OLDER PERSON CRAWLING

No matter our age, we are all getting older.  So I don't put much stock in "old people".  Unless you are a newborn, everyone is older than someone.  And I absolutely reject the stereotypes of aging.   It's wrong, inaccurate, discriminatory, and keeps us all in judgement and fear.

That said, I absolutely do realize that there are different capabilities at different ages and stages.  I couldn't crawl before it was time.  And now I realize it is far past time to be crawling.  LOL

This past week we decided to tackle painting two small (11 x 13) bedrooms.  Painting always sounds easy.  Looks easy on the ads.  Isn't easy.  There is So. Much. Prep. Removing wall art, fixtures, taping off woodwork, patching and sanding nail holes, shoving and carrying large heavy pieces of furniture that end up part of the living room and hallway "decor" for the duration...  You know.  You've been there.  

We got the painting finished (looks great!) and decided, "Well, the rooms are empty.  Let's remove this old carpeting now rather than 'later' as planned".  So together, over the next two days, we got to work ripping up two rooms of wall to wall carpet, and pad, and CRAWLING ON THE FLOORS with crowbar and hammer pulling up the carpet tack strips nailed to the perimeter of all the walls ("we" meaning Hub), and CRAWLING ON THE FLOORS some more to remove about 500 staples that held the pads in place ("we" meaning me).  I believe the guy who manned the staple gun is no longer employed -- cost overruns on staples!  Then we lugged it all out to the pick-up truck for a dump run.  ("we" meaning Hub.)  

Once the pad was up we noticed splotches of dark red gooey stuff that had leached from the pad onto the hardwood floors beneath.  "We" (meaning me) CRAWLED OVER THE FLOORS AGAIN, with a putty knife trying to remove the goop.  Didn't work great and it left a stain making the floors look like they had a very aggressive case of measles.  I tried various stain removing products.  None worked. Hub tried to steam clean the stains to no avail.

So, we now have a guy coming out Monday to give us an estimate on refinishing the floors, as well as doing some other hardwood work in other areas that has been on hold for 'someday' for a long time.  One thing leads to another...and if we go forward there will be even more of the above to do soon.  Ugh!

What this project has led to for me is humility.  I've worked hard to stay in pretty good shape physically.  But the first night after working on the floors I was miserable.  My usual cocktail of Ibuprofen and Tylenol was no match for the aches, pains, and stiffness I experienced.  My hip that has been giving me fits for nearly a year was screaming at me, as I hobbled around the house.  My knee was aching with the occasional breath-taking shooting pain.  My hands were bandaged and sore.

I had tried to avoid this.  I had tried doing the job on hands and knees on my garden pad (ouch on the knees anyway), then sitting cross-legged bending forward (ouch on the hip and back), then sitting on my bottom with legs splayed spread-eagled before me, also bending forward (ouch again on the back).  There was just no good way to tackle this on-the-floor project without my body protesting.  I got a blister in the palm of my hand from prying staples with a flat-head screwdriver and pulling them from the wood with needle-nosed pliers.  Thankfully I thought to put in earplugs when Hub was pounding the crowbar with the hammer to get the tack strips up -- protecting as best I could from making my diagnosed "mild to moderate" hearing loss worse.

We reminisced about how many times we've done this exact same thing in this home over the last 40 years in every room that originally had carpet.  And in our previous home.  And in the one before that.  But I don't recall being so physically uncomfortable as a result.  So, ages and stages.  It's real.

Still, I am grateful for a body that could do the job at all.  And the next day it went easier.  I'm still babying my hip, but that's been bugging me for awhile and at this point I have to take some responsibility for ignoring my training program for addressing it.  Wake-up call.  Do nothing...get no results.

As we grow older our expectations for what can and cannot be done must change.  We must be able to adapt and adjust.  I get that.  I really do get that.  And I actually find it a relief.  Painting, yes, a hassle but not very physically demanding.  Doable.  Crawling on the floor removing carpet/pad/nails/staples.  Doable, but not pleasant.  I've got maybe one more floor left in me. Maybe two, tops, if I have to.  Then I think I'll mark that chore off the "to do" list and put it on the "never again" list.   I'm not sure when I'll be incapable of  some of the things I do now, but by then I'll still be capable of so many other things!  And I'm grateful for that too.  Onward!  (But hopefully not on hands and knees.)

At least, that's the view from here...©

SHIFTING PERSPECTIVE

First, regarding my last post.  No.  No one had an affair.  So stop wondering.

Second, I'm letting my shock, grief, and rage about the previous administration go.  He/they have used up enough of me.  I'm focusing on the current Administration...the one I worked so hard to get elected and we did!  And now we bear the fruit of our labors with all the good things that are coming to pass, most notably the passing of the American Rescue Plan yesterday that will help millions of Americans in so many ways.  The headlines say the Senate passed the plan but that's not really totally accurate:  the Democrats in the Senate passed it.  Not one Republican voted for it.  We won the Senate and now we can help people in spite of Republican obstruction and head-scratching, gob-smacking lack of compassion.  I'm sure all who voted for these R's will turn down any financial aid coming their way.  Hopefully they will sign their checks over to food banks or something.  That would be nice, huh?

As for the Covid year.  That still rages on, but I'm noticing that most of my friends now have at least one shot in their arms, many of us have both.  Again, this is thanks to the Biden Administration coming in and doing the work the previous administration ignored (like having any plan at all for increasing vaccine production and distribution).   The U.S. is currently administering 2 million doses a day.  The plan is to have vaccine ready to go for every American by mid-May.  This is phenomenal.  

Maybe this summer my whole family will be vaccinated.  

Already Hub and I have our full immunity, as does my daughter in law who works in health care, and Son Two has one dose in after becoming eligible as a childcare provider -- he supervises a childcare program (among many other programs) and pitches in with the kids at his park district supervisor job.  Now it's just Son One and Son Two's wife to go and we can all breathe (literally) in the same room together a little easier.  (The granddaughters lag behind, but they have learned well that physical distancing and mask wearing is just a part of their childhood lives.  Our 6-yr old now reminds me I'm getting too close.)  Anyway, I'm basically awed and elated at the turn-around that seemed so hopeless only a couple months ago.

Also, regarding my last post.  I said I was 70.  Nope.  Turns out I'm 45.   I know, I know.  Over the last year I've noticed my hair has turned grayer and the wrinkles and sags in my face more pronounced.  So what?  I just read an article that played on the "only as old as you feel" theme about growing older and what to do about it.  HAHA  As if there is anything to do about it but accept it, right?  Anyway, I decided I feel 45.  I liked being 45.  I was definitely a grown up.  I had learned some stuff.  Sure I was sad and overweight and stressed by trying to be the perfect mother, wife, community organizer, etc etc.  But there were some good parts too and besides I'm not trying to repeat being 45 -- in so many ways I like myself better now; I'm healthier, happier, wiser.  But the chronological number seems off.  Inside I feel about 45.  

I know 70 isn't old, exactly, unless I spend a wee bit too much time gaming life expectancy, and then there is a bit of a shock.  But as my 11 year old granddaughter posited recently, "Grandma, do you think you'll set the record for living the longest?"  "Well, I don't know honey, what's the record?"  "I think it's like 130 or something...I think you can do it Grandma, cuz you do yoga and eat super healthy food."  "Hmm...well, yes, then I think I'll shoot for that!"  LOL  So sweet, but hey why not?  We are only as old as we feel.  And when I'm 130, I'll probably feel about 70 and that will feel damn good!

At least, that's the view from here...©

Photo Credit: www.pixabay.com

BOOK CLUB

Women are flocking to "Book Club", a movie starring legends Jane Fonda (81), Diane Keaton (72), Candace Bergen (72), and Mary Steenburgen (65) who in the show play friends who have been in a book club together for 40 years.   They are all financially secure, professional women who have made peace with their lives, settled, but not excited about where they find themselves.  To enliven their lives and their book club selection, the Fonda character shows up one night with copies of "50 Shades of Grey".  And on it goes....

I really wanted to see this movie because the ads on TV made me laugh out loud and I love every one of those actresses.  Plus, what a great girlfriend movie!  I went with one of my dearest, oldest friends and we had a blast.

My expectations were for a funny, light-hearted rom-com and that's pretty much what it was.  Could the topic have been explored with more depth and seriousness?  Yes.  I would like to see a movie do that.  But that wasn't what this one was setting out to do, so I was fine with it being silly at times, unrealistic in some ways, and totally predictable.

One of the things I was dreading about the movie was what I assumed would be a constant barrage of age-related (ageist) humor.  There was a bit of it, but it didn't offend me the way I can often be offended by ageism stereotypes.  At the very beginning I was put off by the "at our age!" jokes that took aim at sexuality in older people as an absurd notion, but the movie quickly moved on from there.  There was also a scene where the Keaton character is left in a mall sitting area with a group of older people who are variously vacant, mobility-challenged, or mouth-agape asleep....and she obviously laments being lumped in with "the old people", fighting her daughters' attempts to pigeonhole her into senility.  Seeing older folks portrayed such was an offensive shortcut way of differentiating her from them as in "I ain't old yet!"  But my friend and I agreed that the ageism trope was thankfully mostly left out of this.

I wrote about the 50 Shades book back when it came out too and wondered how it would be incorporated into this movie.  I was disgusted at how coercing a young virgin into S&M sexual exploration, and the way Grey "dominates" Ana outside the Red Room as well, was seen as a "love story" and there is a line in Book Club where Steenburgen says that "even Christian Grey" needed love.  No.  There's really no love in those books.  But most offensive was the writing in that book.  I wanted to shout out a Safe Word every time the overuse of cliches and the mangling of writing conventions was flouted.  I digress.

Book Club ended with each of the women getting a new perspective on their lives by reading a racy book that challenged them to think beyond what they had settled for and at one point challenging each other to get out of their comfort zone and DO SOMETHING!  Old flames (Don Johnson), new acquaintances (Andy Garcia), dating site risks (Richard Dryfuss), and a reawakened husband (Craig T. Nelson) led to what we presume to be a happy ending for all.

I just know that I enjoyed a couple of hours watching great actors, owning their ages,  playing characters with fabulous houses and witty dialog, each being her own woman, willing to learn, take risks, and keep living, loving, and laughing with life -- a hopeful, funny, human movie full of adults.

Good enough for me at a Tuesday matinee.

At least, that's the view from here...©

TROUBLE IN PARADISE

Hmmm....is one allowed to be melancholy in Paradise?  I don't think so, and yet...here I am.

Day Three of the annual Kauai vacation and it's yet to be sunny for more than 10 minutes at a time.  At least the mist and drizzle and showers held off today.  It was cloudy and muggy.  I had so looked forward to a respite from the Northwest gloom here -- radiant sunshine, cooling dips in the pool, gentle breezes under the palms.  Mostly it feels silly to slather on the sunscreen, pull my lounge chair under a sheltering ironwood to keep the rain mostly off me, just to read a book.  I went in the pool yesterday and the water took my breath for a minute. Not refreshing...more like frigid.  But I'm a total cool water wimp.  Get that temp up to 80 something and I'm happy.

On top of that, or perhaps because I have nothing else to distract me, I'm noticing I'm not young anymore.  I don't mind being not young.  I like being older.  But I've been gobsmacked with some realities that are unsettling.  I wrote last month about my annoyance that all aches and pains are attributed to age at a certain point in time.  I also acknowledged that the cumulative effect of one thing after another is rather tiresome -- and worrisome.

I've still got that foot thing going on.  Plantar Fasciitis.  Oddly, my heel doesn't hurt that much when I am walking, but hours later when I'm just sitting around watching the TV, my heel area goes into full freak out mode with a regular painful throb and the occasional breathtaking stab of pain as if someone has taken a shiv to my foot.  Yowl!  Last night I resorted to extra meds just so I could sleep.

Hub is beyond frustrated with my non-compliance around his prescription of what seems to me to be excessive amounts of Aleve and Tylenol, but which he assures me is the therapeutic dose.  Maybe so, but I'm convinced I'll have kidney failure by morning with all that in my system.  This is an ongoing problem for us.  I know he's a doctor; I know he knows what he's talking about.  I love when he can diagnose and give advice to our friends.  I'm proud of him and his knowledge.  But when it comes to me, I just see that 17 year old brainiac quarterback I dated in high school who mostly was trying to, well, you know...."get to know me better".

But he is a real doc and today when I showed  him a "weird thing going on" with my range of motion in my left leg, he actually grew concerned, did a quick exam and declared I should get a hip x-ray.  WTH?  I don't know what to make of that, but sure, I guess.  Why not?  My eyes blur when I read,  my knee is crunchy, my tinnitus seems worse, my foot throbs...let's throw in some hip issue too.     THIS is the part of growing older I don't like --- the piling on of physical woes and the tiresome need to attend to it all with remedies that fix one thing while causing some malfunction elsewhere.

Also, I believe I've run out of time to be beautiful.  I see women on the beach -- in their 30's, 40's, 50's -- tanned and toned, lovely features, great hair, rockin' bods.  I try to be objective, but I know that was never me and never will be.  I was skinny once, but lily white and covered in freckles (still white and freckled and blotched and bulged).   I was heavier for awhile... and I've been creeping up there again.  I feel fine until I see myself while passing the hall of mirrors leading to the exit to the beach (cruel mirror placement),  then I get startled by how far afield my fantasy of me is from the reality.  Today as I lay back on my chaise, I thought I'd do a quick selfie.  OMG!  All I could see was jowls, double chins, and ponderous breasts!

Well, I'm sure all of this negative self-assessment will pass with the clearing of the clouds.  It's hard to look out at the slate gray skies reflected in the slate gray waters of the Pacific and not wonder if staying home fully clothed might have been the better choice.  Aloha.

At least that's the view from here...

P.S.  Upon re-reading, I get that this is a very whiny post.  Grousing about clouds in Hawaii?  Whining about an achy foot?  Jealously eyeing women and like a 16 y/o thinking I'm not as pretty?  Oh well...this blog is me, warts and all.  (NO!  I don't really have any warts!) ©

CROSSROADS

Last weekend Hub and I joined the other 10 friends in a group we affectionately call "The Tribe" at our second annual weekend retreat.  We've been meeting together monthly since February 2016 for socializing, a potluck, and intentional sharing time in Circle, where we sometimes have a topic to explore that allows us to be self-reflective, and sometimes just a time of sharing deeply with each other about what's going on in our lives.  It goes beyond small talk by creating a safe and trusting space to be vulnerable.  Hub and I generally facilitate this since we have done this type of "personal growth" work in our own lives and have some experience facilitating these discussions.  But we also participate fully and gain as much from the time together as anyone.  It's a gift of love that gives back.

We planned a retreat for last year and we all loved it so much, we decided to do it again.  This time we rented a huge and beautiful home in the mountains on the edge of a little town that is very touristy with a Bavarian theme, but is surrounded by natural beauty.  The home sat on the edge of a river lined with trees in full fall regalia.  It looks like a fake photo; it's not.  We were in awe all weekend as all the windows of the communal rooms faced this view.

Our theme this year was "Crossroads" as we explored what our gift might be that we desire to bring forth into the world, but for whatever reason have held ourselves back from realizing.

We identified the "gift" and we studied and had fun with a personality construct called "The Enneagram" which is similar to Myers-Briggs in identifying certain characteristics of personality types.  Then we did a process which Hub masterfully facilitated for 11 people (and me for him), over the course of 5 hours.  To hold space and energy for emotional work that long is exhausting...he was a rock star!  But aside from my pride and awe of his facilitation skill, was the deep appreciation I had for each person stepping into their lives deeply and with great reverence.  As each walked the timeline of their lives, identifying 2-3 significant events, Hub was able to guide them in seeing how their life experiences and their personality types had both shaped their gift and also perhaps held them back from sharing this gift widely.

As each reached the "crossroads" they could take a step forward, recognizing they are already on the path and just need to take the first step into making their gift to world manifest.  Or they could veer left or right, realizing the path they were on needed to detour into a path more suited to their desire.  Every person stepped forward.  All realized they are already living their gift in some ways; they just needed clarity about the next step.

At the end each was given a slip of paper where I'd written the sentence describing their gift and the next step they will take within the next 30 days.  A duplicate of this was drawn anonymously by another Tribe member to hold that person "in the light" until we meet again and reveal who had been their Champion for the month.

Creating this experience was work, fun, interesting, and enlightening for Hub and me.  It was based on something Hub has done with his men's groups over the years, but was new to me.  I added the identifying the gift part (through a guided visualization) and the Enneagram stuff and we are delighted at the result.  Everyone seemed to gain from the experience.

This work of the heart and soul has always been important to me, and more so as I grow older.  Too often we assume we've done everything there is to do; "can't teach an old dog new tricks"; "it's too late to change direction" or to follow that heart-dream we've always had.  This limiting belief system is so detrimental to our psyche!  In growing older there is still room for growing.  

As for me?  My Gift Statement is "I find creative ways to connect and communicate with others to inspire and empower them to live confidently and boldly."  It's always a bit grandiose to state a gift or life mission in such confident terms, but looking at my adult life, I see this is actually exactly what I love to do.  I've done it in so many ways, successfully and less so, and it continues to be my passion.  I think it is especially dear to me because it's a gift I also give to myself.  I too want to empower and inspire ME by being in community with others who value this work as well.

Right now, I'm hoping that I can empower and inspire through my writing.  So my "first baby step" is to commit to sitting down at my computer two days a week with the sole intention of writing...no FB scrolling, no email answering, no newsfeed reading -- just working on a writing project.  My blogs will always be priority and I'm looking at other avenues for writing for connection as well.

What is your gift to the world?  What holds you back?  Are you on the right path or are you at a Crossroads?  Now is the time to take the first step...

At least, that's the view from here...©

SUNDAY, SUNDAY...SO GOOD TO ME...

I used to love Fridays the best, especially during my years in the paid workforce, especially when I was younger and TGIF held more promise than a night of binge-watching Netflix in my Jammie-clothes.  Fridays always felt like a party and often ended in one.  Friends gathering, Happy Hour, Date Night...all that stuff felt spontaneous and fun and vibrant and carefree.  Friday had just turned 21!

Then kids came along and my TGIF meant I was no longer single parenting, when Hub was generally home with us and not at work or other evening obligations, and I had some help with the boys who had run me ragged all week.  It was pizza night or movie night or family swim night with friends and their kids.  I was still "working" but not alone on the job.   Friday flirted with being a Partier, but was much more tired and a little more tattered.

Later, Friday was a respite from a calendar chockfull of evening obligations to attend groups and meetings.  We were involved in so many things in the community, our church, personal growth events that nearly every night of the workweek was scheduled.  On Friday we took a breath.  Sometimes.  Friday was middle-aged and trying to just keep time until Monday when it would all start again.

After retirement, Friday still has a burnished glow, a reminiscence of old times with the feel of a holiday, but it's not the beacon of light and relief it once was.  It's not all that different from the other nights.  We bid out granddaughter goodbye and clean up the house of all evidence of a two year old having taking over on Thursday and Friday on our Papa-Care and Granny-Nanny days.  We high-five each other for having made it through another week; we cook dinner, we watch Rachel Maddow, we watch some TV show or movie we've recorded earlier in the week, we go to bed at 10:00.  Friday is growing older; getting quieter, but still up for a laugh or two, if not a full guffaw.  Definitely not a party; more like a deep sigh.  I like Fridays, but...

Now, my favorite day is Sunday.  There are no expectations of Sunday.  Sunday dawns with no plan and no commitment.  Sunday is a blank slate.  Sunday is there to make and mold and become whatever I decide it will be.   Since I left my church two years ago, I don't even have to get up and make myself presentable for public view, don't have to be somewhere at a certain time, nor stay late for a social gathering or committee meeting.  Sundays used to be "half-days" since by the time we got home it was 1:00 or after.  Now I get a full, long, luxurious day to .... do nothing much at all.

So, I don't have much to show for my Sundays -- by design.  I give myself permission to be flat-out lazy.  In the fall, like now, I throw on my Seahawks hoodie with a pair of yoga pants, grab a cup of coffee, read the paper, scroll through Facebook, meditate.  Then I might make some pancakes - a Sunday treat - and chat with Hub over late breakfast.  By early afternoon we get snacks ready and watch the Seahawks game together.  Then I might read, crochet, decide when to watch our Sunday night programs -- choosing among our current Sunday night line-up of Outlander,  John Oliver, Parts Unknown, and returning next week, Good Behavior.  We don't watch them all, of course...we save some for mid-week.  But the point is, Sunday is a day of slovenly rest for me (but a workout for my DVR).   Sunday is chill.  Sunday is contentment.  Sunday is me being in the flow of "being" with no agenda.  I guard my Sundays with a pit bull's intensity.  My calendar rarely has anything scheduled and if so, it's with some reluctance and regret at times.

I remember the excitement of Friday -- like the wind in my hair on the back of a motorcycle.  But for now, give me a Sunday -- a mug of coffee, a warm blanket, and my remote control.

At least, that's the view from here...©