friends and family from away, why I choose to live in Maine. Keep in mind Rhode Islanders (where I originally migrated from 23 years ago) rarely travel farther than 30 miles in any direction. Traveling farther than that in R.I. requires a GPS, a detailed plan and a lot of patience for traffic! My moving 300 miles north to a place they assumed didn’t have any modern conveniences was a lot for most of them to handle. The answer, for me, is simple and complicated at the same time.

To live in Maine is to live creatively, with both intention and purpose. There are two kinds of Mainers. Some Mainers live here because they were born here and have chosen to stay. The rest of us, born in other places both near and far, looked around, and of all the possible choices, decided to make Maine our homes. Whether you were born here or migrated here most of us live here because we have chosen to live our lives outside the box. We have chosen to live our lives creatively and this is the place to do it. We have chosen to build lives that often look nothing like the lives lived in other places.

To build a life in this beautiful area of Maine we have come to accept the difficulties. To live here is not a destiny it is a bold decision! We know that winters will be very long and very cold. We know that the economy will be challenging at best. We know we might have to carve a living out of several part-time jobs rather than one steady one. We know that our budgets will always have to be creative. We know that all these things take a certain type of personality to overcome and we are willing to do what it takes because to make a life here is worth all that.

We live in a place where we enjoy both the mountains and the valleys. We have cities full of art and culture just a stone’s throw from all the natural beauty we could ever want to experience.  We have warm sunshine and gentle ocean breezes. We have fall seasons of bounty and harvest and explosions of Nature’s color. We have sparkling winter snow. We have crystal clear lakes and the comforting scent of pine. We have a place where whatever we create, or whatever we grow, we can leave it on a table at the end of our driveway with a box with a slit in the top and know that the people who come by will not only be appreciative of our offerings but honest enough to leave the money for them, even if we aren’t there.

I chose to make a life here in Maine because I don’t want to have to choose between a city life and a country life. I want them both! I want to grow herbs on my window sill and visit the Farmer’s Market and then decide at the last minute that I don’t feel like cooking and walk downtown instead and eat something amazing with a glass of wine and good friends. I want to buy and eat local not because I am making a political statement but because we simply have the best damn stuff around, right here! I want to be able to leave my apartment and run all my errands for the week and never get in my car if I don’t feel like it. I want to be able to wear either my high heels or my Bean boots to any event I go to, depending on my mood, and know either would be fine!

Maine isn’t this way by chance. It’s this way because we work very hard to make it so. We’ve all worked to carve amazing lives out of a harsh and beautiful landscape. Maine is about community and diverse culture. It’s about home cooking and home brew. It is Bean Suppers and Beano. It is Acadian culture, Jewish bagels and amazing Thai food. It is downtown pubs, fish & chips and sweet potato fries. It is Italian bakeries and art shows and local farms! More importantly, Maine is people who still have faith in the world. We volunteer in record numbers. We vote in record numbers. We give above and beyond our budgets. We care, we believe and we do because that’s not just the way life should be, it’s the way life is.

 This post originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, February 6, 2012.

I will never be the same

Sometimes, when I am wallowing in my challenges, full of resentment and anger, I worry about that. How will I ever get past this? Will I ever be the same! I was in that mood when I came upon Jim LaPierre’s column “Forgiveness and Freedom,” this past week. The fact that I’d been home from work several days with a badly infected, and very painful tooth was clearly contributing to my mood but that little voice inside me said “read this one, pay attention here!”

I try to listen to that gentle voice inside me, although I’m not always sure where it comes from. Is it my own reason? Is it my Higher Power? Sometimes I wonder if it is the voice of my ancestors, the generations of women before me whose blood runs through me now. Maybe it’s all those or maybe I’m just crazy, or this week just under the influence of pain medications! I just know that in difficult times, if I have taken a moment to be still and listen to that voice, I have made much better decisions than the ones made in the heat of the moment, out of fear or anger.

I remember as a kid watching TV and whenever the main character had a choice to make two options showed up represented by an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. To us watching, the choice seemed clear. There was good and there was bad and we’d cheer for the good side, even if we secretly suspected as the character did, that the bad might be way more fun!

If only life had actually turned out like that, every choice represented by two options clearly marked good or bad. As grown-ups we discovered that life’s choices are never that simple, never marked so obviously and that there were almost always more than two in any given situation. Ah, but that’s the key right there isn’t it. There are always choices. Even if in that moment of deep heartache or despair, we don’t see them. The choices are there. The trick is to be quiet, patient and still long enough to hear the answers when they come to you.

So that brings me to forgiveness and Jim’s column. Forgiveness is hard! Forgiveness is especially hard when someone else’s behavior has not just hurt our feelings but actually changed the course of our life. Forgiveness is near impossible when the person who hurt us is unable or unwilling to acknowledge the level of the pain they caused. To us it looks like they are just strolling along, happy and unaffected, while we are back here on the path they left, wounded and bleeding.

When I’ve been hurt or wronged, I wanted the whole world to stop and acknowledge my pain. I wanted everyone to point to the person who caused it and say “shame on you!” I wanted justice! But sometimes there is no justice, or reason, or resolution. Sometimes the rest of the world is too busy dealing with its own pain and I’m just going to have to handle mine on my own. Oh, I have the help of a group of people who love me but really, when it comes down to it, we all have to work this stuff out in our own heads, in our own hearts, and with our own voices!

Jim is so right when he says our “our resentments limited us – not them. They moved on and we stayed stuck. We cannot be free as long as we carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.” Some days I feel like I’m hiking with a back pack full of rocks. Every time someone does something that hurts me, I throw another rock in the pack and hoist it back up on my shoulders, no matter how heavy it gets. If someone offers to help me carry the load, I always refuse. Sometimes I sit down and go through the pack, intending to discard some of it but like a bad episode of “Hoarders,” I can’t let go of things that are clearly of no use to me anymore.

I forget that I have choices. In fact, one of those choices is to just let go of the back pack! Of course that doesn’t mean it will be easy. I’ve tried before. I've tried just “choosing happiness,” saying it out loud “I choose happiness, okay here I am, I’m happy now.” It hasn’t worked that way. I can’t just let go of that entire bag all at once. What would I do with my hands with nothing to carry?

Maybe the answer is to keep trying to lose those rocks one at a time. Maybe while hiking, I can drop them off slowly, in quiet places in the woods where they won’t hurt anyone else. Or I can make a trip to the beach and fling a few in the ocean. I'm sure if I can free up some room in this bag I can find lighter things to carry, things like joy, and hope. There may even be room for forgiveness in there.

This week when I was worrying, feeling like I will never get past the hurt, or ever be the same person again, I read Jim's column and felt a little lighter. In fact, I heard the voice inside me say "no, you will never be the same, so what, you aren’t supposed to stay the same. You are supposed to change and grow and be BETTER!"  So here's to moving forward, a little lighter, minus one badly infected molar and a few less resentments! None of which were doing me any good anymore!

This piece was originally published on the Bangor Daily News website, January 6, 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. 

Dear@Santa, is that really you on Twitter?

Dear Santa:

I know it’s been awhile since I’ve written. I’m not even sure you still accept letters. I found you on Twitter and Facebook but I’m not sure it’s really you.  I tried to text, but I think your service must be spotty at the North Pole. (If you did get it, yes, the “Yo Santa, S’up?” was me). Maybe you are still mad because I asked for some really mean things to be delivered to my x-husband a couple years ago. I’m sorry about that. (It’s not like reindeer aren’t making that stuff anyways and how many little plastic poop bags can you carry around with you all night)! Do you get a lot of letters from middle aged divorced moms? I don’t really need anything for myself. I’m good with all my children being happy, healthy and finally all living on this side of the ocean again. I know they’re adults now but there are just a few things they could use.  Some of this may be a lot to ask. Even the Big Guy upstairs has not been able to help with all of it, but then he’s probably busy with his son’s birthday coming up and all.

Santa, for my oldest daughter, if you could do something about getting more legislation passed to help with her students loans. She’s so smart and works so hard and is about to finish graduate school. She would really appreciate any good word you could put in for her. For my son, he served in the military for six years and really believed them when they said there would be good jobs for the veterans when they returned. I know, the economy may be beyond your control but again, if you could just whisper in the ears of few folks in D.C. when you are dropping off presents in the middle of the night, I think it would really help.

My middle daughter, she’s doing well Santa but if you could help her out with Beverly. Beverly is her very, old, worn out car. If you could just give her a hand to keep it running a couple more winters while she finishes putting herself through school that would be a big help. My youngest daughter has signed up to volunteer in Ghana this spring. If you could just close Ghana please, that would be great but I know that might be selfish on my part. So instead, if you could help her find sponsors and keep her safe that would be the next best thing.

Santa, for my son-in-law, could you find him a job that he really loves that doesn’t require him to drive between states all week? I know that would make him very happy! His parents spent a lot of money on college for him and we would really like it if he could keep working in Maine! Finally, for my son “by luck rather than by birth” who is running a small business downtown. Can you please keep an eye out and make sure it continues to be successful. (Then again, he sells beer so it will probably continue to do well all on its own). In fact, stop by on your way through I’m sure he’ll give you one on the house, but remember you’re driving!

While I’m at it Santa, if you could keep my Mom healthy and give her a few more good years we’d all be very grateful. She worries a lot about her Social Security getting cut. Anything you can do to help with that? For the guy I’m dating, well if you could just bring him a big box of patience because . . .  well you know me, Santa! One of my best friends needs a couple good knees and another is looking for a “silver-haired fox” just in case you run into anyone. Come to think of it, Santa, you are just the type.  If Mrs. Claus ever gives you the old heave-ho, let me know! I have someone special for you!

Merry Christmas, Love Karen

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

On Muffin Tops, Grudges and Excess Baggage

. . . or how I sacrificed my waistline for science.

Last winter, I conducted a thorough, scientific study. In fact, I proved, without a doubt, that there is a direct correlation between muffins and muffin-tops. It was a long and rigorous experiment, but I stuck with it . . . for science. No, I am not able to reveal the downtown eateries who participated in this study, those devilish dealers of delectable baked goods. Oh the warm, fragrant Cranberry Orange, the tart Lemon Blueberry with the little drizzle of frosting, the Pumpkin Chocolate-Chip, and the ever delightful and always tempting French Toast flavored,  how you all served me well in my thoroughly exhausting research.

In case you are not familiar with the term “muffin-top” this would be the little fold of extra, um, well let’s just call it a little “extra-me,” that was spilling over the top of my jeans. I know, I know, it’s not a pleasant thought but this is reality. All of us, in middle age, carry a little more weight around with us than we used to. Part of the problem is our changing bodies and slower metabolisms.  Another contributing factor may be the stress from our busy lives. I am guilty of being a stress eater. If life is giving me a hard time, you will find me melting cheese on whatever I find in the kitchen. Yet, I’m learning to think about what I eat in a different way. How is it feeding my body? How is it feeding my soul?

Although I’ve always eaten reasonably healthy, with middle-age comes the need to pay even closer attention. Should I eat meat and dairy? (Yes, I’m still eating dairy, no, I’m no longer eating meat). Can I afford to eat organic? (I can’t always afford to, but at least try to buy local and fresh). Am I getting enough calcium? (Yes, I am, hence the dairy). Should I take supplements? What about herbs and fish oil? There is so much more to think about these days when we decide what we are going to eat. I cook from scratch whenever possible, read every label when it’s not! I’ve also started keeping a food journal. No one else sees it, but it helps me keep track of what I’m eating, and how I’m feeling. I have to admit I’m feeling better, especially since giving up meat last spring and incorporating considerably more fresh vegetables. It’s hard to believe that many of us, before we knew better, survived a childhood filled with Hostess Cupcakes and bologna and ketchup sandwiches.

I try to remember to strike a balance. It is important to be aware of what I’m eating, but it is also important to enjoy life as well. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to be more kind to myself. We can’t give up everything.  We just need to learn to enjoy the things we love in moderation. I need also to accept that no amount of dieting or exercising will bring my body back to the way it was when I was 25 and that’s okay! I’ve grown so much since I was that age, and my life is so much richer now.  A little fresh fruit and Greek yogurt, a little exercise, and every now and again, something warm and sweet with my coffee and my life is more balanced, more whole.

I realized something else this week; besides carrying a few extra pounds in my forties I am also carrying some old baggage. I am hanging on to old grudges. If I have been hurt or offended, I am still carrying it around. Oh it may be small, but I’ve still got it. I’ve got it somewhere here, in the bottom of my Big Mom Pocketbook (disguised as a really cool, hip bag from Mexicali Blues but we all know it is just a Big Mom Pocketbook). If it was a really large offense, something that really hurt, I’m dragging it behind me like Linus’ blanket in Peanuts. At first, it was warm and comforting and no one minded if I carried it for a while, they understood. Now, it’s become dirty, smelly and offensive to others but I still drag it behind me, clutching it so tightly sometimes my knuckles are white.

This winter, I think I’ll do better. We have to be conscious of how we take care of ourselves, inside and out. It's okay to carry a little bit around with you. Having a few extra pounds and a few unresolved issues is just part of being grown up, middle aged, and having lived a rich, interesting life but too much weighs us down. It holds us back. It keeps us from moving forward. Carrying around extra weight is not good for us. It is not good for our hearts, and it's not good for our souls. We need to let go of our regrets so our hands are free to reach for our futures!

The old baggage has served its purpose. We need to look at it closely, examine all the pockets. Take out every lesson and make sure we didn't leave anything good in there. Then just get rid of it, let it go! Sometimes it takes time and courage. We may not always be ready. There are a few things at the bottom of my Big Mom Pocketbook I'm not ready to look at yet, but I think I’m ready to drop this old Linus blanket off into the dumpster out back. Then, maybe I’ll do some yoga and or take a long walk just to make up for the sweet, warm, fresh muffin that might be waiting for me downtown tomorrow morning. I’m no longer regretting the past . . . or an occasional muffin!

This piece was originally published on the Bangor Daily News website, November 10, 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.